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oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part Two)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Butterflies getting caught in throats with no words to help explain. Time standing still with a heart breaking. Determination and a willingness to see it through float away in sleep.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw injury (nothing major, just a wrist injury)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 6644

Shoutout to @damianodavide, who was a superb help on this chapter and the real life nurse behind this one ;) 😘

***

Damiano’s head was spinning. As soon as he closed his eyes, Y/n’s face appeared in front of him, eyes hooded, lips plumps from just having kissed him, and an expression that promised a need for more. It left him bothered in a way that he knew would not let him sleep until he took care of it. Trying to pretend it was her feminine hand instead of his own rather undignified touch, he reached into the waistband of his underwear immediately letting out a hiss at the contact.

He was desperate for her, but if he couldn’t have her, his imagination would have to do. Pictures flashed through his mind as he moved his hand. Her on her knees, looking up at him through long lashes. He had already gotten a taste of the way she reacted when he complimented her, watching her eyes go wide as he called her a good girl. Her being good for him. Her on her back, ready to be devoured by him in any way he pleased. Feeling his hands go into her hair pulling her face up to look at him. Her bent over whatever furniture he could find, willing to let him have his way with her. Deeply, madly, irrefutably, he wanted it all. She was truly making him lose his mind. Her body and the way she moved were infatuating. Her laugh when someone did something dumb. The look in her eyes when she teased him back. He could still feel the kiss she left on his lips. He never wanted that feeling to end. Brava ragazza mia.

He came with an embarrassingly loud groan, unable to hold back or keep quiet. For a moment, in the silence, he wondered if anyone had heard. He was well aware that his room was surrounded by those of bandmates and crew, but he couldn’t remember who it was exactly anyway, and it didn’t bother him for long, his hazy mind drifting around once again.

***

“Where is your mind at?” Y/n looked up as Victoria pulled her out of her thoughts unexpectedly. Y/n had stopped in Victoria's room after breakfast, trying to keep tabs on what everyone’s plans were on their day off. She had meant to get some work done as Victoria was busying herself getting ready, but it had ended up with her staring into the distance, laptop almost forgotten on her lap.

“Oh, sorry. I’m here, what were you saying?”

“I asked where your mind is at.” Victoria fell forward laying on the bed. Y/n knew that the blonde was starting to learn to read her like a book and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“Yeah, um, listen. What would you say to someone that may have absolutely decimated her career, by maybe accidentally kissing her boss while they were all high?” She didn’t dare look at the bassist, bracing herself for whatever negative reaction would potentially come from this.

Victoria sat up in surprise, eyes wide and the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “I’m going to need a lot more information than that.” Without giving in to Y/n’s slight protest, she removed the laptop from the assistant’s legs, closing it shut and putting it away. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, there wasn’t much to it really. We sat on the couch, you know that. And I said something stupid about how his eyes looked like chocolates, or maybe gemstones? I don’t quite remember. Anyway, then he pulled my hair out of the hair-tie. I went to kiss his cheek, but he turned his face. Fuck, it was bad. Not the kiss! He is very good at that! But I shouldn’t have done that. And then he just went ‘it's cool, it happens’. What does that even mean?!” She was talking much too quickly, getting it all out before the rational part of her brain would make her shut up. Make her remember she was talking to someone she’d only just started getting to know a week ago, who she was working for. “Then Thomas crashed and you know how that ended. Now I might be avoiding him. Just a bit.” She looked at Vic with a slight panic in her eyes, unsure if she had said too much.

Victoria, on the other hand, seemed delighted to no end, if a little shocked. “Wait, as if you kissed with all of us there and no one noticed!” She exclaimed, briefly pausing, contemplating, but shaking it off to get back to the conversation. “So… Good kiss, huh? Did you enjoy it then? Wanna do it again?” Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Victoria! That is not what I am worried about here! I could lose my job. I- I could never show my face out there again if people found out. And I really enjoy this job, you know!” Her face scrunched a little bit, calming down with a sigh. “...But also, yes, he was a gentleman, and if he wanted to … kiss me again, I probably wouldn’t say no. But I also wouldn’t say yes. I work for you. This is not the time to be thinking about how much I enjoyed kissing Damiano!”

