#what trigger warnings do I even put here??
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the girl next door 2
Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.
Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.
Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.
This lewk but silverfox
You gnaw on your cheek as you read over the letter. Final warning. You really didn't think much of the first five but that word catches your worry; litigation.
Your mother grunts and clicks her pen, dropping it as she curses under her breath. She tosses the crossword book away from the chair. For all your life, you remember her working on her puzzles. Now, she can hardly hold pen steady enough to put in a single clue.
"Mom, you want another coke before I head out?" You ask.
"Where are you 'headed out' to?" She scowls.
"Just outside. Try to figure out the mower."
"Piece of shit," she sneers and for a moment, you're not sure if she means the machine or you.
"So..."
"Just go," she snips.
You purse your lips around the cut of her tone. You leave her in her recliner and you go down the hallway to the back door. You shove your feet into your stained vans and let yourself gently outside.
You come down the steps and cross the overgrown grass to the garage. You prop the door open with an old paint can and drag put the mower. You haul it over to the little patch of pavement by the house as the sunlight raises beads of sweat across your forehead.
You shade your eyes and squint. You don't get the thing. It's not even motorized, it just started catching. You can't push it hard enough to make it go. It only bounces uselessly across the ground.
You squat and put it on its side. You examine the blades, nervous to dig between the mulching teeth. You grab a stick and poke around. It breaks and you rip it out.
"Dang it," you whisper.
You stand up. It's too hot to think. As much as you miss the sunshine in the grim winters, the heat is less than welcome.
"Hey, excuse me," a voice startles you. You ignore it, thinking maybe it's just the neighbours on the other side of the fence. "Um, miss?"
You turn towards the voice and find a man peeking through the loose slat in the fence. You sigh. Yeah,
that needs to be fixed too.
You stare dumbly. You recognise the man. It takes a few seconds to remember where you saw him. He was with the realtor. You hadn't see much yet, not that you ventured outside often. The sign changed to sold and that was that.
"Hi, uh, so this," he touches the plank, swiveling it on the hanging nail.
You nod and go to the edge of the patch of pavement but no further. You nibble your lip and search for something to say. Talking to mom is easy, you know what to expect, but strangers are different.
"Gonna fix it," you assure him flatly.
"Yeah, well, I was actually thinking, I'm just doing a few touch ups right now and I could spare a couple nails or two."
You tilt your head and bring your hands together, mashing your palms anxiously, "it's rotted."
He wiggles the wood and little slivers fall away. He hums disappointed, "sure is." He smiles as his blue eyes shine in the sunlight, "no problem then. I'm sure I can find something at the hardware store."
You hesitate. You should mention you can afford even half a plank. Grandma left you the house and enough to cover property taxes, but mom's monthly cheques are already stretched thin. If he doesn't ask, you won't offer.
"Steve," he stretches his arm through the opening.
You look at his hand. Your stomach flip flops. You don't want to be rude as much as you don't want to touch this strange man. Well, no use in making another enemy around here.
You lift your feet as you trudge through the high grass. As you near, the sweat slakes down your back. You gently shake his hand, just for a second, and pull back.
"And your name? Neighbour?"
You stare at the collar of his grey tee shirt and eke your name out.
“Is it just you over here?” He asks.
You shake your head. You bend your arm to pick at your sleeve. You don’t mind introductions but you’re not much for conversation. You don’t need him prying into things. If anyone really saw inside those walls, they’d only feel bad for you. You’d rather their apathy.
“Oh, you got kids? A husband?”
You wince. It’s almost a flattering assumption yet a reminder of everything you don’t have. You’re not old enough to really think about all that anyway.
You glance back at the side of the house. You should hose that down and get rid of the mildew. Another tick on the endless list.
“Mom,” you say.
“Ah, makes sense. You in school?”
You shake your head again. He’s quiet. You sway listlessly.
“Anyway...” he says.
You put your head down and back away. You go back to the mower, bending down to fiddle with it again. You could see if anyone would lend you one but that means asking and as much as the neighbourhood paints itself in friendly smiles, they aren’t genuine. The letter on the kitchen table is proof of that.
“Not working?” The man, Steve asks. You cringe and stand up. He’s still there.
You shrug as you look at him. You turn back to the mower and lift it by the handles. You try to ignore the nosy neighbour and line it up with the grass. You push and it doesn’t move easy. You grunt and it rolls over the grass. You think maybe it’s working but as you turn, you notice the grass stands back up, only slightly bent.
“You know, I got a nice electric one. Isn’t here yet but I can bring it tomorrow on the truck,” he offers, “I wouldn’t mind doing a once over, if you need.”
You huff and push the mower over.
“Can’t pay you,” you stomp back towards the house.
“I didn’t say anything about money,” he chimes.
You stop by the steps and cross your arms. You look at him, “too much.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you can just come knock on my door,” he says.
You nod and spin around again. You climb the steps, fighting to keep your steps even. You want to run inside and hide but you don’t want him to see how desperate you are to get away.
The screen door snaps shut behind you. You kick off your shoes and go down the hall. Your mother huffs from her recliner.
“You figure it out?” She asks.
“No,” you flop onto the couch.
“Knew ya wouldn’t,” she snorts as she stares out the window. “Man’s back. Musta bought the place.”
“Uh, yeah,” you lean back, pulling the collar of your shirt over your face to sop up the sweat. “It’s hot.”
“Nah, you’re just whiny,” she snickers.
You don’t respond. You know better than that. You let her have her truth. Whatever she thinks of you, you can’t disprove. The world is she says it is.
🏠
Your bedroom window shines yellow with the noon sun. The heat beams down on the folding table, warming your hands as you scratch charcoal onto thick paper. You still have grass stains on your fingers from another fruitless attempt at fixing the mower. Another day and you expect another letter isn’t far behind.
As you focus on the lines and curves left by the pencil, your anxiety subsides. Drawing is the only thing that helps you forget. Really forget. You don’t think about the house or the lawn or the HOA or your mom. It’s just you and the pencil.
You lean your forehead in your hand as you cross hatch the shadows. The chirping birds and the soft breeze deepen your trance. The world around you is distant and dim. You’re only awoken but the sudden and unfamiliar ‘ding dong’.
You sit up. It takes a moment before you realise what it was. The doorbell? No one ever rings it. No, even Marge from the HOA waits until you come out to get the mail to accost you.
You put the pencil down and get up. You go out and peek down the hallway. You creep along and stop at the doorway to the front room. You mom sniffs and wipes her eyes. She must have fallen asleep in her chair.
“Who is it?” She snarls with grogginess in her throat.
“I don’t know,” you go to the door and pull the curtain away from the long window beside it. You peek out at the figure on the porch and quickly hide behind the fabric. Too late. “It’s... the neighbour. I think he saw me.”
“Ergh, don’t be stupid, girlie,” your mother barks, “help me up.”
“Oh, uh, okay.”
You go to her and offer your hand. You get her to her feet. She slightly hunched and slow but she makes her way to the door. She pauses and turns to the mirror above the little bench against the wall. She tidies her hair and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
She leans on the door as she grips the handle. She opens it and the man from next door, Steve, greets her with a grin.
“Hello?” She sweetens her tone.
“Hello, miss, sorry to bother you,” he says, “I just moved in next door and I’m getting settled in. I was just about to do some lawn work and I thought maybe I might offer to do yours? It’s no trouble, I just thought I’d offer.”
“Oh, what a honey you are,” she preens, “of course, that would be lovely of you. My daughter,” she sighs and shakes her head, “I’ve been nagging her for weeks to get it done.”
“Really, it’s not a bother,” he assures her, “I’m Steve by the way.”
His smile is just as charming as his introduction.
“Holly,” your mother returns, “I’ll make you some lemonade for your trouble. It’s a hot one, isn’t it?”
“Sounds good,” he agrees, “I’ll try not to make too much noise.”
You peek out from behind your mother. Steve’s eyes meet yours for an instant before she blocks her out, no doubt eager to hide the state of the house from him. You back up as she turns to you.
“What’re you doing hanging on like a rodent?” She hisses, “go make some lemonade.”
#steve rogers#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#drabble#series#the girl next door#mcu#marvel#captain america#au#silverfox au
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I don't have anyone to yap to so I am sorry for doing it in your asks.
But I think people don't truly grasp how formative it is that Charles, Max, Alex, George, Pierre and Esteban all grew up racing together for what seems their entire childhood. Of course back then their schedule wasn't as busy as it is now with F1 but they still all saw each other regularly, which at that age just has such an huge, subtle impact. Max probably watching on while Charles and Pierre became close friends, their families becoming friends, watching Alex and George becoming friends and continue to be friends all the way until they literally debut in F1 the same year. All the while he never seemed to get close with any of them, aside from his fight with Charles, because of his dad. He was fast tracked, debuting in F1 before any of them and never got to be just a kid, even in the small ways the others did. Yet he remembers that time with such fond memories, because he has these people in F1 with him now and they like him despite or maybe because of everything he is. Him remembering Charles helmet just shows how much attention he paid to them, specifically Charles even if he couldn't do anything about it, other than race them with all he got. But also the rest of the dynamics, of Alex and George still being friends to this day, over 10 years after they started karting together, Charles and Pierre and their families still being close, closer than ever probably after the losses they've shared, and Pierre and Esteban being such a silly mirror of Lestappen. Starting out as close friends during karting and their rivalry making them anything but friends, the opposite of how Charles and Max's relationship developed.
Just something something about them all growing up together and knowing each other as little kids is so special to me and why I think this current generation and current grid is special in a way we'll never get again.
Anon, the only thing you need to apologize for is not putting a trigger warning for extreme emotional distress at the beginning of this ask because I am on the verge of tears thinking about Max watching the others becoming close while he kind of stood on the sidelines, watching them build strong friendship bonds right in front of his very eyes while he himself wasn't allowed to do the same.
Also, this right here:
"Pierre and Esteban being such a silly mirror of Lestappen. Starting out as close friends during karting and their rivalry making them anything but friends, the opposite of how Charles and Max's relationship developed."
Yes, yes, yes anon! This is so spot on.
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, I am kissing your beautiful mind.
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⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ TONIGHT, WE ARE YOUNG!
(american)footballer!jason grace x fem!reader
↳ the chronicles of jj & smartiepants!
masterlist | rules
an trigger warning me writing teenage boys (my fatal flaw)
“jason, are you sure this isn’t too much for this little gathering you’re having?” you asked, nervously biting on your lip as you stared yourself down in the mirror. all of the school’s football players were having a get together in celebration of their recent winning streak, and naturally, all their girlfriends would be coming too
since you were officially the captain’s girlfriend, that meant you were also invited. you and jason had only started dating a month and a bit ago, so your relationship was still blooming. meeting his friends and their girlfriends was a big step to you - this would make or break everything you had
tenderly, jason clutched your jaw. you felt the sting of his cold rings on your skin as he turned your face towards his, saying, “trust me, it’s not. you look stunning, babe. everything’ll be okay, i promise!” he smiled at your furrowed brows and leaned in, kissing the pout off of your face
if anyone looked stunning, it was your boyfriend. even in a simple button down and jeans, he had your heart doing somersaults in your body. feeling better, you grabbed your purse and made your way out of the house with jason, your parents not even bothering to remind him when to bring you home, knowing you’d always be safe with him
“jj!” you heard a chorus of men yell from the corner of the restaurant - it was nothing too fancy, but not too casual either. you let out a sigh of relief when you noticed their girlfriends were wearing outfits at the same level of casual as you
you walked over to the table hand in hand, and even when jason greeted all his friends (with you standing awkwardly and giving the occasional wave if they acknowledged you) he refused to detangle his fingers from yours
sitting next to one of the girlfriends, you put your purse on your lap and took everything in. you were the newest addition of this group, and yet, they didn’t seem to think you strange. this was a nice change from the friend groups of all the other boyfriends you had. there was truly nothing you hated more than feeling like you were sticking out like a sore thumb
“hi, i’m hazel, it’s nice to meet you!” the girl you were sitting next to said. she was gorgeous - with cinnamon brown hair and eyes so bright they might as well have been pure golden. a friendly smile was etched on her lips and you couldn’t help but feel one make its way onto yours
“it’s nice to meet you too,” you mumbled, looking away as you realised you had nothing much to say. were you supposed to ask her which one of the boys was her man, or was that too invasive? luckily, she told you herself, pointing at the guy sitting to the right of jason - frank, you remembered his name from how often (and highly) jason spoke of him
as the night went on, you found yourself becoming more comfortable with hazel and eventually all the other girls. they seemed intimidating from afar, but you came to realise they were all sweethearts who happened to be dating the most popular boys in school (just like you). as you laughed and chatted with everyone, you failed to notice a certain pair of electric blue eyes locked on you
“jj, are you even listening to me? this isn’t the end of the year, we still have more games to win!” one of jason’s friends said, snapping him out of the trance you put him in. instantly, all the boys’ heads whipped to look at you and they laughed as the reason why their captain was so distracted hit them
jason sheepishly smiled, a blush coating his cheeks as he received multiple slaps on the back (do u guys know what i’m talking ab here men do this i swear) and a couple ‘ohhh!!!’’s from his teammates. usually, he’d mind being teased in this way and would immediately shut down all their jokes. tonight, however, he couldn’t find it in him to care. he didn’t think he’d ever find it in him to care. jason could confidently announce his love for you from the rooftops - so what if they poked a bit of fun at him?
meanwhile, the girls had noticed the commotion and began giggling as one said, “he’s so in love with you! no one ever thought jj would find love, and yet here we are!” you felt your face heat up at her words - was jason really in love with you?
your question was answered the moment your eyes met his. there was no way he wasn’t in love, not with how the adoration seemed to be seeping out of them and radiating towards you in waves
that very moment would be etched in both of your souls forevermore, for it was when you both knew you were stuck with the other for life
#jason grace x reader#jason grace x you#jason grace x y/n#jason grace#jason grace x fem reader#percy jackson#pjo#percy jackson x reader#pjo x reader#jason grace fanfic#pjo fanfic#jason grace drabble#jason grace blurb#cynwrites#˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ jj & smartiepants
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Inkbound
CHAPTER 2
Pairings:
Yandere Taehyung x OC × Yandere Jungkook
Warning: This story is a work of fanfiction and is purely a product of the author's imagination. It does not depict any real-life events or individuals. While some characters may be inspired by real-life idols, their portrayal in this story is fictional and not representative of their true selves. Please note that this story may contain triggering content, including themes of abuse, gore, murder, humiliation, bullying, rape, and other mature and dark themes. Reader discretion is advised, especially for those under the age of 18. If you are uncomfortable with such content, it is recommended to refrain from reading and kindly disregard this story.
Fae's pov.
Where on earth am I and how the hell did I end up here?! This questions has been repeating in my mind for what feels like the hundredth time. I find myself lost in a seemingly endless maze of hallways, each one identical to the last, lined with countless doors. I've been wandering for hours, yet I'm no closer to finding the exit. My sense of freedom feels as elusive as ever.
I really want to see my family.
Suddenly, I overhear a group of maids conversing in hushed, panicked tones. The name "Yana" floats through the air, causing me to pause.
Yana?
Earlier, I heard the name Jungkook, and now Yana? These names sound eerily familiar, like the characters from a book I once read. But I shake the thought away. I need to focus on finding a way out of here.
As the sound of quick, hurried footsteps echo through the hallway, I panic and bolt towards the nearest door. Thankfully, it's unlocked. I slip inside and slam the door shut behind me, breathing a sigh of relief as the footsteps recede into the distance.
Suddenly, a deep, familiar voice breaks the silence, "What are you doing here?"
I flinched and whirl around in fear and find myself face-to-face with him.Again.
"You!" I exclaim, my eyes locking with the handsome, yet intimidating man I had encountered earlier in the hallway. He's lounging on a king-sized bed, dressed in a black robe that reveals a hint of his chest as he leans back casually.
I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. It's not the first time I've seen a man dressed in such a way, but something about him makes my skin tingle with heat. I quickly shake the thought away, reminding myself that I need to focus on escaping, not drooling on the man in front of me.
"I asked you a question, didn't I, Yana?" His voice, deep and alluring, pulls me back from my thoughts.
"I–um actually–I," I stutter badly and I don't know why I am being like this.I mentally scolded myself for my lack of composure.
"I WHAT? CAN YOU STOP STUTTERING!?" He suddenly shouts, causing me to flinch, he suddenly stood up and in an instant, he's standing before me. I attempt to open the door to escape, but he slams it shut again, causing me to squeak in surprise.
"Please – I was just looking for the exit," I manage to whisper, my gaze falling to the floor.
Silence fills the room before he finally speaks, "Are you fucking kidding me?" His harsh words cause me to flinch and I close my eyes in fear. I miss my brother, Jae. This man is terrifying.
"C–can you just let me go! I really want to go!" I summon the courage to shout at him, immediately regretting it when I see the murderous look in his eyes and I swear I see his eyes turned even more darker.
"Did you just fucking yell at me?" He asks quietly, his deep voice sending chills down my spine. He grasps my arms tightly, causing me to hiss in pain. I try to push him away as I put my hands in his chest as I attempted to get some distance from him, tears welling up in my eyes from the pain of his tight grip.
"Mister! You're hurting me!" I cry out in distress, tears now streaming down my cheeks. He looks at me blankly, seemingly uncaring of my pain.
He finally releases his grip, scoffing, "Mister, huh?" He laughs, a dark, chilling sound that sends a shiver down my spine. I quickly distance myself from him, confusion and fear swirling within me.
'What's wrong with him?Does he have anger issues or something?'
"Where did Honey go?" He asks suddenly that made me look at him again, his voice cold and detached.
I frowned at that before sighing in frustration.
'What in the world was he talking about?'
"You're not my lover to be called like that!" I shout back, taken aback by his question.
...
We suddenly fall into an awkward silence and I don't know if I said something bad or what,as he just look at me blankly and it's really uncomfortable as he only stared at me blankly.
"Get out," he finally orders, walking away from the door and disappearing into what I assume is his bathroom. I seize the opportunity to escape the room,away from this crazy man, once again finding myself lost in the maze of hallways.