Her eyes went wide as her voice dropped to a whisper, looking down at her hands. “Ah fuck, I said that out loud.”

“Okay, let’s look at it from a rational standpoint then.” Victoria turned slightly more serious at seeing her panic. “There is no way you’ll be losing your job over this. Maybe I wouldn’t advise hopping into bed with the whole band and crew, but we always got a tight-knit relationship with people we work with anyway, you know that. None of us would rat you out to management or anything. Plus, if you liked and Damiano liked it… wouldn’t it be a shame to worry about anything else instead of going for it?”

“I don’t know if he liked it. I was busy trying not to pass out, to be honest. I avoided him this morning by going straight to your room. I actually kind of avoided everyone, I’m scared the words of what happened will just come out to anyone who asks… Kind of like they just did with you.” She let out another deep sigh, switching between looking at her nails, picking at them, and out the window. “If he ...you know ... Then maybe. I honestly don’t even know what I would do with that information. On the off chance that he did like it though. And wanted to go for it then I’d consider it.” She tried to remain as put together as possible and, well aware that she was failing miserably.

“Well, in that case, we have to find out what Damiano wants!” Victoria’s enthusiasm was back with a vengeance. “You should talk to him! Or should I talk to him? Maybe I should lock you in a room like those romcoms and threaten to not let you out again until you kiss.”

“Or you don’t do that because that is entrapment. I think I would be cool with you talking to him. But I still have to do my job. That comes first. Because as far as I am concerned,” Y/n got up and grabbed her laptop again, “it is business as usual. And last night was a fluke. Not to crush your rom-com dreams, love, but if I spoke to him I’d put my foot in my mouth faster than you can play bass.”

The smirk on Vic’s face didn’t promise anything good. “We’ll see about that, we’ll see,” she ominously muttered, before jumping up from the bed. “Now stop trying to pretend you got work to do, we’re going vintage clothes shopping.”

***

The thrift store turned out to be a small hole-in-the-wall kind of place, just off a side street - perfect for shopping in peace without getting much attention at all. Y/n hadn’t been all that keen on keeping the band company for this little adventure, but Victoria had insisted, claiming she needed a female perspective in case the boys were being stupid again. It had only taken a serious case of the puppy dog eyes to win her over, and Victoria found herself making a mental note to remember it.

The store was stuffed full of clothes, a kind of chaos that seemed to have an order that only the owner really understood. But it looked like heaven, and within seconds everyone had vanished into some corner or other, dying to find their newest favourite piece. For a moment, Victoria contemplated who she wanted to follow first, feeling the need to talk to at least two different people but also never wanting to miss out on a chance to go crazy with Thomas. Ended up deciding on Damiano. It seemed the more pressing issue. She hadn’t failed to notice how he would try to pretend that everything was normal, yet continuously evading Y/n’s eyes. She had kept her distance all the same. This wasn’t acceptable. She had to do something, Victoria decided.

She found the singer shuffling through some blouses, although much more half-heartedly than he tended to be when it came to vintage clothes. Looking out from the racks Victoria saw Y/n doing the same. She briefly considered how to go on about this - admit that Y/n had told her what had happened? Pretend she had actually seen the kiss last night? - but figured that Damiano would start talking on his own accord sooner or later. Especially if this was affecting him the way it was Y/n, and she was almost hoping it was.

“Okay, spill, what’s up with you today?”

Damiano shrugged, pulling a shirt out from the rack, and holding it against his body, waiting for Victoria's opinion. She raised a brow and put it back wordlessly.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he responded rather vaguely.

“Damia, you’ve barely spoken at all today. Normally you can’t shut up. And you know, I’d be thankful for some peace and quiet from you, but you’re actually worrying me. So what’s going on with you?”

Damiano had a panicked look on his face as he scanned over the racks of clothes, his eyes flickering back and forth, obviously noticing Y/n shuffling through some things and slowly getting closer. Taking Vic by surprise, he dragged her into the dressing rooms.

“Okay, that’s…. Weirdly intimate, but go on,” Vic mumbled to herself as he closed the curtain behind them, still nervously looking around the small space.