~
Author's perspective
As the man hears the slam of his bedroom door, he sighs, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He frowns, thinking back to the interaction with the woman. Shaking his head, he chuckles quietly to himself, unties his bathrobe, and steps into his bathtub. His mind is still consumed by the thoughts of her.
"What's happening with you again?" He murmurs to himself, closing his eyes.
Minutes pass, but he finds himself growing increasingly agitated. He recalls her shouting at him for the first time. Despite the times he had hurt or yelled at her, she had never once raised her voice at him. This sudden change in her behavior leaves him feeling restless, a feeling he doesn't particularly enjoy.
"God damn it! Get it out of your head! It's just a yell and it made you restless!" He scolds himself, gritting his teeth.
Why is he so affected by a simple change in a woman's attitude?
No, he convinces himself, it's just because he's not used to it. He groans, running his fingers through his wet hair.
Meanwhile, Fae finally breathes a sigh of relief when she spots a staircase leading down to what she assumes is a living room. She can't help but giggle in joy, relief washing over her. She's finally found a way out of this strange house.
Just as she's about to descend the stairs, she overhears a conversation that stops her in her tracks. She turns to see the same man from earlier, the one who had nearly choked her, talking to a girl she doesn't recognize.
"Nara, please stay. She won't hurt you anymore, I promise, okay?"
'Nara? Again? Another name from the book?!'
"But, Jungkook, I'm scared. What if she will hurt–" The girl's words trail off as her gaze lands on Fae, who is standing on the stairs. The girl gasps and hides behind Jungkook.
Jungkook follows her gaze and locks eyes with Fae, who is frozen on the stairs. Fae breaks their gaze and continues her descent, heading towards the front door, completely ignoring them.
Jungkook frowns, watching as Fae disappears outside through the door.This behavior is unusual for her. She would normally become furious if she caught him talking to Nara. This change leaves him feeling perplexed but shrugged it off as he again face the scared woman and embrace her.
...
Meanwhile, Fae continued her sprint towards what she perceived as freedom. The sight of the magnificent golden gates filled her with delight, and a joyous laugh escaped from her lips as she relished the feeling of liberation. Finally, she thought, running at full speed towards the gates.
But just as she was about to touch the gates, she found herself being lifted off her feet, swept into the air that made her shout suddenly in startlement,panic surged within her as she closed her eyes and silently pleaded for the person to let her go, her body tense. Strong arms was wrapped around her waist, setting her back on her feet, away from the gates.Turning her head and glaring at the man responsible for stopping her, she got awestruck suddenly when she sees a handsome man closed to her and it suddenly vanished her anger as the man grinned at her with such a beautiful smile.
"Can we talk, Yana?" he asked suddenly that made her snap out of her staring to the man, his words now causing her to frown as she came to a standstill, halting her resistance.
'what did he call me?'
"I'm not Yana!" she retorted forcefully, watching as he blinked a couple of times before mumbling something under his breath.
"So, they were telling the truth," he muttered, causing her to question what he meant, while still trying to free herself from his grasp.
"Let's go. I know Uncle is looking for you," he said, his tone turning cold as he dragged her towards the mansion once again, her protests falling on deaf ears.
Reluctantly, Fae allowed herself to be pulled along, feeling the weight of resignation settle upon her.
Then the next she found herself in a living room surrounded by eight unknown people, their glaring eyes making her feel small and insignificant.
Intimidated, she lowered her gaze, avoiding their piercing stares.
"Yana."
Then, a raspy voice rang out, calling the name Yana again. Fae again looked up, her brows furrowing as she met the gaze of the man who had spoken.
"Are you calling me Yana?" she asked, her fear and confusion evident.
'Yana? Why are they calling me that? Wait – no! That's absurd! Realization dawned on her suddenly, bringing with it a wave of absurdity that was difficult for her to comprehend.
Jungkook, then Nara, and now Yana?
This couldn't be a coincidence any longer. Fae's mind swirled with fear, unable to fully grasp the unfolding events.
No, this is absurd! she thought to herself, fear gripping her as she struggled to make sense of the situation.
"Who else here goes by the name Yana?" a deep mocking voice interrupted her thoughts, prompting her to look at the man who suddenly speaks.
' him again?'
Wait! If Jungkook was the man to the left, then who was this other man? A sudden chill ran down her spine as she hastily scrambled away from him, retreating until her back was pressed against the far end of the plush couch. The man looked at her, his expression one of confusion, mirroring the baffled looks of everyone else in the room.
"Yana, I've been informed about your recent actions. Is it true?" The older man who had addressed her earlier, presumably in his 50s, asked again, his eyes filled with concern.
"What do you mean by that?" Fae questioned, her tone laced with distress, which only seemed to annoy the man.
A scoff from the left drew her attention back to Jungkook, who was glaring at her, leaning back in his chair with his arms and legs crossed. "What's your problem, huh?" Fae retorted, her irritation evident in her voice. This caused a ripple of shock to spread through the room, especially amongst the two younger men.
'What's with them? Is this the first time they've heard a woman speak up? Because right now, I'm guessing it is.' Fae thought, rolling her eyes at them before returning her glare to Jungkook, who was now clenching his jaw and glaring back even more intensely. Their staring contest was interrupted when the older man cleared his throat, effectively drawing everyone's attention.
"Yana, this is the last time I will tolerate your reckless behavior! I'll let it slide this time!" He declared, standing up and swiftly exiting the room, followed by two other men. This left only six of them in the room: herself, the two men she had met earlier, and the man who had dragged her here.
"What's going on with you, Yana? Is this another—" The man who had brought her here attempted to break the silence, only to be cut off by a single glare from her.
"Don't call me that!" Fae yelled furiously, standing up as she was overcome with confusion and frustration. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and unable to hold them back any longer, she broke down crying in front of the five men.
"Hey! What did you do to noona!?" Suddenly, a young boy burst into the living room upon hearing the sound of a girl crying. He was met with the sight of Fae in tears, while the men could only exchange helpless looks, unsure of what to do next.
Taehyung, on the other hand, scoffed in disbelief, assuming that this was just another one of her tactics to gain sympathy. He stood up and left the room, followed by Jungkook, leaving the girl crying on the couch. Everyone else also departed, except for the young boy who hugged the weeping woman tightly, their minds filled with the assumption that she, whom they believed to be Yana, was once again trying to manipulate them into pitying her and taking her side.
As minutes passed, Fae gradually calmed down, thanks to the comforting presence of the boy who refused to let go of her. She lifted her head to look at him, and he offered her a white towel to wipe away her tears. Gratefully, she accepted it and smiled at the boy with all her heart.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, noona. But why were you crying again?" the boy innocently asked, tilting his head in confusion. Fae sighed and shook her head, unsure of how to explain that she felt like she was trapped in a story or perhaps even a dream. She hoped desperately that she would wake up from this ordeal soon, as being here felt like being in a living hell. She could sense the pain and sadness that consumed the person she assumed was Yana,that she was in, both physically and mentally.
"What's your name, little guy?" Fae asked, diverting the conversation.
The boy looked at her with surprise but answered, "I'm Kim Taehoon, noona. Do you really not remember us?"
Fae's breath caught in her throat.
'Kim Taehyung's little brother... So, I really am in a book?!' she thought, still in shock at what was happening. She sighed and nodded her head.
'If I'm really here, then I am Yana?'
"What's my name again?" Fae asked, seeking confirmation.
"You're Yana," Taehoon answered, grinning at her.
'Oh God! Wait... If I was her, then I can finally change that woman's fate!' Fae suddenly stood up, a plan brewing in her mind. She smiled widely and laughed to herself, leaving Taehoon wide-eyed as he watched her grinning at something in the distance, which turned out to be a large vase of flowers.
"What's so funny about those flowers?" Taehoon scratched his head, perplexed, before looking back at Fae, who was still lost in her thoughts, staring at the vase with a grin.
Meanwhile, Fae was busy planning her stay in this dream, if that's indeed what it was. She was still waiting to wake up, aware of the danger that lurked within the pages of this book, especially with those two individuals. She looked down at the boy again and sat down, holding Taehoon's little hands in hers. Taehoon smiled sweetly at her.
'Kim Taehoon, the child character of the book. He was accidentally shot by Yana when she and Nara were fighting in this very living room. Yana accidentally fired the gun, and poor Taehoon got caught in the crossfire. But this time, I promise you'll live. But first, I need to know what this girl did to end up in this state again.'
"Can I ask you something, Taehoon?" Fae spoke softly, and Taehoon nodded.
"Um, you see, I'm still experiencing memory loss or something. Can you tell me what I did before I... you know, before I had this memory loss?"
Taehoon looked away for a moment before clearing his throat, ready to share what she needed to know.
"The whole family except your father,attended a party celebration. While we were there, you followed Nara noona to the restroom upstairs. We heard you arguing, and then we saw you both pulling each other's hair. You tripped and fell down the stairs, but luckily, the stairs weren't very high."
Taehoon's voice carried a hint of sadness.
'So, the party was organized by the Parks. This is the event that leads to her downfall, where she gets framed by Nara. That b*tch... Let's see who becomes the villain now,'Fae thought, internally smirking as she stood up.
"You should go, Taehoon. Your tutor will be here soon—"
Just as she was about to finish her sentence, the door swung open, and a tall, well-built man in a white polo shirt and black pants entered, wearing glasses. Fae found herself drooling over this angelic figure, and the man smiled as his eyes landed on the two of them, revealing his dimples. Fae internally squealed in delight.
Kim Namjoon.
Fae smirked, recognizing the character from the dimples on his handsome face.
'Kim Namjoon, Kim Taehoon's genius tutor. He's secretly in love with Yana, but she chases after the wrong guys, those two psychos. Why chase after them when there's someone better? This man has been silently loving Yana and helping her whenever she's in need. When she discovered his love for her, she used it for her own gain, dragging him down along with Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook, and the four other men to kill her in the end.'
"Long time no see, beautiful," Namjoon greeted her with a compliment, his deep voice making her blush. He relished in the sight of her blushing, feeling complete as the beautiful woman before him reacted to his words,for the first time.
"Nice to see you too, Joonie," Fae smirked, using the nickname she had given him when she was reading the book. Namjoon widened his eyes in shock, blushing even more than she did. He couldn't believe that the woman he had secretly loved had given him a nickname.
'Kim Namjoon, nice to finally meet you,' Fae thought, her smirk growing wider.
#bts v#bts#jeon jungkook#bangtan#kim taehyung#possessive#psychopath#bts ot7#love#yandere jungkook#taehyung yandere#taehyung vante#obsessed bts#tumblr fyp#yandere x reader#yandere taehyung#yandere bts#jungkook yandere#yandere#inkbound#princessviana
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Trigger Warning for abuse since I am going to be talking about it a lot.
My honest reaction to TSM anon's confessions/posts trying to justify J's treatment of N. (They're so ass)
Ok so uhh... Anyway I'll try to debunk some of the points:
First of all: yes the fuck she is abusive! Search the damn definition on Google or the dictionary, it's exactly what she's doing, like beat for beat.
Let's start with two examples: one from the manor and another from copper-9.
J kicking N in the manor flashback: for context N and V had literally just bumped into each other, made a spark and both were trying to clean up the mess they made, then comes in Ms. Tenth letter of the alphabet with a kick to N's face for like no fucking reason whatsoever.
J stepping on N's chest while he clearly struggles: In the pilot during the scene that introduces the Alphabet squad during J's introduction she has her foot on his chest while saying he's useless, terrible and if she could, she'd kill him herself and N is very clearly struggling to even breath.
Those two very clearly ARE abuse, the second one even has a tinge of verbal abuse!
Ok so TSM tried to justify both these actions by us not knowing the full context.
The context of the kick is that: there is none, that kick was completely unprovoked, so J had absolutely no reason for kicking N aside from him being in her way from the "move it moron" line, and she changes up her attitude completely at Tessa being there, her visor showing those hollow eyes that drones show when worried or scared.
But even if you say "oh but N was in J's way so she kicked him out" but she could have just, you know, MOVED A LITTLE BIT TO THE RIGHT?!?!? And also that does not excuse kicking a person in the face.
Context of the second scene is: THERE IS NONE, ONE AGAIN! The reason that scene exists is to show that A. J is abusive towards N, and B. J is a hypocrite! Let me explain, A is very self explanatory, stepping on someone's chest and verbally abusing them is very clearly well... Abuse and B is to show that even though she calls N useless, N has shown throughout the rest of the series he is a very competent fighter, arguably better than his fellow DDs and also that even though J was pretty much insulting N for being weak, she got killed by a Angsty bisexual 18-year-old with a pen and a Railgun made out of like, scrap.
I don't know how you can genuinely look at those scenes and go "J isn't an abuser" even though yes she fucking is.
Also I dead ass forgot that second post aside from the "why would Cyn put N in the squad if his abuser?" Part, which has a very simple explanation: it wasn't Cyn, it was Mr. Solver of the absolute fabric itself! It used Cyn as a host, Cyn wasn't in control, she prob has been dead for a long ass time.
The solver is sadistic and it likes fucking with the alphabet squad, take V as an example: it allowed V to keep her memories, just to make V's trauma even worse.
The solver thinks it's funny to traumatize people so why wouldn't it think putting a person in the same team as their abuser wouldn't be?
Anyways I've been typing this since 5:30 AM, and now it's 6:50 and I got school so I'll stop here, if you got anything else to add put it in the reblogs ig...
Final note: I haven't been abused myself (not that I remember) so I can't really fully grasp the concept, but still, J's treatment of N is like, the dictionary definition of Abuse, I'm very bad at understanding other people and their emotions and I'm not super great at analysing characters but this shit is so obviously abuse seeing TSM over here trying to say otherwise is giving me a brain aneurysm.
Anyways have a good day/evening/night or whatever time of day it is :D
.
#md confessions#murder drones#abuse cw#serial designation j#serial designation n#serial designation v#md cyn#the absolute solver
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My Man💋
Summary: Ever since the quarry there was tension between you and Daryl, but when you get to the farm you can’t hold yourself back anymore
Warning: 18+
•Masterlist•
Song Rec: Flesh by Simon Curtis
You were working around the farm trying to help out anywhere you could when you saw Daryl across the way looking at maps, the sun gleaming of his tanned skin you couldn’t stop starring
“Sweetie you’re drooling” Maggie said from beside you snap you out of your oogling, you turned looking at her feeling the embarrassment spread up your face
“Oh come on Maggie you know I can’t help it, just……..look at him for gods sake” you said biting your lip as you looked back at him, his muscles so big you’d do anything to be wrapped around them
“Girl you got it bad, you need to do something about it”
“Like what? We’ve had this tension since the quarry how do I even bring it up”
“Come with me darling” she giggled as she dragged you inside
“Maggie what are you doing?” You asked as she rummaged through her drawers
“This, this is how you bring it up” she smiled as she held up the skimpiest black lingerie set
“Oh Maggie I don’t know about that what if he turns me away”
“Sweetie if you show up in this with all this pent up tension you’ve been talking about you’re gonna be a goddess to him, come ooooooon do it”
“Ugh fine” you grabbed the thin material and went back to your tent pulling them on them putting back on your shorts and tank top
Going on with regular chores throughout the day until you saw Daryl emerge from the tree line heading to his camp further out
“This is your time girl, go get him” Maggie said nudging you forward its like she was a hawk around you today
You sucked up all the courage you could holding onto all that tension since the first time you both laid eyes on eachother, the way he was sweeter on you than others, the way you’d both glance at eachother and how he’d give you extra meat from his hunts, the brief touches on your lower back and thigh
Strutting through the field with all the confidence you got, he became clearer and clearer the closer you got until you were at his camp seeing him sat in his chair sharpening his knife
“Hey” you said catching his attention
“Hey, whatcha doin here?”
“Wanted to come by, see how everything went” you said stepping closer
“Went alright, found something out there fer ya though” he grumbled digging into his pocket chucking over something you were quick to catch
Opening your hands to see a silver necklace with a little bow hanging from it
“Daryl! I love it thank you so much, reminds me of you”
“No trouble”
This was the moment
“Well I got a surprise for you too” you said a little lower, more sultry
“Oh really?” He smirked giving you his full attention, you lifted you shirt above your head throwing it aside
“Come on Daryl I can’t handle all these side glances and brief touching, I need you” you whined desperate, he stood up from his chair grabbing my hips roughly as he looked down at me with squinted eyes
“Yer fer real bout this?”
“I’m all yours Dixon” that triggered him giving him all the consent he needed dragging you into his tent and pushing you to the make shift bed on the floor as he quickly stripped all his clothes off only leaving him in his boxers
“Fuck I’ve wanted ya fer so long” he groaned as he caged you down with his arms, starting to suck on your neck slowly trailing down to the hem of the bra, his hand busy with unbuttoning your shorts
“Daryl please, I need you now” you whined feeling like your lower stomach was on fire
“I got ya baby” he ripped your shorts and thong down throwing them to the side, then taking off his boxers
He grabbed your knees and spread them wide looking at your pussy as if it was art to him
“So wet fer me baby, ya shoulda made a move earlier”
“Come on Daryl just fuck me, take out all that tension on me” you said digging your nails into his shoulders hearing a growl from him
He gripped his dick rubbing it up and down your slit nudging harder against your clit sending chills up your spine
“Damn I could get use to ya under me” you reached behind and undid your bra so you could feel him all over
He lined his tip up slowly pushing in until you felt it pop, feeling him stretch you slowly until he was fully sheathed inside
“Daryl you’re so big, fuck so deep” you gasped as he gave a little shove deeper
As you adjusted he bent down licking and sucking on your tits feeling it down in your clit, gripping his hair as you couldn’t contain your moans
“I’m ready Daryl, give it to me”
He leaned back as he lifted your hips up so you were at an angle, gripping your hips so tight it was bound to leave bruises
He pulled out just until it was his tip just to shove hard all the way back in make you see stars, he kept going and going hearing his feral grunts the angel he had you at had him hitting that spot over and over, screaming his name desperate to cum
“DARYL FUCK!”
“Fuck yer so tight, love this pussy”
“I’m gonna cum!” You screamed feeling that knot build up
“Cum baby I’m right there”
Simultaneously you both finished feeling his cum coat all over inside as he slumped back on his heels still deep inside
“Fuck were doing that a lot more baby”
“That was a lot better than what I imagined”
“Dirty girl thinkin bout me like that”
“You didn’t make it easy”
“Well I’m yers now sunshine, ya can ride me whenever ya want” he said making you laugh as he slowly pulled out as he watch his cum drip out
“We ain’t done fer the night baby, get ready” he said diving his head between your legs
This man was going to be the death of you
Lmk how yall liked this
#twd fanfiction#daryl dixion imagine#twd daryl#daryl dixon#twd x reader#twd fluff#twd rick#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixion smut#daryl dixon twd#daryl dixon smut#daryl x reader#daryl imagines#daryl fanfiction#the walking dead daryl#daryl x female reader#daryl x you#daryl x y/n#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon x female reader#twd smut
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Alright, and here's request #2
May I ask for Fives and Fox
with Prompt 14: Last Words
Where Fives is haunting Fox after his death. Where "the nightmares are over" is twisted to "the nightmare has just begun".
Girl, you helped me come up with this, you know what to write, lol
❤️ - @vodika-vibes
In Your Head
Fox
Summary: Fox has a hole in his memory that he can't seem to fix, and when he starts hallucinating about the clone he killed, it leads to dire consequences.
Pairing: none
Characters: Fox, Thorn, ghost!Fives
Tags & Warnings: character death, alcohol, drunkenness, hallucinations, paranoia, minor suicidal ideation, violence, whump
Word Count: 6.2k
Author's Note: First of all, I'm going to apologize for how long it's taken me to write one of these requests. Second, all of the requests are still sitting in my ask box. I haven't gotten rid of any of them and I still plan on writing all of them. It's just gonna take me a bit. To be honest, this fic is more Fox whump than Fives whump, but eh, it's still whump and it still includes one of the 501st boys, so that counts, right? As always, please enjoy 💚
Beta: @beating-a-dead-plot
Fox sits hunched over his desk and anxiously raps his stylus against the side of his data-pad. He's read the report five times now and each pass yields the same results. His CC number is littered throughout the paragraphs, but for the life of him, he can't remember any of it. He looks up at the chronometer again and shakes his head. Time has moved, but he hasn't. He's been sitting here at his desk doing flimsi-work since early morning, but the report states otherwise.
It's not just the strange lost time that concerns Fox either, or the fact that his CC number is in a report. That's normal. What bothers him about this report is the fact that it clearly states in paragraph four, line six, that he shot and killed a clone. And no matter how hard he racks his brain, he can't remember it. He hasn't moved from his desk, and yet, the timestamp puts the incident at an hour ago. An hour ago he was at his desk. An hour ago he was doing flimsi-work.
Fox raps his stylus faster and taps his foot to match the rhythm, the nervous energy in his body escaping through the repetitive movements. He wouldn't shoot a clone without a reason, would he? The Coruscant Guard has stunned countless rowdy and reckless, and even dangerous clones, but a brother doesn't shoot another brother with the intent to kill. That's not part of their culture. Even bad clones deserve to explain their actions, but those are few and far between.
It must be a mistake. A typo. There has to be a logical explanation as to why his CC number is in the report even though he wasn't there. Still, he has this odd sinking feeling scratching at the back of his mind that it might not be a mistake. The clone he allegedly shot was from the 501st, from Torrent Company. One of Rex's men. Fox sent a simple comm message to Rex, offering his condolence, but Rex's silence worries him. It's not like Rex to leave a comm unanswered.
Fox drops the data-pad onto his desk with a loud clack and his chair creaks when he leans back. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and brushes the damp curls out of his eyes. It must be a mistake. There is no other explanation. He doesn't have an explanation for the lost time, but there must be a reason for that as well. Maybe he fell asleep. It's not impossible since he doesn't get the best sleep. His caf is cold, so obviously time has passed since he last filled it.
The data-pad dings and Fox leans forward to see what the notification is for. He sighs and taps on the icon to open it, and his brows furrow as he reads the new information. A surveillance holo-recording of the incident is now available and has been attached to the report. Fox huffs. This should clear up everything. He taps the icon to play the recording and watches intently. It was probably some trigger-happy shiny that he'll have a stern talking to later on… but it's not.
Fox's breath hitches and his eyes widen. That's not some random corrie. That's him. That's his armor. He has the fleeting thought that someone stole his armor and impersonated him, but he quickly realizes he's still wearing it. He hasn't taken it off since he put it on this morning. Panic rises in his gut and he continues to watch the recording. He flinches at the moment he pulls the trigger. A blaster bolt leaving the barrel instead of a stun bolt. He killed him. He killed a brother.
That explains why Rex never commed him back. Rex's emotional plea, Fox don't, stabs him in the heart, turning his innocent condolence message into him just rubbing salt into an egregious wound. The report noted the clone killed as ARC-5555 – Fives – one of Rex's best. Fox only remembers the name because Rex sent him a holo-photo of his two new ARC troopers when they graduated. Rex was so proud. Then he lost one on Lola Sayu, and today, he lost the other.
Fox has seen and read enough. It was him, he knows that much, but he still doesn't remember being there. He doesn't remember aiming his blaster, or flicking the safety off, or giving a warning, or pulling the trigger. It's like he was sleep walking, even though not a single clone out of millions has ever been noted to do so on record. He finds it even more odd that he was on scene for the shooting and then left. It's not like him to leave a scene without getting statements or starting his report. Now that he thinks about it, he didn't even write this report. Who did?
Fox yells in frustration and kicks the leg of his desk. Why can't he remember? How could he forget he shot and killed a brother. How could he forget Rex's voice begging him not to? How could he forget leaving his office and coming back? Fox feels sick. Not only did he kill a brother, he killed one of Rex's. A beloved brother. With Rex's radio silence, he probably lost Rex too. Fox doesn't blame him. Not after watching the footage. He would hate himself too, and he does.
Fox pulls a ring of keys from his belt pouch and inserts one into the lock on the bottom desk drawer. It clicks and he pulls it open, revealing a small stash of alcohol resting against the back. The glass bottles clink as he searches for a specific one. Finding it, he pulls it out of the drawer and places it on his desk. He leans down to grab a glass, hesitates, then closes the drawer without taking it. He twists the cap off the bottle, grabs the neck, and tilts the opening to his lips.
"Fox?" Thorn whispers as he peeks into the dark office. "Are you in here?"
Fox groans in response. His torso rests on top of his desk and the side of his face lays on the cool surface with one hand loosely wrapped around an almost empty glass bottle.
Thorn sighs and shakes his head. "What are you doing, Fox?"
"Go away," Fox slurs. His body twitches at the sudden exertion.
Thorn ignores Fox's inebriated order and pulls up a chair to sit opposite Fox's desk.
"Talk to me," Thorn says.
"Nothin'... to talk about," Fox answers.
"You're drunk while on duty," Thorn says. He grabs the bottle out of Fox's loose grip and sets it out of reach. "Why don't we start with that?"
Fox slowly picks his head up to look at Thorn, and he struggles to keep it steady. "Usen'ye," he says, then lays his head back down onto the desk making the room stop spinning.
Thorn taps his fingers against the desk's surface next to Fox's head and Fox flinches at the magnified sound. "I read the report."
Fox groans, but this time with more indignation.
Thorn crosses his arms and sits back in his chair. "I've got all night."
"You're so… annoying," Fox slurs as he slowly picks his head back up to look at Thorn. "You know… that?"
Thorn smirks. "Part of my charm."
"Karking… banthas… have more charm," Fox says, his head swaying as he tries to keep it upright. "You're ugly… too."
Thorn rolls his eyes. "You're getting off topic."
"Why… are you… even here?" Fox asks. He reaches for the bottle and Thorn leans over to move it again.
"You killed a vod," Thorn says.
Fox huffs. "What... do you… know about it?"
"Nothing," Thorn says. "That's why I'm here. To talk to you about it, because clearly it's affecting you."
Fox reaches for the bottle again and Thorn moves it. "I'm… not effective."
"Yeah, I can see that," Thorn raises an eyebrow. "You can't even talk straight."
"Blow it out your… exhaust port," Fox sneers, then reaches for the bottle once more.
"Really?" Thorn asks, as he lifts the bottle up out of Fox's reach. "If I give you the bottle back, will you talk to me?"
Fox smirks through hooded eyes. "Sure."
Thorn places the bottle back down onto the desk and pushes it towards Fox. Fox grabs it, sits back in his chair, and shoots the last burning drops down his throat, then slams the empty bottle down onto the desk.
"Talk," Thorn says. "Why'd you kill a vod?"
Fox chuckles. "I don't know."
Thorn's eyes darken. "This isn't a game, Fox."
"Nah," Fox says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Games… are fun. This... This isn't..."
Thorn tilts his head to the side and studies Fox for a moment. Even drunk, Fox usually makes some sense, but this particular time he's making zero sense. It's not that hard of a question, but his avoidance in answering it is making Thorn worry. There's something Fox isn't telling him and he needs to know what it is in order to help him get out of this slump and back to normal. Having a drunk Marshall Commander leading the Coruscant Guard is going to get them nowhere fast.
"Fox," Thorn prods.
"Don't Fox me," Fox spits in response. "How'd you… like it… if I said your name? Thorn. Thorn. Thorn. Thorn–"
"Alright, I get it," Thorn interjects. "Just tell me what happened."
"I don't know," Fox lazily shrugs.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Thorn asks.
"I don't remember," Fox says.
"You don't remember shooting a vod?" Thorn asks, narrowing his eyes.
"Nope," Fox says, making a popping sound on the second consonant.
Thorn pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "You have to remember something? You killed him. Don't you remember that? Were you drunk then, too?"
"No, I wasn't drunk," Fox says, his agitation growing at the continued questioning. "I just don't remember!" He pounds his fists on the desk, making Thorn flinch.
"Easy, vod," Thorns soothes and reaches out a hand to try and calm him down. "It's okay."
"No!" Fox yells with a jerk as he weakly bats Thorn's hand away. "Is not. I shot… a vod. I killed… a vod, and I can't… kriffin' remember!"
Thorn realizes he's not going to get anywhere with Fox being this drunk and worked up, so he decides to cut his losses and try again later. "Get some rest," he says before getting up from his chair. He looks down at Fox's dilapidated state, shakes his head, then turns to leave.
"Bring me… more booze," Fox demands.
Thorn turns around and scoffs. "You don't need any more of that."
Fox grabs the empty bottle and throws it towards Thorn, but it hits the wall by the door instead and shatters into a million pieces. "Shabuir," Fox snarls.
Thorn sighs. "We'll talk again when you're sober." He turns back towards the door and leaves Fox alone in his office.
Fox grumbles and lays his heavy head back down against the cool desk. He's not really angry at Thorn, as annoying as he is. No. He's angry at himself. Angry that he can't remember what his own two hands did. Angry that he can't remember where his own two feet took him. Angry that his brain won't put all of the pieces together or fill in the blanks. Where did his memory go? Did it grow legs and walk away from him? Did it leave him or did he leave it? Is that even possible?
Fox would stay laying against his desk all night if he could, but the ache in his back is beginning to overpower his drunken haze. Part of getting old, he guesses. He needs to try and make it to his couch where he can stretch out and fall asleep. At least while asleep he won't have to think about it. That was the idea behind the alcohol in the first place; drink to forget, but it didn't have the effect he was hoping for. If anything, it only made it worse. Then Thorn butted in and ruined it.
Fox tries to peel himself off of his desk, but his body is heavy. He manages to sit up, but then slumps back into his chair, whacking his head against the back of it. He groans at the pain and rubs the spot. When he opens his eyes, the room is spinning, and it makes him feel sick. Well, sicker than he already felt before he was drunk. He chuckles to himself. The good stuff was really good. He hasn't been this drunk since he was a shiny new commander hot off Kamino.
Trying again, Fox plants his hands squarely on his desk and rocks to push himself out of the chair. He tries once and can't get it. He tries twice and still can't get it. He tries thrice and finally he's on his feet, although he uses a little too much force and falls forward onto the desk. Maybe it's better if he crawls to the couch instead of walking there. He lets the weight of his lower body slide the rest of him off the desk until he's sitting on the ground and leaning against the desk.
He leans past the desk and turns his head to see where the couch is, but he leans a little too far and slumps over onto the ground. He groans. This was a terrible idea. He wishes he could get Thorn to come back and carry him to the couch, but that would bruise his ego into an irreparable state. No, he has to make it on his own. With a little wiggle of his hips, Fox rolls himself onto his stomach and crawls towards the couch. Usually, it's closer, but right now it feels klicks away.
Maker, he's tired. Why did he have to put the couch so far away from his desk? Or better yet, why can't it come to him? You'd think someone would've invented a moving couch by now, but no, the Galactic Republic is too busy making clones to do anything of real use in his lifetime. And yet, Fox continues to crawl towards his couch, cursing it every time he scoots closer. With one final push, he makes it, but accidentally bumps his head against the leg. He curses it again.
Now, it's just a matter of hoisting himself up onto the stupid thing so he can finally go to sleep. Once again, something that used to be so trivial is causing him grief. Why is it so high up? Why is the floor so far down? Why won't the room stop spinning? He wishes he could steady himself long enough to get a grip, but his body is heavy from the alcohol. However, with a little more effort and a lot more cursing, Fox grabs one of the cushions, pulls himself up, and flops onto the couch.
Thank the Maker, he finally made it. Fox rolls off of his stomach and situates himself with his back against the back of the couch so he doesn't suffocate himself within the couch cushions. Although, at this point, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea. He chuckles to himself about the thought. Thorn would kill him. He would find some way into the afterlife and kill him again for being such an idiot. Although, to him, it's a comforting thought; Thorn coming after him like that.
Even if Fox hates to admit it, Thorn is still his best friend. Some days they absolutely can't stand each other, but when push comes to shove, there's no one he'd rather have his back in this war. Perks of growing up together, he figures. Fox releases a wide yawn that makes his stomach churn, but he's happy that his body wants to rest. With a few slow breaths, he lets himself drift off to sleep, wondering if he'll wake up and finally remember or if his memory will still be adrift.
Fox groans as he stirs from his sleep. He slowly opens one eye and sees that it's still dark out, which means either he slept until the next evening or he barely slept at all. He doesn't feel drunk anymore, so maybe he did sleep for a while; an absolute miracle. Even more surprising is the fact that no one bothered him while he slept, which also means Thorn kept everyone away and covered for him. The idiot. He'll need to apologize and thank Thorn the next time he sees him.
Fox carefully shifts to sit himself up, holding the side of his head as it pounds from the hangover. He hasn't had a hangover like this in a very long time. He'll have to look at the label on the bottle and get himself another one of whatever it was. Blinking a few times to get rid of the glaze over his eyes, he looks around the room, but frowns when he sees the broken glass by the door. Oh yeah. I broke it. Guess he won't be buying another one of those anytime soon. What a shame.
With a deep breath, Fox hoists himself up off the couch and grabs the arm to steady his shaky legs. He doesn't feel woozy, but his body still feels heavy, like there are rocks in his head weighing him down. He rolls his neck, then his shoulders, and then arches his back to stretch it out. One of his vertebrae makes a popping sound and he groans. Even though he tried to lie down in a good position, couch-sleep is still not as nice as a bunk. He needs some ibuprofen.
Fox hobbles his way to the refresher connected to his office, and is, once again, thankful for the amenities he has access to as the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. It would be embarrassing to walk down to the guard barrack's communal refresher to compose himself. Thorn would get a good laugh, though, the jerk. He'd say something stupid just to piss him off. But that's the game they play, because Fox has embarrassed Thorn on multiple occasions too.
Fox steps into the refresher without flipping the light switch on, and twists the faucet knob to run the water cold. He cups the rushing water in his hands and splashes it onto his face. The cool water feels good on his hot skin and soothes his throbbing headache. He does that a few more times, and then one last good splash that he smooths over his unruly curls. He pats his face with the towel and stares at himself in the mirror, except something about his reflection is… off.
Fox rubs the towel across his face again, thinking he has some water stuck in his eyes making his vision blurry, but the reflection still looks odd. He then uses the towel to wipe down the mirror, leaving small streaks of water where he swiped, but that doesn't clear it either. Refusing to play with it any longer, Fox opens the mirror cabinet and grabs the bottle of ibuprofen. He pops a few and swallows them dry, wincing as he feels them go down his throat, then closes the cabinet.
Hi Fox , a voice says.
Fox startles and stumbles back, crashing against the opposite wall with a loud thud. "Kriff, Thorn!" Fox exclaims. He turns his head towards the refresher door to rip Thorn a new one, but he's not there. "Thorn?" he calls, but there's no answer. He peeks his head out of the refresher to see if there's anyone in his office, but it's still dark and empty. It's just him. He's never had a hangover that made him hear things before… he thinks. Fox's heart races with adrenaline.
Fox , the voice says.
Fox flinches at the sound of his name, and whips his head around to try and figure out who's calling him, but there's still no one there. "Thorn," Fox says. "I swear to the Maker, I will kill you."
So, you like to kill, huh? the voice says.
Fox freezes, his blood running cold. He didn't just hear that, did he? The sound of another clone talking to him, but he's still alone in the refresher. His instincts are screaming for him to run and find Thorn, because clearly he's hallucinating, or sick, or dying, or all three at once. He shouldn't be hearing voices, or at least he doesn't think he should be hearing voices. Fox closes his eyes and takes a couple deep breaths to calm himself and just hopes that whatever it is will go away.
It's rude to ignore people, you know , the voice says. Especially dead people.
Yup, he's crazy. He's one hundred percent certified crazy now. Not only is he hearing voices, but he's hearing voices of the dead . What did he do while he was drunk and asleep? Conjure a demon? Summon a spirit? Invite a deity to chat over some caf? How did he even do that? The other option is that he's still plastered and is hallucinating being sober. Honestly, both ideas sound equally as insane, but do they really make any less sense than him hearing voices?
"Whatever you are," Fox begins with a nervous voice, "I'm sorry for bothering you, but I'm going back to bed now."
Fox pushes himself off the wall and walks towards the refresher door to leave, but it slides shut before he can exit. He stares at the closed door and takes another deep breath, then releases it slowly. He slides his hands over his holsters, but the blasters are missing. They must have fallen out while he was sleeping and he didn't notice. He kicks himself for being so absentminded to leave them on the couch, but in his defense there aren't many who'd attack him in his own office.
Fox runs his tongue across his teeth and puffs his chest out before turning around to face whatever it is that's messing with him, but when he does, there's no one else in the refresher besides him. He bites his lip and nods his head. It must be a dream. He's living in a dream and he can't wake up. That has to be the answer. There's no other explanation. Once he wakes up, he's going to find Thorn and make him get rid of all of his liquor, because this isn't worth the trip.
I'm still waiting , the voice says impatiently. Are you gonna answer me or not?
Fox grits his teeth and thinks for a moment. If he answers the voice of the dead, is something bad going to happen to him? It's not like his life could get any worse. He's a dog of the Republic, he's shot and killed a brother, and he's probably the most hated commander in the GAR. There's not much else they can do to him. Fox startles at a sudden realization. The voice of the dead… a dead clone. Voice of the dead… killed. Fox's heartbeat pounds ferociously in his ears.
He takes a few steps towards the sink and peers into the mirror, the same mirror where his reflection didn't look right. He was so groggy when he first came in the refresher that it didn't dawn on him what in the reflection was off, just that it didn't look right. He stares at his reflection, and tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows as he studies the image, but his eyes grow wide when he realizes that the reflection didn't follow the tilt of his head. He moves in closer.
Boo , the reflection says with a smirk.
"Kriffin' osik!" Fox screams and out of reflex he punches the mirror, cracking it. He heaves in his breaths and pulls his fist back from the mirror, his glove protecting his skin from getting cut by the broken shards.
The reflection sighs and side steps into the part of the mirror that isn't as broken. Really? the reflection asks.
Fox is on the verge of hyperventilating. Fear and adrenaline taking control of every muscle in his body. His reflection is talking to him. It's moving without him. But it's not even him. He can clearly see that now. Fox takes a moment to study the image in the mirror. The armor is white, like a shiny's, their head is shaven, they have a goatee, and an Aurebesh tattoo on their right temple not far from a small linear scar. Fox's jaw drops. It's him. It's the clone he shot and killed.
Figure it out yet? the reflection asks, almost bored.
"You're…" Fox tries to speak, but he's still unsure of what he's actually seeing.
The name's Fives , the reflection says while tapping his Aurebesh tattoo. You should remember, since you killed me.
Fox is speechless and wide-eyed. He feels sick to his stomach. He knows who Fives is, but he still doesn't remember shooting him. He's never met him, and the only images he has are of him in his ARC armor, not whatever it is he's wearing now. Fox thinks back to the recording that was attached to the report, and remembers seeing himself shoot the white-armored clone. He did find it strange at the time, and it made him wonder why, but not enough to hallucinate about him.
"This isn't real," Fox says as he backs away from the mirror. "You're not real! You're dead !"
The reflection snorts. What? No remorse? No, sorry I killed you?
"I don't remember killing you!" Fox yells, half in shock and half in self-defense. His back touches the hard durasteel wall and he slides down it until he's sitting on the floor.
Don't remember? the reflection asks. You shot me! How could you forget that?
Fox pulls his knees to his chest, clasps his hands over his ears, and squeezes his eyes shut. "Just leave me alone!" he yells again, trying to make the voice go away. "I said I don't remember!"
I'm not leaving , the voice says. Not until you remember what you did to me.
"Go away!" Fox practically screams. "Leave me alone!" His breathing becomes labored and he feels like he's going to pass out. "This is… a nightmare."
Oh, Fox , the reflection chuckles, then pushes out of the mirror and folds its arms to lean on the edge of the sink and stare down at Fox. Your nightmare has just begun.
The next rotation has Fox feeling insane. The voice inside the mirror isn't just a voice anymore. It's a full body apparition that follows him around wherever he goes. He can't even take a piss without that thing watching him. He still wonders if it's the actual Fives or if it's just a figment of his imagination; maybe the subconscious part of his brain conjured it up because of the guilt he feels for killing the clone. He wants to tell Thorn about it, but even Thorn has limits on disbelief.
Hour after hour, the apparition asks if he remembers killing it yet, and hour after hour, Fox still has the same answer – no. Maker, he wishes it would just take a hike and go haunt someone else, even if it's just for a couple of minutes. There's nothing worse than trying to work or sleep while it watches him from across the room with its dark, cold, dead eyes and smug expression. If this is the real Fives, then he doesn't understand why Rex liked him so much.
Although, today has been strangely quiet. The apparition is nowhere to be seen, or heard, and Fox is taking the much needed alone time to catch up on the reports he's been neglecting since it first appeared. It must have been a figment of his imagination brought on by stress or something along those lines. There's always a logical explanation for everything, or so he thinks. Fox looks up from his data-pad when he hears a soft knock on his office door frame.
"I brought you some caf," Thorn says with a friendly smile. "Can I come in?"
Fox nods.
Thorn walks into the office, places the cup down in front of Fox, and sits on the corner of his desk.
Fox grabs the cup of hot, black caf and deeply inhales its alluring aroma. "Is this a peace offering?"
Thorn snorts. "You should be bringing me a peace offering for all that name calling."
Fox winces at the vague memory, then takes a sip. "Sorry."
"Apology accepted," Thorn says. "You're still a di'kut, though."
"So are you," Fox smirks.
Is he a friend of yours? the apparition asks as it appears next to Fox.
Fox startles and accidentally drops the cup of caf onto his lap. "Kriff!"
Thorn also startles and jumps off the corner of Fox's desk. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," Fox sighs. "Just grab me a towel, will ya?"
Thorn walks off towards the refresher to grab a towel.
He seems like a nice vod , the apparition says as it watches Thorn with interest. Is he your best friend?
Fox chooses to ignore the question and the ghost.
You know , the apparition continues. It hops up on the desk to sit in front of Fox, its legs dangling over the edge. I had a best friend once – actually two. They're both dead, now… Like me. Must be nice to have yours still alive, huh?
Fox glares at the apparition and snarls. "Don't you touch him!"
The apparition chuckles. I'm a ghost, remember? I can't even touch you. The apparition reaches out to touch Fox, but its hand goes straight through him. See? I'm not going to hurt your friend.
Fox continues to glare, not fully trusting what the apparition says. Thorn is his best friend, but this is his issue to deal with, and he's not going to drag Thorn down this insane hole of guilt and self-loathing with him. Even so, it would be great if Thorn could see the apparition too. Maybe then, he wouldn't feel so crazy about the whole situation. A little validation goes a long way in his mind. He just needs Thorn to see it once, then he can feel safe again, feel normal again.
"Fox?" Thorn asks in concern while handing him the towel. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Fox grabs the towel and pats himself and the chair dry. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Thorn isn't convinced, but doesn't argue.
I'm not fine , the apparition says. I'm dead .
Fox wants to say something in rebuttal, but Thorn's lack of comment about the elephant in the room makes him wonder. He turns his head to the apparition and then to Thorn, and then back again. "You don't see it, do you?"
"See what?" Thorn asks, a confused expression on his face.
"Nothing," Fox sighs and tosses the towel onto the desk before slumping back into his chair. "Nevermind."
"Fox," Thorn begins hesitantly. "I think you should see a medic. You've been acting strange lately and I'm worried."
Yeah, Fox , the apparition adds. You should see a medic for that missing memory issue . Maybe they can tell you why you killed me.
"I don't need a medic!" Fox exclaims. Thorn flinches and Fox bites his tongue. "Sorry. I'm just tired is all."
Thorn still isn't convinced, but he sighs and shakes his head. "Alright, I trust your judgment."
I don't , the apparition says. You shot me .
"Thanks," Fox says. His eye twitches. It's hard enough to keep his thoughts straight, but it's even harder when he has two people talking to him at once and only one of them is actually there.
"I'm here if you need me," Thorn says as he places a hand on Fox's shoulder. "Even if you just want to talk."
You can talk to me too , the apparition says.
"I appreciate that," Fox says, trying to give him his best fake smile.
Thorn throws Fox another look of concern, but turns and leaves his office all the same.
Fox immediately turns his attention to the apparition. "Can you just shut up?!"
No , the apparition says. That's the whole point of haunting. I'm supposed to be annoying.
Fox drops his head onto his desk and yells in frustration.
The apparition hops off the desk and kneels so it's face is on Fox's level. Just tell me why you killed me, Fox, it whispers. And I'll go away .
Fox clutches the sides of his head. "I'm trying," he chokes out. "But I can't remember."
It's been a week and Fox is on the verge of losing himself. He can't sleep. He can't eat. He can't do anything. The reports are piling up and questions are being asked. Thorn continues to check on him, and he appreciates it, but he wishes he'd stay away from him. Every time Thorn comes into his office, the apparition stares at him like he's a piece of meat. Fox knows the apparition can't hurt Thorn, at least, that's what he's been made to believe, but what if he's wrong?
He can't let it get Thorn, too. It can torment him all it wants, actually, it can even kill him if it wants, but he will not let anything happen to Thorn. Thorn is too good for this kind of torturous hell. Thorn hasn't killed any clones. He probably hasn't killed anyone . There's no reason for Thorn to be brought into this. It's him that the apparition wants. Its blood is on his hands, not Thorns. Thorn has nothing to do with any of this and Fox will do anything to protect him.
Hi Fox , the apparition says while leaning against the door frame of the office.
"What do you want?" Fox sneers from where he sits behind his desk.
The truth , the apparition says with a smug grin. You've been keeping it from me.
"Like I've said," Fox says. "I still don't remember."
Not good enough , the apparition says as it pushes itself off the door frame and approaches Fox's desk.
"I won't let you hurt Thorn," Fox says as he stands up.
What are you talking about? the apparition asks.
"Don't play dumb with me!" Fox exclaims. "I know you're going to hurt him to get back at me."
Are you alright, Fox? the apparition taunts. You seem a little off today.
"Get out of my head!" Fox yells as he clutches the sides of his head. "I know what you're doing!"
What's the matter? the apparition taunts. I've never seen you so unhinged before.
"Leave me alone!" Fox yells.
C'mon, Fox, the apparition walks closer. Tell me.
Fox draws one of his blasters and points it towards the ghostly figure. "Get away from me!"
Whoa, there, the apparition says, putting its hands up and taking a single step back. There's no need for that.
Fox breathes heavily. "I'm warning you!"
You won't shoot me, the apparition smirks. You have no reason to shoot me. Put the blaster down, Fox.
"I won't let you hurt him!" Fox yells, then fires a single bolt through the same spot as before, on the apparition's chest, through its heart. He watches as the apparition falls to its knees and clutches at its chest. That'll stop it. That'll shut it up. That'll make it leave him alone. That'll keep it from hurting– Thorn?
Fox pants with exasperation as his senses begin to clear. The vision of the apparition slowly dissipates, leaving behind the image of Thorn grasping at the hole in his chest. A look of pain, shock, horror, and confusion painted on his face as he looks at Fox. No. No, this can't be happening. He didn't. He couldn't. Did he shoot his best friend? It was the ghost. The ghost was right there. It was talking to him. It was taunting him. It was going to hurt Thorn.
"Fox," Thorn gasps. "Why?"
At the sound of Thorn's voice, the gravity of what Fox has done hits him like a ton of bricks. His eyes widen and his voice quivers. "Thorn."
Thorn collapses forward onto the floor and Fox rushes to his side.
"No, no, no, no," Fox rambles as he pulls his brother into his lap and applies pressure to the wound. "I need a medic!" he yells. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… I didn't know it was you. There was a ghost and it was in my head and I couldn't remember." Tears begin to well in Fox's eyes as he tries desperately to explain.
Thorn reaches up a hand to touch Fox's cheek and Fox grabs it with his own.
"I'm… sorry," Thorn says weakly. "I… wish… I… could've… helped… you…" Thorn's hand drops as his body goes limp and he breathes his last breath.
"Where's my medic!" Fox yells, tears now streaming down his face unabated. "Hang on, vod." He pulls his brother's lifeless body close to his chest and rocks him back and forth. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."
The apparition appears once again, crouches down in front of Fox, and looks apathetically at Thorn's lifeless body. It shakes its head. And to think all of this could've been avoided if you would've just told me what I wanted to know.
Fox looks at the apparition with murderous intent.
A vod for a vod , the apparition says with a smirk. At least you'll remember this one.
Event Masterlist
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AO3
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#tbbb writes#commander fox#tcw fox#fox#tbbb's 501st follower event#501st follower event#the clone wars#clone wars#tcw#star wars#clone wars fanfiction#clone wars fanfic#clone wars fic#tcw fanfiction#tcw fanfic#tcw fic#fanfiction#fanfic#fic
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want to cry!!!!!! fatphobia makes me want to cry so hard
a cute pic of Seiran and chubby Ringo, then boom next panel Seiran is making Ringo do situps whilst poking her belly. stabbed straight into my heart
#its so fkcing hard being triggered by smth so inescapable#also good on yall for making seiran a fatphobic piece of shit. is that cute and funny to you? what is the appeal here?#its cause u hate us right? ik that. we dont have the right to exist in a not-thin form ik that youd do anything to make us dissapear#if i had a friend that made me try to lose weight.. if they told me my body looked bad.. they would simply not be my friend#im so sorry. im very sad and angry and hurt hurt hurt#here come the waterworks wheeeeee#unfollowed the person i saw it from... i cant stay around ppl like that even if theyre friends w my friends#i cant do this. and mirrin warned me itll get so much worse due to new years resolutions. im so sad. i cant take it#pls make it stop pls let us just exist we are not bad or wrong for existing#fuck should i put trigger warnings....#tw fatphobia#tw body shaming#idk what else to put#god its so much more that body shaming. its abuse. its oppression. discrimination. cruelty on a global scale
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I think I'm putting my ship with Miles on hold for now. He deals with a subject matter that is particularly triggering for me at some point in the story, and it's not really a scene that can be written different just because that's where his character arc went. At least I don't think so. And it's....really troubling me to think of my s/i reacting to and dealing with that issue. Idk if any other shipper has had this kind of problem, but if they have, I'd like to know how they dealt with it. I don't wanna have to leave him after all this time, I love him. But I can't have a ship giving me pain. It's not like real life, it's supposed to be fun.
#;the nerd speaks#i'd need to put a trigger warning here just to even mention it#it's a sensitive topic#so...idk what to do for now#it's not like what was going on with tf2#i just didn't like the feel of the world so i just took medic and took off#this is different...sorta more complicated#and it can't really be fixed
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the girl next door 3
Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.
Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.
Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.
This lewk but silverfox
The noise of a lawnmower welcomes you out into the vibrant summer day. Your mother is already on the porch, sat on the patio bench. You can tell she’s primped herself up just a little bit. You put the jug of lemonade on the wicker table and stand by the end of the long eat.
“A kind man,” your mother muses beneath the racket of the mower, “about time we got someone decent ‘round here. You know,” she furrows her brow viciously, “those bitches from the cul-de-sac never liked your nana. Hate us even more. Stepford hags.”
You nod and peek over at Steve as he pushes the mower in a straight line. The grass falls to the blade and leaves thick clippings in rows. You twiddle your fingers as you notice the shine of sweat on the man’s forehead and forearms. His act of kindness feels more like pity.
“Don’t be stupid, girl, go grab some cups,” your mother snipes and draws your attention back to the porch. “That man’s going to think I raised a moron.”
You retreat back into the house. For as pleasant as she was to your new neighbour, it has done little for her mood. Or maybe it’s just you.
You grab two of the rippled plastic cups from the cupboard and head back down the hall. You stop as you reflection passes you in the mirror. You turn to face it. You frown. You’re nothing special to look at but you don’t do much to help that. You wonder if you put on some mascara or wore something nicer if you might look anything close to pretty.
You shrug off the fleeting insecurity. It’s not important. Your mother’s sick and your little uncertainties don’t mean anything. You push through the screen door and clack the cups down. As you do, the mower quiets and you peer over. The grass is trimmed neatly as Steve stands close to the steps, wiping his forehead as his cheeks burn rosy form the heat.
“Whew, think I’ll try some of that lemonade,” he climbs the steps, “hot one today.”
As he climbs the last step and he drags his hands down his tee shirt. His grey blonde hair droops forward and he tries to shake it out of his face. He tugs at the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head, revealing a sweat-dampened undershirt.
“Don’t mind me,” he chuckles as he uses the outer layer to mop his face and neck, “think I overdressed.”
“Get him some lemonade,” your mother hisses and points to the jug. “Steve, was it? What brings you to Heron Meadows?”
You unstack one cup from the other and fill both. You set the pitcher back down and step back on your heel, folding your hands together as you fade into the background. You’re peripheral to your mother. You only exist when she needs you.
“Well, settling down, I think,” he smiles and reaches for a cup. He raises it and stops it just in front of his chest. He carefully gestures at you with it, “thanks.”
Your eyes round and you glance away, “welcome.”
“Settling down?” Your mother echoes coyly.
“I know, I’m a bit late to the game. Had to get out of the city. Maybe I outgrew it,” he sighs, “and you two? Where’s your husband hanging out?”
You mother laughs and crosses one leg over the other, not easily as she struggles to still the shake in her foot, “long gone. He never saw this place.”
“Ah, hope I didn’t hit a sore spot,” Steve’s cheek dimples before he sips from the glass.
“Mm, don’t feel much for the deadbeat,” your mother tisks, “what about you? Settling down? Is your wife coming with the couch?”
“Ah, yeah,” he reaches over to plant his hand against the pillar that connects to the rail. He leans on it and gulps again. He swallows before he continues, his eyes meeting yours for the split second you dare to look up, “missed that step but the house will keep me busy until I figure that out.”
“Oh don’t you worry, that little club will keep you busy,” your mother scoffs, “make sure ya keep your picket fence nice and whitewashed.”
Steve gives a curious furrow of his brow. You mother sniffs as her little quip hangs in the air.
“HOA,” you put in quietly.
“Mm, I bought out of that,” he says. “Outdated if you ask me. I don’t need them telling me what colour to paint my door.”
“Bought out?” Your mother grumbles.
“I didn’t relish the extra lawyer fees but worth it,” Steve explains before he empties the cup and puts it back down, “thanks, that was great. Uh, guess I should get started on the back.”
You stand dumbly as you mother agrees with a grumble. An awkward silence thickens around you and she snaps in your direction with her fingers, “take him out back, honey.”
“Oh, uh, sure,” you clamour forward as if awoken from a slumber. “Just...” you near Steve and step around him to scurry down the stairs. “this way.”
He leaves his tee shirt draped over the railing and turns to follow. He looms like a shadow behind you and as you stop to reach over the top of the gate and unlock it, you scratch around blindly. He steps closer and hooks his arm over yours. The smell of his sweat fills your nose.
“Got it,” he says as he easily unlatches the clasp and the gate slants inward.
You push through, quickly making distance from him as he trails you into the backyard. It’s even worse than the front. You grab the broken mower from where you left it and drag it towards the garage.
“Great, I’ll go grab the mower,” he declares and leaves you to shove your way awkwardly into the side door of the garage. You push the rusted metal inside and the door snaps shut at your back as you emerge back into the sunlight.
Steve pushes through his nice electric mower and you shy away. It’s got to be close to new and no doubt expensive. You trod through the tall grass and as you pass him, his arm brushes yours.
“I could do the eaves too,” he stops beside you. “Get some of these weeds cut too.”
“No thanks,”
“I don’t mind,” he insists.
“I can manage.”
“You can. Probably a lot. Your mom...” he suggests, letting his words hang. “She sick?”
You glance at his chest, the white fabric taught to his muscles above his thick stomach. You nod.
“You take care of her?” He prompts.
“Do my best,” you mutter and traipse on, “thanks.”
“Right, uh,” he calls after you, “well, if you change your mind or think of anything, you can always ask.”
You keep on. He feels bad for you. Just like everyone else. You’ve heard Marge and Lucy on their daily power walk; poor thing, going nowhere, sad...
You go back out front, leaving the gate open. You go to grab the broom from the porch as your mother remains as she was. Her hand trembles on her thigh.
“You know, should clean up around here,” she says, “invite him for dinner as thank you. Maybe tomorrow.”
You take the broom and stop at the bottom of the steps, “maybe tomorrow,” you agree.
“He’s a nice man. Could use one of those,” she smirks, “never had one of those. Handsome to boot.”
It’s strange. You haven’t seen your mother smile since your grandma was around and even then, it wasn’t like this. The way she’s talking is almost ravenous. Like she’s slathering over a pork chop still on the grill.
“Just gonna sweep up the trimmings,” you explain as you drag the broom down the walk.
“Ugh, do whatever, you simple girl,” she chides. “When you’re done, you start on that kitchen. Those damn dishes have been sitting there all day.”
“Yes mother,” you say to the broomstick as you begin to sweep.
The sun beams relentlessly down, pouring onto you like fire. When you’re done, you return the broom to its place against the siding of the house and let yourself inside. Your mother hums as she watches the birds. You should be happy to see her outside, to see her in a better mood, but you’re too uneasy with the presence of that man. You know his name but it doesn’t make him any less a stranger.
You fill the sink and add soap. You plunge a stack of plates into the water and stare out the small window above. You can see the side of the next house. It isn’t much too look at but sometimes a squirrel will critter along the wooden fence top.
As you zone out, hands working mindlessly on scrubbing and dousing, a shift in the foggy colours of your vision brings your eyes into focus. You blink as Steve waves from outside. He rolls the mower up to the gate and smiles at you. You wince, jolted by the reminder of him. You offer a flutter of your soapy fingers.
He stops and stares at you through the window. You blink, uncertain what to do. He’s just looking at you. He winks and you wince at the gesture. He slaps his hand back down on the mower and pushes it through to the front yard. That was odd.
Or maybe you’re just awkward.
#steve rogers#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#drabble#the girl next door#series#au#silverfox au#mcu#marvel#captain america
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hi so this started as a life update and then turned into a major vent and i am very sorry so i am putting it under a cut. content warning for medical stuff and surgery and also college and also generally being upset
oh hey arthur update the medical issues i’ve been vaguing about for the past like week are officially not life threatening or anything and will be getting resolved in a surgery this tuesday. so recovering from that will be a super fun way to spend the last three weeks leading into my senior year, which i really badly overbooked with babysitting nearly every day and working my pizza job extra hours, both of which jobs are the kind where just calling in sick for one day causes actual problems for real people in ways that other jobs maybe wouldn’t. so i’m taking off both my jobs on the actual day of the surgery but otherwise i’m just. powering through it all
#starting on monday i’m taking on a whole other family to babysit on top of everything else!! wasn’t planning on a surgery in the midst#on the bright side maybe the money i make from the extra work will maybe possibly kinda sorta make a dent in the fees for all the#surgery and appointment costs even my fifteen minute visit at the cvs pharmacy cost a hundred freaking dollars#so umm let’s hope that the working i’ve been doing this summer amounts to a little more than just. not being in debt#also the family i babysit for hasn’t texted me back after i told them i had to schedule the surgery during a time i was supposed to be#babysitting. and i think they will understand but i feel terrible because they’re supposed to be able to count on me#and i also don’t want them to know i have a surgery because then they will ask me questions and i want my relationship with this family#to start and end with how i do puzzles with their kids. i don’t want to talk to them about scary personal stuff#plus what if they try to send me a care package or something they think i’m a cis girl named ari they wouldn’t know they have to be discreet#and i don’t want people irl to know about the surgery before it happens because then they’ll ask to see it and i don’t want them to see it#because at work i’ve been wearing a mask and nobody knows i’ve had a potentially cancerous growth for a freaking month#and anyway it’s not cancer or anything it’s just my stupid macrophages but i don’t want people to see it or talk to me about it until it’s#gone. in other news my older sister starts college on monday at the local community college that i will probably go to despite my efforts#so. no anxiety here tonight why in the world would i be terrified about anything right now what are you talking about how could there ever#(/s)#i sincerely hope everyone here is doing okay. i am sorry for kind of venting but i have been holding this stuff in a little bit too long#two people total outside from me and my family know what’s going on and i’m not looking to have any more irls find out#but i am bursting at the seams and a little bit terrified. not to mention the stupid college everything piling up on me right now it’s just#a little bit much. anyway the medical world is ridiculous and stupid and if i have to be on hold with one more surgeons office i will cry#and i’m just kind of here. i’ll put a thing at the top so that nobody has to read this. and trigger warnings and everything#and i really hope everyone is okay i am sorry for being a little too much right now#vent tw#medical tw#ask to tag#anyway i’m going to bed really soon i just. really really needed to yell about how much everything is. even if it’s going to get fixed#me. my post. mine.#delete later
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AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED
Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.
It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:
As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.
If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.
No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).
Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.
There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.
For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.
The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.
Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.
If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.
Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.
Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.
People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.
Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.
Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.
It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.
The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.
I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.
I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.
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─ BIRTHDAY GIRL
gojo, geto, nanami, toji x fem!reader (separately)
trigger warning: overstimulation, dirty talk (geto), use of handcuffs (nanami), public s!x, degradation (toji)
༘♡ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎
you wake up by the feeling of a soft tongue running against the skin of your inner thigh. opening your eyes slowly, the first thing you see is gojo's face, squishing his cheek against your thigh, lazy blue eyes watching you with a glint of adoration.
"morning beautiful." he whispers just before placing a kiss over your clothed pussy.
"w-what time is it?" you ask weakly, your legs already slightly trembling.
"who cares? today's your birthday, we can do whatever you want, we got all day..."
you watch him slowly raise his eyes at you again, smirking mischievously and you can feel his hot breath against you.
"so..." he begins to talk while running his fingertips along the curve of your hips. "what do you want, mmh?"
he's really asking that when his lips are a few centimeters away from your pussy.
"your mouth, I want your mouth..." you whisper to him and he smirks again.
"where? here?" he teases, taking your hand to kiss the back of it. "be more specific baby or else I can't give it to you..." he laughs at your disappointed face and whines a little as you gently tug at his white hair to bring him closer to where you need him most.
"hereeee satoru, need you here." you almost groan in frustration, lifting your hips in the air in a needy way.
"oh here?~" he murmurs just before kissing your hidden pussy, this time using his tongue to wet the soft fabric of your panties.
you feel the tip of his tongue circles around your clit and it makes you shiver, your eyes are already rolling back even though he barely touched you.
gojo loves to tease you, sometimes he makes you beg just for a kiss, but today's your birthday, so he will be nice, at least at first.
bonus:
he brings you gifts in the morning. a lot of gifts. even more than usual. clothes, jewelry, perfumes, flowers, books, nintendo switch, pokemon cards, anything you want, he got it.
༘♡ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎
you know your boyfriend has a thing for edging you. he likes to deny you for hours and hours, makes you cry and beg in frustration until you sound like a broken record, saying "please" over and over again... he just loves it when you're so horny and sensitive that he could make you cum just by blowing air on your pussy. but on special occasions, he likes to do the opposite, it's his way of spoiling you on your special day. he's so nice isn't he?
"su-suguru wait! you're... you're being mean!" you cry out, your trembling body trapped against his chest.
"I don't think your pussy agrees with you sweetheart, look how she's spasming when I remove my hand, she wants more..." he mocks with a wicked grin.
your skin burns with embarrassment at his words, talking about your genitals as if they were a real person. you'd be jealous if you weren't so overstimulated right now.
slowly, he puts two of his fingers inside you again and you moan at how full you feel just with his fingers alone.
he brings his mouth closer to your ear and you get goosebumps through your whole body, his lips almost touching your skin.
"come on lovely, give me one more I know you can." he whispers as he licks your earlobe.
"too much... can't..."
you squirm between his arms, your left hand desperately holding onto his forearm as his muscles flex while he pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy, his thumb toying with your clit. he clicks his tongue in disapproval and lifts your chin up so he can look at your face.
"you can still talk now can't you? mmh... looks like you're still using that brain of yours, let's fix that sweetheart."
while fingering you, he slides the thumb of his other hand in your mouth and you start sucking on it without even thinking, half lidded eyes trying to focus, your vision blurry as you can feel your sixth orgasm of the night coming. he smiles, flicking your clit a bit more harshly.
"cum sweet girl, you deserve to feel really good on your birthday."
bonus:
he takes you to your favorite restaurant <3 and he's smart enough to fuck you AFTER your date unlike toji 💀
༘♡ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈
"what is it? already giving up?" he asks and he smiles when you shake your head. "that's my girl."
nanami knows how to listen, it's one of the main reasons why you fell in love with him. he listens and remembers everything you tell him. so of course he remembered when you confessed that some day you'd like to be tied up to his bed during sex. and tonight, for your birthday, he has decided to indulge that fantasy of yours. at first he thought it was a bit silly, the smile on your face when he handcuffed you to the headboard of the bed made him laugh a little. it's only when he finds himself kneeling between your legs, facing you, watching your eyes darken with lust and the way you're already tugging at your restraints that he realizes his position. he has you under him, completely helpless, at the mercy of his teasing touch and his insatiable mouth as you impatiently wait for him and he suddenly feels like the luckiest man in the world. he caresses your thighs lovingly and starts to kiss your stomach, making his way up to your chest to bury his face in your sweet tits, licking and giving gentle bites to your soft skin. you whimper and squirm, quickly realizing how frustrating your little fantasy is going to be and he seems to notice.
he keeps kissing your body until his lips meet your own, taking your breath away with a sloppy kiss and you gasp in his mouth when you feel his knee against your pussy.
"work for it baby, show me how much you want me." he orders, his voice soft but firm and you can only obey.
swaying your hips, you start grinding against his knee, softly moaning, looking away with embarrassment when you see him looking down at you, hypnotized by the way you're moving your body.
"you're doing such a good job baby, keep going, wanna know how desperate you can get for me."
bonus:
nanami never takes breaks from work, except for your birthday. he takes you on a weekend where you both can relax and have some sweet sweet sex in a jacuzzi 🤤
༘♡ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈
you thought he was being weird as soon as you showed up in the outfit you had carefully chosen for your date at your favorite restaurant. he just looked at you from head to toe and nodded. he didn't even squeeze your ass when you walked past him and you ridiculously felt a bit sad about it. you should have known better, really.
now he's grabbing your hips with his big hands and forcing your body down onto his throbbing cock in the driver's seat, in the middle of the restaurant parking lot.
"m'sorry baby, I just can't resist you, you look so fucking good in that outfit." he moans in your ear and you have to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming.
he lowers one of his hands to grab your ass and he starts thrusting inside you, his cock rubbing all the right spots, making your thighs tremble and your eyes water.
you feel his other hand threading through your hair, forcing you to look down where both of your bodies are connected.
"look at the mess you've made honey, it's all over me. does getting fucked in a car turn you on that much?" he asks and he smiles when he feels you trying to meet the cruel thrusts of his hips while looking away from the view of your pussy soaking his cock.
you whimper when he pulls at your hair, forcing your head down once again.
"answer me. does my little slut like to get off to the thought of getting caught while I'm fucking her pretty pussy?"
and despite shaking your head you can't lie to him, almost salivating at the feeling of your swollen clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants while he keeps slamming his hips against your skin.
"fuck yes! yes I like it! I like it so much!" and he laughs at your dumb voice, seeing you so cock drunk never fails to amuse him, especially when you make such shameless noises with the rear windows half open... he'll tell you later.
bonus:
this car sex session leaves you both panting, sweat sticking on your foreheads, your hair all messy and let's not even talk about the cum dripping out of you right now. so you both decide to go back home and toji orders food from the restaurant you were supposed to go to.
#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jjk headcanons#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#toji fushiguro x reader#toji smut#toji x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru headcanons#gojo x reader#gojo smut#nanami kento smut#kento nanami headcanons#kento nanami x reader#nanami kento x reader#getou suguru x reader#geto suguru smut#geto suguru x reader#getou suguru smut
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18+ minors dni
1,000 follower celebration!! I love u all wow. thank you for all your support, truly. be warned, this is long. enjoy 💫
warnings: nsfw alphabet for dick grayson and jason todd, so there’s a variety of things under the cut. please proceed with caution 🩷
★・・・★・・・★・・・★
A | Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
jason is very different after sex. it’s a major act of trust for him, so when it’s done, all he really wants is to be close to you. in other words: he’s a big cuddler. he’ll mumble some things into your skin as you run your fingers through his hair, and after, you usually end up ordering enough food to feed a small family, because that man can eat.
dick is a loverboy at heart. once the dust has settled and you’re both down from your highs, he’s doting on you—bringing you water, a snack, cleaning you up with a damp cloth—with doe eyes and a big old grin. always invites you to have a shower with him afterwards, and you always say yes, because his shoulder rubs are divine.
B | Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
unsurprisingly, jason has some…issues with his body from all the shit it’s been through. that being said, I think he intentionally trains his back and shoulders the most. it’s what makes him look as huge as he does. as for his favourite thing about you, jason todd is an ass man, argue with the wall. he likes something he can grab. hard.
dick grayson knows his ass is fat. he’s not shy about it. but his favourite body part is actually his arms, and how muscular they’ve become over the years. as for you, he loves your hips. they trigger something primal in him; the second you put on a fitted dress, he’s thinking about giving you his children.
C | Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
jason gets nasty. he’ll cum anywhere on your body just for the obscene sight, but he especially loves to cum in your mouth when he’s feeling that extra bit dominant. he doesn’t care if you spit or swallow, it turns him on either way—but, god, he’s proud when you open your mouth to show him it’s all gone.
let’s cut to the chase. dick wants to cum inside you over and over again. he hardly even contemplates doing it anywhere else; that man wants to fill you up and watch you drip. maybe it’s his out-of-control breeding kink, maybe it’s how intimate it feels—whatever the case may be, rest assured dick grayson loves a creampie.
D | Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
voyeurism. jason likes to watch. it happened accidentally once when he walked in on you practicing some self-care, and he’s thought about it ever since. he enjoys the performance aspect of it; it’s a power play, watching you get yourself off, knowing he’s right there but refusing to help you.
this ties in with Q, but dick borders on exhibitionism sometimes. fucking you in his car, in the bathroom at a charity event, or in a changing room—anywhere you might get caught, really—god, it gets him going. it’s the daredevil in him, constantly yearning to test the limits of what he can do.
E | Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
I think jason had very limited to no experience before his death, and most of what knows today he learned by being with you. ever the fast learner, though, he sure as shit knows what he’s doing now. I think he’s very in-tune with your body and his needs, and it shows in the way he fucks you.
we have to face facts here. dick definitely got around before committing to a serious relationship. despite that, I think he knows what he’s doing thanks to his impeccable observational skills; sometimes you think he knows your body better than you do (but don’t tell him that; it goes straight to his head).
F | Favorite position (this goes without saying)
jason is a sucker for good old-fashioned doggy style, of course, but fuck, does he adore the prone bone position. trapping you under his body, hitting you deep with each thrust, and he gets to watch your ass jiggle at every movement? it borders on religious ecstasy for him.
dick goes feral—feral—for the mating press position. it’s erotic, carnal, and raw, and that’s exactly what he wants when he’s fucking you. he’s also partial to cowgirl, especially when he can tell you want to take control. the view it offers him is enough to have him whining underneath you for more.
G | Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
jason is more on the serious side; sex with him, intense as it may be, is still a big act of vulnerability on his part, so he doesn’t treat it lightly. he will, however, crack a warm smile on those occasions when you make love in the small hours of the morning, when he thinks you can’t see his face clearly.
dick is a tease, and sex with him is fun. he likes to flirt with you while he bends you into compromising positions, and he gets very cocky when you cum. he can’t help but make little quips after the fact, either; “something wrong with your leg, baby?” as your limbs twitch and tremble from your orgasm. jerk.
H | Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
in keeping with his rugged exterior, jason is only doing what he needs to in order to keep things manageable and convenient. he is not dedicating hours to manscaping. much to your elation, that means he keeps his happy trail intact.
dick is a little more meticulous in his grooming, being the “pretty boy” that he is. he prefers keeping himself neatly trimmed, partly to ensure more comfort in his nightwing suit—he’s learned the hard way that the pornstar look is a one-way ticket to chafing when you’re jumping off of buildings.
I | Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
jason really restrains himself from being outwardly intimate. he finds it hard to be that vulnerable, and while he loves the passion between you when you fuck, he’s only really able to tap into the romantic aspect if he’s wholly at ease. that’s not to say it never happens! it definitely does, just give him time.
he may be cocky and unserious when he’s fucking you, but sex with dick is always very openly intimate. he sees the beauty and romance in what you do together, and it’s truly special to him that he gets to witness you like this. sex is absolutely one of the ways he expresses his love and admiration for you.
J | Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
jason only really masturbates when he’s away from you on a mission, and needs to take the edge off. it’s less interesting without you, so he wants it done quick. he imagines you touching yourself as he does it—legs wide and eyes hazy—and that gets him to his peak extremely efficiently.
dick likes to edge himself. I said what I said. he’s thinking about how he’d much rather save his load for your pretty cunt, so he’s bucking his hips and screwing his eyes shut as he forces himself to stop right before his climax, reminding himself how good it’ll feel when he gets to fill you up.
K | Kink (one or more of their kinks)
overstimulation is jason’s go-to; he gets off on dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re hardly able to speak. he also loves forced eye contact, especially when you can barely keep your eyes open. oh, and he has a massive size kink. when you’re as huge as he is, everyone is small by comparison, and he likes how big you make him feel.
say it with me. dick grayson has a breeding kink. the visual aspect of cumming inside you is enough to drive him crazy, but the thought of getting you pregnant…now that makes him rabid. face-sitting is another big one; any variation of pussy-eating drives him wild, but having you sit on his face is his favourite way to do it.
L | Location (favorite places to do the do)
if you’re at home, anywhere is fair game to jason. he’s fucking you in the kitchen, in the bedroom, on the sofa, against the wall, in the office—anywhere. outside of home, he’s more restrictive, but he has thought about fucking you in the batmobile on the many occasions he’s stolen it.
the bedroom is definitely dick’s favourite place to fuck you; aside from making things feel more romantic, he wants you to be comfortable as he’s bending you into crazy positions. he also loves a shower quickie and car sex, impractical though they may be. don’t worry, he’s an acrobat. it’ll work.
M | Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
is it crazy to say that jason gets turned on when you argue? because he does. a moderate disagreement where you’re getting huffy with him is a surefire way to get bent over the sofa. oh, and if he feels even a little jealousy creeping over him, you’re in for a ride. also, if you nestle into him during the night, you’ll be contending with his hard cock pressed against your lower back until one of you caves.
dick is whipped. whatever you’re doing can get him going. cooking, reading, wearing his clothes—he loves everything you do. but, he’s particularly turned on whenever you dress up for a special occasion. it can be a little inconvenient when you’re running late for an event and he’s groping you over your gown in the limo, but how can you refuse those blue eyes?
N | No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
jason would be very resistant to anything that puts him in a submissive role (this goes for ak!jason too). this includes both sex acts and the use of props/toys that take control away from him; he’s just not into it. he’d also refuse any kind of roleplay, saying it’s unnecessary. he’s a pragmatic guy.
I think dick would really dislike the idea of hurting you. he’s not opposed to spanking, and he’ll even engage in some light breath play (ahem, headlock, anyone?), but he would never take it any further than that. if he bruised you through anything other than hickies, he’d be sick with guilt.
O | Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
it should come as no surprise that jason loves receiving head. there are few sights as enticing as watching you take his cock in your mouth while he instructs you to keep your eyes on him. he’s also very skilled in returning the favour, and his preference is eating you from the back so he can see your pretty ass move each time you squirm.
you know my stance on this. dick is a munch. he’s eating pussy like it’s his last meal before the end of the world, and he’s doing it for him. needless to say, he’s fucking good at it. receiving head is quite literally the last thing on his mind. that being said, when he does remember to let you reciprocate, all he can think about is how pretty you look while doing it.
P | Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
jason can get pretty rough, and he likes to fuck you hard, but he knows how much you can take. sex for him is partially an emotional release. but, he’s good at alternating between destroying you one day and being gentle the next; despite his tough facade, jay enjoys soft, passionate sex as much—if not more—than you do.
dick is kind of a hedonist; once he starts feeling pleasure, he doesn’t want it to end—especially when you start feeling it too. he’s happy to give you fast and rough if it’s what you want, but his preference is sloppy, erotic fucking. the messier you get, the better. although, if he’s got you in a mating press, the roughness seeps back in quickly.
Q | Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
while he’ll never say no to a quickie, jason prefers to take his time with you. once he starts, he finds it hard to stop, and he loves to see how much you can take from him before you’re spent. quickies are sporadic with him; he prefers to enjoy your body at his pace.
if he gets the chance to fuck you—hell, even just tease you—dick is going to take it. he loves the thrill and the sense of urgency that comes with quickies. whether it’s a hookup in his car or an impromptu blowjob when he’s supposed to be on patrol, his eyes are lighting up like it’s christmas.
R | Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
jason is not a risk-taker. he needs time to warm to any kind of experimentation, but he’s more likely to try things on you than on himself, like using light restraints on you or dabbling in sensory play. as long as he feels he has some control.
dick is a different story. he’s willing to try most things at least once, and he’s able to laugh it off if something goes south. he’s not opposed to switching (ha) things up and giving you the lead, either; he likes a woman in charge.
S | Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
maybe it’s his extensive training, maybe it’s just who he is; whatever the case may be, jason can go for a long time. but, it’s usually just one round that he draws out so he can really work you to your limit.
dick can handle multiple rounds if you give him time. his recovery consists of burying his face between your legs until he’s ready to go again, which doesn’t take very long once you start convulsing against his tongue.
T | Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
jason wouldn’t even think to use sex toys unless you brought it up, but he’d be open to using them on you if you asked. he’s quick to see the potential in your little pink vibrator when he holds it against your clit while he fucks you, noticing how much easier it is to overstimulate you this way.
ever the experimentalist, dick isn’t opposed to trying out toys in the bedroom. in fact, he’s the one who would show up with fuzzy blue handcuffs (“I got them in my colour!”) to restrain your hands behind your back, so he can devour your cunt without interference from you.
U | Unfair (how much they like to tease)
he’d like to tease you more, but jason doesn’t really have the restraint for it. as soon as you’re splayed out in front of him, he wants to take you. when he does tease, though, he likes to touch you everywhere but where you need him most, until you’re begging for him to make you feel good. then, he likes to make you regret it—over and over again.
dick is the world’s biggest tease, and you can look that up. he’s got you grinding on his lap, making out with you until you’re panting, only to say he needs to do some work as he stands up with a smirk. and when he finally gets you naked, he makes you tell him what you need while his fingers hover over your aching pussy, never reaching you.
V | Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
jason isn’t very loud at all, but the sounds he does make range from grunts and groans to the occasional low moan if you tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. he’s a big dirty talker, and he likes to get up in your ear to do it, so he knows you’re listening. he notices the way you shiver at his gravelly voice, and it drives him crazy.
dick is far less concerned about being quiet. he’s moaning, swearing, telling you how pretty you are, even occasionally whining, and he’s not worried about what your neighbours think—in fact, he’s making sure you’re just as vocal as he is, insisting you tell him how you feel. he’s also expressive when he cums, especially when he does it inside you.
W | Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
I know this is controversial, but jason would never agree to a threesome. this man is possessive. the mere thought of seeing someone else touch you in front of him is enough to make him see red, so no—he’d end up committing murder (not that it’s a far leap for him on a good day).
dick has a thing for watching you work out, especially when you’re doing yoga in the living room in those skin-tight pants. watching the way your limbs elongate and contract as you bend and stretch does things to him, but he never interrupts; the images stay in his mind for those long missions.
X | X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
jason is a behemoth of a man all over. and I do mean all over. he’s packing. an easy 8 inches (slightly more), thick, with a slight upwards curve and a prominent vein from the base to the tip—which is a mauvy pink, by the way. you’re still shocked you’re able to take him, and he was too the first time.
‘prettiest man alive also has a pretty cock’ would be dick’s headline. just over 6 inches, with enough girth to make you feel full, and a rosy pink tip that matches his lips…you could honestly just stare at it if he’d let you (and he probably would). he fits you like a glove every single time.
Y | Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
jason’s sex drive is pretty consistent; it’s always simmering a little ways below the surface. he’s able to compartmentalise it when he has to, but sex doubles as a form of stress-relief for him, so it happens…often.
dick has an incredibly high sex drive. like jason, he can reel it in when needed, but if it were up to him, you’d fuck every single day, twice even. I also truly believe that he’s regularly plagued by morning wood.
Z | Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
he’s going to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of, but the truth is jason could probably pass out in your arms about 10 minutes after you’re done. take it as a sign of how safe he feels with you as he’s snoring softly into your neck.
he’s definitely tired after sex, but dick is waiting until he notices you dozing off before he closes his eyes. once he’s out, though, good luck waking him up again without an air horn. he’s going to need his full eight hours to recharge.
#1k followers ummm!#this one is a doozy#but it’s a celebration so who cares#dick grayson#dick grayson smut#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x you#nightwing#nightwing smut#nightwing x reader#nightwing x you#jason todd#jason todd smut#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#red hood#red hood smut#red hood x reader#red hood x you#dc comics#batman#batfam#martiniluvr#dc comics x reader#fem reader
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ᡣ𐭩 HE'S THE SERPENTINE, HE'S MY COLLAR!
FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: you're finally back in yokohama after spending three years abroad dealing with mori's foreign business. the last person you want is to see dazai osamu, the wounds of his abrupt betrayal still too fresh for comfort. unfortunately, he decides to take matters into his own hands by showing up at your office in the middle of the night.
(wordcount: 7.1k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, f!receiving oral, gunplay, knife play (ish), spitting, pussy drunk!dazai (as always), light choking, overstim, office sex, semi-public/public sex, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing!)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. GUYS. i had so much fun writing this, this is finally usurping in paper rings and picture frames as my fav fic that i've written. HAHAHH. i hope you guys like it too!!
You hear the door to your office swing open, and you press your lips together tightly, irritation swimming through your head as your grip tightens on the pen you’re using to fill out your paperwork. It’s already late—you’re tired and your head hurts, but you can’t leave the building until Akutagawa comes to hand you the report for his failed mission so you can pass it up to the boss. And you know that whichever subordinate this is, it’s definitely not Akutagawa because the boy would rather claw his own throat out than walk into your office without knocking.
Which means it’s some upstart new recruit who has no manners and is likely going to make your night worse. You think being away for so long did some real damage to your reputation—three years ago, the lower ranked mafiosos avoided your floor like the plague, they didn’t barge in like they owned the place, but then again, you also had a certain dark-haired executive (ex-executive now, you remind yourself bitterly) lurking around your floor constantly trying to get your attention, and if people weren’t nervous enough about you, they were definitely terrified of him.
“Five seconds to explain why you came into my office without knocking or I’m putting a bullet through your fucking skull,” you say, voice acerbic, not even bothering to look up, the fingers of your free hand closing around the gun you have holstered at your side.
“There’s a few too many cameras in the hall for my liking to stand out there and wait for you to open the door.”
The fact that he manages to dodge the bullet shot in his direction is testament to his skill, but you’ve known Dazai Osamu long enough to know that when he dodges to the side, nine times out of ten, he dodges left, so you drop your pen as soon as you pull the trigger and swipe the knife laying haphazardly on your desk, launching it in his direction. You watch as his eyes widen just a bit when it impales the wall right next to his ear, just barely nicking his skin—both a warning and a threat.
“My, my, bella, you’ve gotten faster the past few years,” Dazai grins, unperturbed, smile as reckless and lazy as the day he left four years ago as he plucks the knife from the wall. “I’ve missed you too.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Dazai?” you ask, voice cold and sharp as your finger rests against the trigger of your gun. “How did you get up here?”
“Security’s gotten lax since I’ve been gone, I guess,” Dazai shrugs, but his eyes dance with mirth as he makes his way over to your desk. “You should probably do something about that.”
“Dazai,” you say, keeping your voice low and trying to reign in your temper. There are no cameras in your office, but the hall leading here is littered with them, hidden ones that were recently installed that he wouldn’t know about, if any one of them caught his face and it’s reported to Mori… “You think I won’t drag your ass to Mori myself? What the fuck are you doing?”
You’d have to, or it would be your head on the line for betraying the Port Mafia—you know better than anyone the treatment that traitors get, considering you were the one that dealt with them up until you were sent abroad three years ago to handle Mori’s foreign politics.
“I don’t know, will you?” Dazai counters, head tilted to the side as he takes a seat on top of your desk next to you, a smile on his face that makes you think he knows something that you don’t.
“Maybe,” you answer, finger twitching on the trigger as you keep your gun pointed in his direction.
Dazai is completely unbothered, leaning down until his nose is nearly brushing yours, lips tugged up in an unbearable smirk.
“Then do it,” he challenges, and you glare at him, jaw tight and eyes hard. He reaches out, fingertips brushing your skin, and you feel like you’re on fire beneath his touch. You hate that your body still betrays you to him. “Don’t look at me like that, bella. I won’t even resist, I promise, as long as you promise to be the one to put a bullet through my skull, so your face can be the last thing I see. Ah, that would be a lovely death, wouldn’t it?”
“You’re a fucking freak, Dazai,” you spit out, but make no move to get up or grab your phone. “What is wrong with you?”
Dazai doesn’t respond, only winking at you. Instead, his gaze shifts to the side and his hand drops from your face to his lap again. You hate even more that you miss his touch immediately.
“You still have my couch,” Dazai notes to himself quietly, an odd tone to his voice as he stares at the dark couch in the far corner of your office, where he’d bundle himself up under blankets to avoid Chuuya, because Chuuya used to avoid your office like the plague when the three of you were younger.
“It’s my couch,” you say tightly, even though you know no one has touched it since Dazai left, and the ugly orange blanket he liked so much is still draped over the back of it, and it probably still smells like him. Your throat feels swollen, and you steel away your emotions and continue with, “I’ve hardly been back here since you left, anyway. What do you want, Dazai?”
“I heard you were finally back in Yokohama,” he says. “I wanted to see you.”
“Fuck off,” you say roughly. “So you decide to break into the main base of the Port Mafia and come all the way up to my office? You know where my apartment is, you could’ve shown up there. What do you really want?”
“It’s the truth,” Dazai says easily, and his dark eyes meet yours—both of them, you note, and wonder when he decided to shed the bandages that covered his right eye. “I was at your apartment for a bit, I got impatient and came here instead.”
He’s telling the truth.
Oh, you realize—the clogged feeling in your throat is coming back, you force it away again and lean back in your chair, looking away from him to turn your gaze to the window. It’s well past midnight already, the moon is high in the sky and the stars are glittering above. In the distance, you can see the Ferris Wheel of Cosmo World glowing a bright purple color and a string of flashing red and blue lights as the police chase after someone.
“Why?” you ask finally, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the two of you.
“I told you,” Dazai says quietly, and your eyes turn back to him. He looks… happier, you can’t help but note. A sick part of you feels jealous—you’re not sure if you’re jealous because he’s free and you’re still stuck in this place, or if you’re jealous because he’s happier and he’s happier in a life without you. You think it might be the latter. “I miss you.”
“Don’t give me bullshit, Dazai,” you snap, still trying to push away all of the feelings you’ve repressed for so long. “Get out of here before you find yourself killed. I’m not going to turn you in, but I’m not saving you if you get caught.”
“It’s not bullshit,” Dazai tells you, voice sharp in a way that it only ever is when he’s starting to get annoyed. “I-”
A knock at your door cuts Dazai off mid-sentence. Both of you freeze, Dazai looks at you as if waiting to see what you’re going to do, and you can so easily finish this now, let whoever is at your door in and drag Dazai back down to the torture room where he belongs, but instead you find yourself reaching for him. Your hand intertwines with his hair roughly, and you revel a bit in the hiss that escapes his lips as you yank him off the desk and roll your chair backward, kicking the back of his knee so that he crumples to the ground and you can push him beneath your desk.
You lower your gun to your lap so you can keep it pointed at him and then glance down at him—he looks caught off-guard and disgruntled at being manhandled, but you think it's a bit funny how cramped he looks under there.
“Not a single word,” you warn before fixing your chair and raising your voice. “Come in.”
Akutagawa wastes no time stepping into your office, nodding his head in respect as he makes his way over to the chair on the opposite side of your desk, a bundle of papers in hand. He doesn’t hand you the pile right away and he looks uncharacteristically nervous, and you raise your eyebrows, wondering what the issue is.
“I am… unsure how to fill out some of the report,” Akutagawa says, unable to meet your eyes as he stares at the windows behind you. “The operation was… not a failure but not a success. The whole mission was in disarray, I do not know who was doing what at certain points.”
You stare at Akutagawa. “What do you want me to say to that?” you ask him, leaning back in your chair. “It’s your job to know that as the field officer for the mission. If you can’t handle that, Hirotsu will take back the position on the next major operation.”
Akutagawa bristles. “I can handle it,” he says, voice clipped. “This mission was just more chaotic than-”
“Than usual?” you ask idly, watching as he stiffens as your interruption. “This was child’s play, it’s unlike you to make excuses, Akutagawa.’
“I’m not making excuses,” he says immediately, “but…”
Akutagawa continues talking, but your attention is ripped away when you feel Dazai shift beneath the desk. You press your lips together tightly, stiffening as his hands rise to your thighs, spreading them a bit so he can settle between them. You glance down, he’s already peeking up at you, dark eyes glittering in a way that has you on edge.
Don’t you dare, you warn silently, but Dazai only takes it as further encouragement, pressing his lips to your clothed inner thigh, you can feel the warmth and wetness through your slacks. It takes all of your self-control to not inhale sharply when he starts trailing open-mouthed kisses up your thigh until his mouth is hovering right above your cunt.
You press the muzzle of your gun against his temple.
He smiles.
Your jaw clenches as he licks a long stripe between your legs through your slacks, making sure to press his tongue down hard over where your clit is hidden through your clothes. Akutagawa is still talking, oblivious to what’s happening beneath your desk as he airs his complaints about the mission. You could stop Dazai, place your foot on his shoulder and push him off of you, but you don’t, notably—you don’t want to acknowledge that though. You only vaguely hear Akutagawa’s issues, something about interference from a third party—the SDUP? What the hell were they doing there?— and Kajii blowing up an escape route.
“Give me the report,” you say, cutting him off mid-sentence, and holding out your hand. You’re grateful that your voice comes out steadier than you feel with Dazai trying to tongue fuck your through your pants.
As you lean forward to rip the papers from Akutagawa, you tense, feeling something sharp press against your inner thigh. Sitting back in your seat and glancing down, your eyes cut down to Dazai, who still has the knife you’d thrown at him and is using it to cut open your very expensive slacks.
You have half a mind to drive your foot into his face, but you refrain. If only barely.
It’s a miracle that you can keep your breath steady, because as Dazai cuts your pants, he kisses every inch of open skin that’s revealed to him. His lips are warm, wet, familiar—so familiar that your legs are instinctively spreading for him, giving him more room to work.
Your eyes scan the report but the words are just jumbled letters and not making any sense. Every time you try to understand, you feel Dazai’s teeth graze your thigh as he marks up your skin. You tense when you feel him bring the knife much closer to your cunt, to finish cutting off the material—you press the muzzle of your gun harder into the side of his head, warning him to be careful. You glance down only to see a hazy smile on his lips as he winks up at you, as if he’s drunk just off of the idea of what’s about to happen.
He works efficiently as always, freeing your lower body of your slacks and panties as quickly as possible, and he wastes no time burying his face between your legs. Your lashes flutter and the grip you have on your pen tightens dangerously, you think it might snap. Dazai’s tongue slides between your folds, lapping up the slick that had begun to pool—you know that if Akutagawa wasn’t sitting a few feet away, Dazai would be making a snide comment about how he knew you wanted him.
Dazai’s tongue flicks over your clit—you can feel him staring up at you, watching for every little reaction, the way your lip tightens as you bite back moans, the way your eyelids unconsciously start to slide shut, the way your breath is just a bit heavier than it usually is.
This is so dangerous, you think to yourself desperately. If Akutagawa of all people figures out that Dazai is here-
You nearly choke when Dazai shifts a bit underneath the desk to kneel at a better angle, grateful that Akutagawa seems to be too busy wallowing in his own mistakes to notice your struggle. Your gaze snaps down again, his eyes have fluttered shut as he buries his face deep into your cunt, nose pressed to your clit as he pushes his tongue into your hole and you can feel the way he lets out a silent, but shaky breath, barely holding back a moan.
You notice his free hand slide from where it was propped on your thigh down to his beige pants, fingers fumbling with the button as he desperately tries to slip his hand beneath his waistband to touch himself. You kick his wrist hard, using your foot to pin it against the side of your desk, watching him wince and withdraw his hand, looking up at you with those big brown eyes you can never say no to.
God, he’s pathetic, his lashes are wet and his cheeks are flushed, eyes glossed over with pleasure as he looks up at you and you know you’ll let go of his wrist if he looks at you like that any longer, so you turn your gaze back up to Akutagawa, who’s staring at his lap and waiting for you to finish the report.
“Get out,” you tell him, voice sharper than you intended. Akutagawa’s eyes snap up to you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Go, I’ll handle this.”
“But-”
“Your job is to take orders, not question them,” you bite out, watching frustration flash across the boy’s face as he rises to his feet. You’re not usually this harsh with the kid, but you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to last and Akutagawa cannot be in here when you cum. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach and that familiar hazy feeling clouding your mind. “Out, Akutagawa.”
Akutagawa inhales sharply but nods, turning stiffly on his heel to leave your office. As soon as the door to your office clicks shut, Dazai is pushing the chair backwards until the back of it hits the windows behind you, shifting into a more comfortable position as he resumes fucking you with his tongue in earnest.
He moans into you, wanton and shameless, any restraint he had because of Akutagawa’s presence is long gone. While he was careful to not make noise before, now the sloppy sound of his tongue dragging in and out of your cunt drowns out any other noise in your office, he sucks and slurps, he’s so disgusting, like he can’t get enough of the taste of you, a man who’s been starved for years.
The knife clatters to the ground as he reaches up with both hands to grab your thighs, sliding them over his shoulders so he can push his tongue even deeper inside of you. Only sheer pride drives you to push away the creeping fog as Dazai’s tongue slides back up between your folds to draw figure eights around your clit.
“I should pull the fucking trigger, pulling this shit when he was in here,” you spit out, head falling back as a breathy noise escapes your parted lips when Dazai sucks gently at your clit. He moans again, as if the idea itself turns him on—it probably does, he’s always talked about wanting to die between your thighs. “You’re a fucking freak, Dazai.”
He lets out a puff of air, you can’t tell if it's a laugh or another moan, maybe a mixture of both, but he’s too focused on drowning in your cunt to respond. Four years without him and you’ve forgotten just how good Dazai is with his tongue, working your body as easily as he did when the two of you were eighteen and seeking each other out before meetings and between missions for a quick fuck. You hate it—you hate that he’s treating you as if nothing has changed and you hate even more that your body is this responsive to him.
Betrayal, you think, your own body betrays you for him. Again.
“Fuck,” you gasp the word out when Dazai rolls your clit between his teeth gently, sending a jolt through your body that throws you off just enough for that fog you’ve been fighting off to finally win. You choke over a moan, head pressed back against your desk chair, forearm coming up to press against your forehead as your eyes slide shut. Your free hand finally finds its place in his hair, tightening around his dark locks, he lets out a whimper against you, tongue flicking over your clit. “Like that. Just like that.”
You can hardly keep your head on straight as he traces letters around the sensitive bud, you try to figure out what he’s spelling but you’re too far gone. Your head is light and your chest is heaving. You’re barely able to bite back moans as your thighs tighten around his head, hips rocking against his face. You don’t even know if he can breathe, you don’t think you care, so close to the edge that your entire body is tingling and trembling; you don’t think he cares either from the way he’s moaning into you.
It takes one last suck, one last swirl around your clit, and you’re crying out his name, spots dotting your vision as your grip on his hair tightens, pushing his face impossibly deeper into you as you grind your hips against his face. God, it feels never-ending, a noise too close to a sob nearly escapes your lips as Dazai ardently laps up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste. You can’t remember the last time you’ve cum this hard—with him, probably, you realize bitterly. None of the one-night stands you’ve had over the past few years have ever compared to him.
You’re still reeling even as you force yourself to straighten in your seat, not willing to let him know just how badly you’re thrown off by how intense your orgasm was. Your head is still spinning, vision still blurring, but you lift your leg and press your foot to Dazai’s shoulder, kicking him back and forcing him out from his position between your thighs.
He grunts, looking thoroughly disgruntled as he falls back on his ass, pouting up at you as he tries to catch his breath. He looks debauched, lips swollen and wet, your cum smeared on the lower half of his face. His cock is straining against his beige pants and his eyes are still glazed over; he’s looking up at you with an expression that’s nothing short of reverent.
God, he’s gorgeous.
You hate him.
You’ve missed him.
You shift in your seat and Dazai is lifting himself to his knees, immediately leaning closer, a hazy smile on his lips as he angles his face up and pointedly parts his lips, sticking his tongue out. You know what he wants and the heat that had been slowly dissipating returns with a vengeance, breath catching as you look down at him.
“You’re gross,” you tell him, watching the corner of his lips quirk up even as he keeps his tongue out and waiting.
You don’t deny him. You never can.
You shift forward, rising to your feet and reaching out to grab his chin, angling your face down. Your grip is too tight, it’ll leave bruises behind and you think that’s the least he deserves so you only tighten it a bit more as you lean over him. You don’t give him what he wants, not right away, letting the saliva gather on your tongue as you observe him, the way his pupils are blown wide and his chest is hardly rising and falling, as if he can’t even let himself breathe in anticipation.
Disgusting, you think again, but it’s fond this time, much to your displeasure.
You decide to put him out of his misery, letting the spit dribble from your mouth down to his. His eyes roll back as soon as it hits his tongue, and your hand slides from his chin to curl around his neck—not tight, just firm enough to feel the way his throat bobs as he swallows.
He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering back open as he looks up at you, entirely blissed out. Your hand slides down more, curling around the ugly bolo tie he’s wearing in place of the black one you’re used to. You tug it hard, beckoning him to his feet; he acquiesces, albeit on shaky legs.
Immediately, his hands find your hips as he pushes you against your desk, spinning you around to face it before his hand presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down to bend you over it. Your eyes widen at the sudden change in demeanor, something you’ll never be able to get used to no matter how many times you fuck him; it always caught you off guard back then, it still catches you off guard now. He pulls off the remnants of your destroyed slacks and immediately is grinding his bulge against your ass, a low moan spilling from his lips.
“How many people have you been with?” he suddenly asks, and you can hear him fumbling to unbutton his own pants. There’s an edge to his voice that you don’t like—something caught between jealousy and possessiveness, and you nearly want to scoff at it.
“What the fuck, Dazai?” you spit out, appalled and not expecting the question. “None of your damn business.”
You turn your head to the side to rest your cheek on the desk, looking back at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes are still a bit hazy but there’s a tight expression on his face, reminiscent of the one that would be directed toward you whenever he stumbled in on you entertaining anyone other than him years ago.
“Humor me,” he says, voice cold and eerily familiar. If you weren’t looking at him and if you couldn’t see the tan coat and bolo tie, you’d think you were talking to Dazai Osamu, Port Mafia Executive, and not Dazai Osamu, Detective.
“A lot,” you finally tell him, feeling the way he stiffens behind you. “I don’t keep count. You?”
You think he has some nerve asking when he’s probably slept around t-
“None.”
“Bullshit,” you snarl immediately. “How many? Don’t fucking lie to me, Dazai.”
“None,” he says again, gaze lifting from your back to meet yours, his eyes are dark—too dark, too still. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you assumed, because the way your chest swells with a confusing mixture of fear and arousal is far too familiar. “You’re the only one allowed to touch me.”
His gaze drags back down, with his pants unbuttoned, he lifts his free hand to caress the swell of your ass, a contemplative expression on his face as he stares down at you, his other hand still pinning you down to your desk. If your heart wasn’t thudding in your ears from sheer anticipation, you’d be irate over the fact that you were letting Dazai Osamu fuck you over your own desk in your own office, but you can’t bring yourself to care now.
“They never made you feel like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you want to scoff at his arrogance, but you can’t because he’s right. “They don’t know your body like I do.”
This time you do scoff. “You don’t know shit, Dazai. It’s been four years.”
Dazai’s eyes flicker back up to you, the way his lips curve up into a smile is dangerous.
“No?” he questions.
A challenge. You never back down from one, not from him.
“No.”
His smile sharpens.
“I know that after you cum for the first time,” he murmurs, rolling his hips forward. You bite back a moan when you feel the tip of his cock slip between your folds. “The second time comes right after.”
True to his words, your jaw falls slack and your entire body seizes as Dazai thrusts into you, splitting you right open on his cock. The moan he lets out is pornographic, and you wish you could see the way his head falls back and his eyes roll into his skull, but your own vision is white and you’re choking over a sob as you feel the familiar stretch of his cock against your walls.
“There you are.” Dazai has the nerve to let out a breathless laugh and another groan as he stills with his hips flush to your ass, feeling your walls spasm around him as you cum just from the feeling of him pushing inside of you. The hand he has placed between your shoulder blades slides up to curl around your throat. With a firm grip, he pulls you up so only your thighs are pressed against the edge of your desk, back flush to his chest as you gasp, reeling from the suddenness of your second orgasm. You can feel him smile as he nudges his nose against the side of your head, lips pressed to your ear. “The third time takes a bit after the second, but I’ll fuck you through it. Maybe a fourth too.”
“Dazai,” you gasp, eyes blown wide as your head falls back against his shoulder. You don’t know what you’re trying to say, maybe hold on, or wait, because you know you’ll embarrass yourself if he doesn’t give you a second to recover.
He hums in response, and the slow rolls of his hips, the drag of his cock against your walls, it has your head in the clouds, body trembling. Your lips part to speak but no words leave them, and right when you think you can finally force the words out, Dazai draws his hips back and snaps them back against yours hard. Your lips part in a silent moan, only the hand around your throat and the one pressed to your lower belly holds you up as Dazai fucks you at a brutal pace.
His face drops to the crook of your neck, he moans into your skin, teeth scraping hard as he kisses recklessly up and down every available inch. He’s going to leave marks, you realize, and that’s dangerous now that you’re back in Yokohama because you don’t need any of the other executives to get suspicious, but even if you wanted to tell him not to, you don’t think you’d be able to. Whatever little coherency you had left in your thought process does not translate when you try to speak, the only things leaving your lips being shaky moans and gasps of Dazai’s name.
“Made for me,” Dazai groans. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make the air you breathe in shallow, your head feels light and you’re not sure if it’s because of his grip or if it’s the feeling of his cock bullying so deep into you that you can feel his tip pressing up against your cervix. “Waited so many years for this, feels even better than I remember, pussy’s made for me, isn’t it?”
Dazai babbles into your ear as he fucks you, tongue just as filthy and unbridled as the day he left. Shameless. He’s so shameless. Doesn’t even care that anyone could walk into your office and catch the two of you; doesn’t care that if anyone does, he’ll end up executed. He’s fucking you in a building full of people that want him dead and all he cares about is how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.
Your breath hitches as Dazai shifts you to bend over just a little more, still keeping your back flush to his chest but fucking you at a new angle—one that nearly sends you spiraling over the edge for a third time.
“Gonna give me your third now?” he pants. His hand on your lower stomach slips down, lithe fingers dipping between your folds to search for your clit—your back arches against him when he finds it, a sob spilling from your lips, vision swimming with tears. Dazai laughs again, this one is strained, catching over a moan as your walls convulse around him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so tight.”
Unconsciously, his grip on your throat tightens, cutting off even more air. You can hardly breathe, you can hardly think—each thrust of his hips has your head spinning, ripping the little air you can inhale right out of your lungs. The tip of his cock rubs against that spongy spot inside of you every time he snaps his hips against yours, the quick circles he rubs on your clit are electrifying.
Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision spotty. One last thrust, one last circle, and you’re wrecked, sobbing out his name as your legs give out, only held up by the way he has your thighs pinned to your desk and his hand on your neck. You cum all over his cock so hard that you think you black out for a second, your mind fuzzy and pins and needles pricking all over your body.
Dazai doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your third orgasm, relishing in the way your body twitches and trembles, too sensitive for his touch.
“Your fourth will come quick,” he gasps. His pace is erratic now, chasing his own release. Your ears are ringing, heartbeat thudding in your ears, the wet, sloppy sound of his cock driving in and out of you resounding through your office. “I don’t think I’ll last for five. Shit, shit, I’m close.”
You have to force yourself to move. You want to see him when he finishes. Your hand wraps around his wrist, nails digging into his skin to try to get his attention. It takes all of your will power to push the two words from your lips: “Flip me.”
He does. Without any sort of hesitation, his hand drops from your throat to your waist. His cock slips out of you for a split second and your cunt aches at the loss, but Dazai is immediately pushing himself back into you as he hoists you up by the thighs, sitting you down on your desk and wrapping your legs around his waist.
Even through your blurry vision, Dazai is a fucking sight. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, pink lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed. His eyes glazed over and half rolled back as he chases his high. God, he’s stunning. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him.
You’re not thinking as you lift your hand to cup his cheek, sliding around to the back of his head to pull his face down to yours, moving on pure instinct. You drag him down to press your lips against his and Dazai is gone. The moment your lips touch his, he’s moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against you as he spills his cum deep inside of you, and he’s right, because the moment you feel his cum filling you up, warm and thick, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling around his cock, the stickiness smearing against your thighs and ruining your desk, you’re pushed over the edge for the fourth time.
This one is weaker than the rest, not a single noise escapes you but your jaw goes slack and Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around him again. But he takes advantage of your pliancy, pushing you back gently so that your back is flush to your desk. He follows you down, keeping his chest pressed to yours as he maps out your mouth with his tongue. He rolls his hips against yours, slow and deep, fucking his cum deeper into you as the two of you slowly come down from your highs. He slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, hand coming up to cup your cheek, his other sliding up and down one of your thighs.
It’s too intimate. You tell yourself that you only let it happen because you’re reeling from overstimulation but you know it's a lie.
You don’t even know how long you stay in that position with him. It could only be a few seconds, a few minutes, it could’ve been an hour for all you know, laying on your desk with him pressed on top of you, kissing you so passionately that it makes your head spin as much as the orgasms did.
Finally, you press your hand against his shoulder, signaling for him to get off of you. He does, albeit with a reluctant sigh. You stare up at the ceiling as Dazai shakily rebuttons his pants, making his way over to the closet where you still keep your spare clothes from when you have to stay over at the office to work.
What did you do?
You’re hyper aware of how swollen your lips are, of the marks littering your neck, of the cum dribbling out of your cunt, staining your desk.
If anyone finds out about this-
You don’t get to finish the thought, because Dazai comes back over to you. Neither of you speak as he takes a tissue to clean up his cum from your thighs and as it dribbles out of you, nor do you speak when he shifts you into a sitting position, helping you pull on a new pair of panties and a new pair of slacks.
He stands in front of you, dozens of indecipherable emotions rocketing across his face as his dark eyes search your expression for something. You don’t know what, and you don’t even want to look at him but you can’t draw your gaze away from him.
After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.
“I missed you,” he says, voice hoarse as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek.
You turn away from his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashes through his eyes.
“Why don’t you believe me? You think four years has changed how I feel about you? I thought you knew me better than that.”
“It’s been four years,” you say, and you hate that your voice wavers a bit. You blame it on still being hazy after your orgasm but you know it’s a weak excuse. You hate that he still has this effect on you after all these years. You hate that you always give into him, and you hate that you know you’ll never get enough of him. You want to hate him, but you can’t. “Knowing how to fuck me isn’t the same as knowing me as a person. I barely know you anymore. You barely know me. And it’s not like you were open with how you felt four years ago. So, forgive me if it’s a bit hard to believe, Dazai.”
“You wear the same perfume. You still shoot with your non-dominant hand for some god forsaken reason. Your lips still twitch whenever you get annoyed even though you do your best to stop it. You-”
“Stop.”
“You still talk to me like you hate me even though your eyes are all soft and you’re leaning in toward me.” Dazai doesn’t stop, and to your horror, he’s right—you had begun to lean in to him instinctively as he spoke. You try to shift away from him, but he follows, fingers grazing your cheek, chest brushing yours. You don’t pull away this time. “I still wear the same cologne you bought me for my sixteenth birthday because it reminds me of you—I spent two months trying to figure out where you bought it when it first ran out. I don’t carry a gun around as often, but when I do, I still try to do that stupid flipping trick you tried to teach me when we were seventeen—I still can’t do it, almost shot myself in the knee last time I tried.”
The laugh he lets out at the last sentence is hollow. He hesitates, as if he wants to continue but isn’t sure if he should. You can feel his blunt nails scraping gently against your skin, his palm warm against your cheek. You want to pull away but you’ve missed him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, and you find yourself sinking into his touch. You’ve always questioned why Mori sent you away for so long, angry because you figured he thought you were weak when it comes to Dazai and he didn’t want to risk anything.
Only a few days back in Yokohama, and you’re already proving him right.
“I’m not the same person,” you tell him, something desperate edges at your tone. Desperate to convince him, or yourself, you’re not sure.
“I still love you,” he rasps, voice quiet as if he’s scared to admit it even to himself, and your heart is suddenly lodged in your throat as you stare up at him with wide eyes, the words he refused to tell you back when you were teens ringing through your head over and over again. “I’ve always loved you. Thought about you every day. I missed you so much.”
“I should hate you,” you say, swallowing thickly, unshed tears blurring your vision. “You didn’t even say goodbye. When Mori said you defected in the middle of a mission, I laughed in his face. Not because I didn’t think you’d never betray the Port Mafia, but because I didn’t think you’d ever leave me without saying anything.”
“If I said goodbye to you, I never would have left,” Dazai tells you quietly, the admission echoing in your years. “And I had to leave. I had to.”
“I should hate you,” you repeat, voice a bit weaker now, and you feel pathetic for falling apart like this in front of him. But it’s Dazai, he’s always had this effect over you. You suppose some things haven’t changed, because that certainly hasn’t.
“I know,” he murmurs.
You inhale deeply, shaking your head as you push yourself off your desk and straighten out your clothes, trying to get your head back on straight. You should’ve known better than to think you’d be able to come back to Yokohama and pretend that Dazai Osamu didn’t exist, for better or for worse, the two of you would always find your way back to each other. Mori was right to send you away, although you suppose the man is rarely wrong anyway.
Dazai doesn’t say anything, watching you with an unreadable expression as you search through the ruined piles of paper on your desk for the report that Akutagawa had handed you. Your eye twitches when you realize that it’s stained, realizing that you’re going to have to rewrite the whole thing because you can’t submit a cum-stained report to Mori.
Dazai snorts behind you, as if realizing your predicament. The look you give him is lethal, he silences himself quickly.
“Don’t get yourself killed on the way out,” you tell him, grabbing your black jacket off your chair and swinging it over your shoulders as you look back at him. “If you make it out of here alive, I’ll see you at my apartment later. Then we can talk.”
His face twists. “What? Wait, don’t leave me here,” he panics, nearly tripping over his feet and your desk chair to follow after you. “Help me sneak out.”
“You got in here yourself,” you say dismissively. “Get out yourself.”
The noise he lets out is pathetic. “You do hate me,” he accuses.
“No, I could never,” you admit quietly. His expression softens a bit, but you give him a sharp smile. “But I’m definitely not going to make things easy for you. Akutagawa is still out here prowling around. So is Chuuya, actually. Said he’d be at the office all night today. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai smut#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu smut#dazai osamu x you#bsd x reader#bsd x you#bsd smut#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs smut#bungo stray dogs x you
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౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘
Pairing; Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader
Warnings; smut, dark themes, non con, breeding kink, oral- both receiving, degrading, size difference, unbalanced power dynamic, huge daddy kink, choking- to the point reader can’t breathe, dumbification, dacryphillia, spanking, steve is very dark in this, no aftercare!! i think thats it? Minors please DNI!!!!!
Summary; Steve Rogers, your boyfriend, the man everybody loved, his soul soft, standing against all evils. Until he got a taste of that sweet power. He became hungry. Now, you have no choice but to obey his rules. Can you bring him back to the light? Or is it too late? (it’s definitely too late)
here we have my first ever full fic! firstly i would like to give a huge thankyou to @dbnightingale24 for giving me the confidence and tips to write this! and another big thankyou to @evansbby and @hansensgirl for inspiring me in the first place for begin writing💘it’s around 3k words and i really put my all into this so please don’t forget to comment and reblog, i would love to hear all of your feedback!🫶🏻 much love, cherry.
₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧
Steve Rogers, the man everyone respected, the man everyone believed in, looked up too. The man you used to cherish, his sweet boyish nature drawing you in from the moment you met. His pearly blues that used to soften as they fell on you, his gentle touch as he caressed your hair, the tender, loving kisses he used to leave all over your body.
Until Fury resigned that was.
Steve was officially the new director of shield, to which nobody opposed, i mean, who would right? He was Captain America, the man out of time. He was perfcet for the role. Strong willed, commanding yet understanding, he had respect for those beneath him and most of all he was compassionate, something that was hard to find in a good leader. This didn't last for long, of course.
Steve shortly became power hungry, his morals became more sick and twisted as his methods became more sadistic. He was violent, cruel…volatile. There was no bringing back Steve Rogers. The problem was he dragged everybody else down with him, nobody dared to stand up to Steve, too frightened of the consequences.
Tony couldn't talk Steve down, he tried for a while, attempted to reach out to him, guide him back to the light...but nothing worked. Tony couldn't do it, nor could you, not even his best friend of over a decade could sway his newfound mindset. You all figured it was best to keep your heads down from now on and follow Steves orders, no matter how out of line they seemed.
Not that you had a choice anyway.
Bucky was short to follow in his footsteps as his second in command. Both cruel and unforgiving. Your friendship with Bucky was practically non-exhistant, you no longer had movie nights together, giggling with big buckets of popcorn.
A simple nod of his head as he passed you down the hall was about as much as you would get. Steve wouldn't allow it now anyway.
Steve's display of affection changed alongside him, the love he made was no longer passionate, or gentle. In fact, he didn’t make love at all anymore… what he made was simply rough, hard, fucking.
The marks he left behind were no longer loving hickeys while he whispered in your ear, moaning sweet nothings as he gently thrusted his hips into your own. His eyes, gleaming with nothing but pure devotion.
They were bruises... bruises from how hard his hips slammed into your ass from behind, his grip tight on your hair, pulling and tugging as your skin became flustered at the impact of his thrusts. You missed the man he was. You often thought about that life while his cock was busy destroying your cunt. He didn’t care about your pleasure anymore, you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck.
From a distance you could hear Steves heavy boots storming down the coridoor. The sound was instantly unsettling. Your body recognising the noise as a trigger for an oncoming threat, sending you into alert mode.
You stood from your office chair on shaky legs, your posture rigid as he turned the corner to enter. His 6'4, stoic figure coming into view, casting a shadow that filled the room. His broad shoulders spread wide, his presence making your tummy tighten with unease.
He said nothing as he stared down at you, your fingers tugging at your short pink skirt- which he had chosen out for you this morning, the same way he customised your figure every morning. Claiming your dumb, baby brain was incapable of choosing an outfit that proved elegance and professionalism. In reality it was the complete opposite.
He liked to dress you in short skirts, ones that left little to the imagination, your asscheeks peeking out most days and revealing blouses, your tits practically spilling out of your shirts. You were highly sought after by the males at the compound before he came and scooped you up a few years ago.
They knew you were his, i mean he was your boyfriend for several years, you were what the female agents used to coo at, naming you as "couple goals". Where Steve went, you went, and vice versa. You were always seen smiling and giggling together, tag teaming on missons and holding hands as you explored the compound.
But, as steves power grew so did his insecurity. His possesive nature grew strong, wanting, no, needing to show other men you belonged to him, and only him. And you always would, whether you liked it or not.
"Get on your knees."
"Wh-What?"
"Get on your knees. You know i don't like to repeat myself." he growls while pushing your office door closed with one arm from behind, not daring to take his eyes of you.
You gulped as he stepped forward, caging you inbetween his thick biceps as you lean against your desk. One thing he was always good at was making you feel small. Even before all of this. Of course it wasn't anywhere near as threatening as it was now. He used to joke about how tiny you were compared to him, how he could pick you up with one hand, it was cute how big and protective he was of you.
Now, he used it to his advantage. He knew you feared him. He knew that you knew, you would never be able to run from him. He would overpower you every damn time with his brute strength.
There was no running from Steve Rogers. His thick beard scraped against your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine as he groaned into your neck, your scent driving him wild.
He whispered darkly in your ear "Final chance. Get on your knees. Now, or you won't like what'll happen if you refuse me again."
You inhaled sharply, goosebumps spreading across your body in pure fear, or ecstacy. It was hard to tell these days. Steve had conditioned you so well to his own liking that even your body reacted to him in ways you would never fully understand. Or so he says.
Slowly you inched down towards the floor with your knees bent. The cold, rough flooring instantly proving to be uncomfortable as you figited. But Steve didn't care about that, why would he? His thick hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him through hooded eyelids.
His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, he then pushes further, massaging your tongue as saliva begins to pool in your mouth. Removing his thumb slowly, he tugged on your bottom lip with pinched fingers. Before you even realised what was happening he shoves two fingers down your throat.
You sputter and gag around his thick digits, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the hard floor. Your eyes squeezed shut in pain as tears began rolling down your flustered cheeks.
His other hand is quick to grip your hair, tugging harshly. "You fuckin' look at me while daddy gags you with his fingers. Actin' like you don't get off on this shit. You love it. Say 'thankyou daddy'." he mocks with a high pitched tone.
Desperately trying to get the words out, you mumble around his fingers, seeming incoherent. He laughs darkly at your poor attempt, shoving his fingers deeper down your throat, gagging you one last time before pulling out.
"You gonna' be a good whore n' suck my dick? Huh? You fuckin' slut." His hand reaches down, pulling your shirt to the side, making your tits spill out. You hear him let out a loud groan, his pants tightening at the sight of your bare chest. He pinches your hard nipple roughly, rolling it roughly inbetween his index finger and thumb as you cry out, tears continuing to stream down your cheeks.
He shushes your cries gently as he begins to massage the same spot he previously assaulted making you keen with pleasure.
He had a thing for associating pain with pleasure, confusing your silly little brain into thinking the hurt he put you through was a good thing since pleasure soon followed. That he was rewarding you.
"Unzip me. Cmon' you dumb baby, take daddys fat cock out."
Listening to your own heartbeat in your ears, your head pounding with adrenaline, your fingers itch towards his pants. Which was apparently too slow for his liking as his grip on your hair tightens, making you sqeeze your eyes shut briefly before opening them, not wanting to anger him further.
You hurridly unzip his pants, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. It's angry head pointing towards you as he grips the base with his other hand, slowing pumping his shaft over your face.
He pushes his bulbous tip into your closed lips, smearing his hot precum all over them. When you refuse to open your mouth he growls, pinching your nostrils closed. Feeling the air begin to leave your lungs, you gasp for breath and he's quick to shove his dick down your throat.
Gagging at the intrusion you cry harder, your lips stretching to fit around his thick length. his hips thrusting into your face as he fucks your throat harshly.
"That's it, you whore. Take daddys dick all the way down your throat. You fuckin' remember this the next time you try to refuse me."
His hand which was previously tugging at your hair moves towards your throat, holding you in a tight grip.
"Fuck... i can feel my fuckin' cock in that tiny throat of yours. Love it when you cry f' me, just makes me want to fuck you even harder, sweet girl." he grunts loudly over the sound of your gagging. Steve swiftly pulls his dick out as you keel over, coughing and sputtering, your throat sore from his brutal assault.
Before you even have a chance to gain your breath, his thick hands grip your shoulders, pulling you upright, bending you over your desk. Your legs shaking as he positions you so your ass is sticking out.
Lowering himself to the ground, he grips the flesh of your ass, squeezing roughly as he lifts up your skirt, briskly pulling your panties to the side. He shoves his nose into your pussy, groaning in delight at your sweet scent.
"Fuck i could live inbetween these slutty legs, your cunt's always ready for daddy, huh? Trained you so well." Your sticky juices smeared across your legs, dripping with desire, his facial hair bristling against your thighs making you squirm.
He mercilessly pushes his tongue as deep as it can go into your hole. You whimper as he laps up your wetness, his tongue prodding at your insides. Your arousal soaking his beard while your pussy clenched around his tongue. He pulls away for a moment, “God, how do you taste so fuckin’ good.” he groans.
Reaching back to grip his hair in your small fists, you go to push his face back into your cunt, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand grips your wrist tightly, pining your arm to the desk, a sure reminder of who's in charge, seeming as you had forgotten your place. “Stay fuckin’ still or i’ll stop. Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”
You moan lewdly as he moves to latch onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Groaning into your pussy as he fists his cock.
Your eyes begin to roll back as your orgasm itches closer. Steve, realising this, pulls away once again. Your juices stringing from your clit to his lips as you cry out, your orgasm beginning to fade.
"Stop with the fuckin' whining. Daddy's gonna' fuck you now. Tell daddy how much you want his cock...Cmon. No need to act all innocent now." he pressures at your hesitation.
"P-Please daddy wan' you to fuck me."
"You can do better than that." Steve husks, giving your ass a harsh smack from behind, knowing your skin will blister from his force.
Your lips quiver as you cry, "Please! N-Need your cock inside me so badly, wan' you to destroy me for anybody else. Wanna' feel you in my cervix daddy, Jus' wanna make you feel good. Love how full you make me feel. Please...I-I'll die if you don't fuck me. Pretty pretty ple-."
and before you can finish your sentence your cut off by your own scream, his cock dissapearing inbetween your folds as he bottoms out with a singular thrust. Your legs become slack as your body spasms at the intrustion, his hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as you squirm, instinctively trying to escape his hold.
"F-Fuck, Y-Your so big daddy. It hurts so bad, p-pull out!"
"Shut up." he groans as his thick hand covers your mouth from behind. “Gonna fuckin’ dog fuck you til you can’t think of anything but this fat fuckin’ cock you dirty little slut, you hear me?” he practically growls as he begins to fuck you.
The sound of clapping skin begins to fill the room, agents around the compound sure to hear the way his dick bruitalises your cunt.
"Such a filthy girl i have, always so desperate for daddy to fuck you, even when you try and deny it, i know this sweet pussy would never lie to me." He coos in your ear as you sob, your face wet with tears and saliva.
"My messy whore, see what happens when you don't listen to me? You see what a mess you become? Fuck. You look so pretty like this, this is how you should always be, filled to the brim with my fat dick.”
Steve had always loved fucking you braindead, watching as your eyes glaze over and your tongue begins to hang out of your mouth, drooling all over yourself. It made him feel powerful, like you were dependent on him. Which you were in a sense, always so needy and desperate for him to fuck you.
The impact of his animalistic thrusts turn your skin raw as he speeds up. His arm wrapping around your waist, pressing you close to him as he spreads his legs further apart, hitting a new angle inside your pussy. You let out a loud wanton moan as his balls slap against your clit.
“F-Fuck yes! H-Harder daddy.”
“Yeah? You like that? I know you do, it’s okay. Is my little girls brain goin’ fuzzy? Huh? Poor girl.” Steve mocked, amusement clear in his tone. "M' gonna' cum. Daddy please can i cum?" you whine, the knot in your stomach tightening, a warning that your orgasm was near.
"Yeah baby? You gonna' cum for me you dirty whore? Go ahead, cum all over my dick. Can feel you clenching around me, grippin' me like a fuckin' vice."
Your cream coats his length as you let out a muffled cry, biting your lip harshly as you cum.
"T-Thankyou daddy. Feels s-so good..." you babble, your thick cream creating a ring around the base of his cock. Your weight giving out once again as Steve holds you, smirking as he watches you come undone, giving you no escape from his relentless thrusts.
His thick shaft pummeling your insides as you scream with ecstacy, your pussy throbbing as he fucks you through your high.
"F-Fuck look at that... love watching your cream leak around my cock, taking this dick so good for me. Gonna' cum inside you...yeah? You want daddy to fill you up?" he groans as his own orgasm nears, talking himself through it.
"God, this cunt treats me like a fuckin' king. It's coming baby, daddys gonna cum, Oh fuck fuckkk." his hips twitch and his balls throb as his load begins to fill you, shooting out thick ropes of hot cum into your pussy. Moaning at the sensation of his warmth inside you.
“Take my fuckin’ cum. That’s it, good girl. Love watchin’ your pussy swallow my hot fuckin load, bet you love it too, hm? You slut.” he pants, exhausted from the brutal fucking he just gave you.
He snaps out of it almost instantly, pulling out without warning and tucking his softening cock back into his pants.
Giving your ass a harsh smack, he steps back. You turn to look at him, your eyes glazed over. He stares at the ground with no emotion as he combs his locks with his fingers, making himself seem presentable.
Hope fills you, your heart races as you lick your lips in anticipation, wondering if he will stay to comfort you and hold you the way he used to many months ago.
But he doesn't. You get nothing but a short glance as he turns to exit your office, slamming the door shut on his way out. You slump down against the floor, a complete mess.
Your soft cries turn to sobs, breathing rapidly, your hands gripping your hair as you raise your knees to your chest. It was almost as if he had you in a trance when he was burried inside your cunt, as soon as he was done it was like the fog in your brain had cleared.
People told you there was no bringing the old Steve back, that your sweet, caring boyfriend was gone. Replaced by a monster.
You didn't want to believe them... but maybe you should've.
#chris evans#chris evans x reader#chris evans fanfic#chris evans smut#chris evans x y/n#chris evans x you#chris evans imagine#chris evans x female reader#steve rogers#nomad steve rogers#nomad steve#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers smut#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#nomad steve rogers x reader#dark steve rogers#dark chris evans#dark! steve rogers x reader#dark fic#fanfiction#steve rogers fic#chris evans fic#chxrrys fics!
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