“Rather talk to you in here, than her hear me out there. I may have fucked up, royally.” He crossed his arms over his chest and Victoria was sure he would be burning a hole into the wall with his vision if he possessed that power. He was avoiding looking at her and she knew it.

“Explain,” she simply demanded, sitting down on the tiny stool in the corner and looking up at Damiano. She wanted to hear it from him, hear what had happened in his version of the story, hear what was bothering him so much.

“So we were at that bar, right? Y/n was sitting next to me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you were there. Anyway. We were talking. I don’t know if it was the smoking or whatever else, but I looked at her and - I don’t know why I did this but I did. I pulled her hair out of her hair tie.” He leaned on the wall, his head hitting the brick behind him. He groaned but Vic assumed it didn’t have anything to do with the pain. “And… and she was so beautiful. Her hair just all around her. So soft. And at that moment, she was laughing and it sounded heavenly. And I went to look at her again and suddenly my lips were on hers…” His voice softened at the end, losing his train of thought and drifting. She had never quite seen him like this. “Then she was freaking out, and I told her some fucking stupid line like ‘it happens’. I just wanted her to calm down but… Now she must think I’d just...” He groaned, slumping a little and finally looking over at Vic. “Then she ran off to help Thomas.”

“So, what you’re saying then is that you did enjoy it? Potentially wanna do it again?” She felt transported back to the conversation she’d had with Y/n just hours earlier, posing almost the exact same question. She had never been this involved with any of her friends’ relationships to this extent, but something told her that her help was desperately needed in this case.

He raised a brow at her. “Did you not hear the part where after we kissed she then proceeded to freak out? I doubt that she even wants to see my face right now.” A heavy sigh left him and Victoria found herself laying a hand on his arm. “And of course I want to kiss her again, Vic. I close my eyes and she is there. Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

***

Y/n stood in the shoe aisle holding a pair of heels in her hand, contemplating for a second, before putting them on. Turning towards Ethan, who was walking towards her now, she realised it had eliminated all height differences between them. Definitely too high, she thought to herself. Holding onto his shoulders, she clumsily took them back off.

“Hey Ethan, find anything good?” The smile on her face felt forced but she was praying he wouldn’t see it.

He proudly holds up a black, studded belt with an intricate design on it, as well as a pink suede jacket. “How about you? I think I saw some nice trousers over there that might suit you. Wanna check it out?”

Y/n scoffed. She didn’t want to let her mood out on Ethan, trying her hardest to stay diplomatic. “Love the idea, but I doubt any of the clothes in here would go over my thigh. They’d fit you guys just great though. The jacket looks good, by the way.” She tried to distract herself from - well, everything - by putting the shoes away, mindlessly letting her fingers wander over the other pairs standing there.

Ethan looked at her in contemplation for a moment, but seemed to decide against following his train of thought. “At least try on some more shoes. Here, what about these?” He excitedly grabbed a pair of high-heeled boots, very much in the style she could see any of them wearing on stage - much less the one she usually went for when working.

A little intimidated, she took the shoes, if only to humour him. Ethan was nothing but a sweetheart, this was the least she could do. She put them on only with some slight struggle. She once again reached his height, almost amused by the feeling of seeing eye-to-eye with him, but the shoes felt strange. Very far removed from the usual flats, sneakers, boots, or whatever other pair that would allow her to keep running around all day without regretting it in the evening.

“Do I look silly?”

“You look gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.” His voice had the most earnest tone to it and it was only supported by the way he studied her, looking her up and down. “Maybe walk a few steps to see if you can get used to it.”

She laughed as she proceeded to strut and partially dance some steps down the aisle to the song playing in the store. “I haven’t worn heels in so long, still got it though!”.” Her small smile grew into a grin, rather proud of herself for still being able to keep up. Going to the mirror near Ethan she looked at the shoes, then at herself in the shoes, then back at Ethan. Still, the insecurity took over for a moment. Her voice seemed small when she asked, “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you like that,” he replied, putting a hand over his heart for emphasis. “Want to go and see what the others think? I saw Thomas over there, and Vic and Dami disappeared into that corner a while ago.”

“Right, good idea.” She walked over to the dressing room looking for Damiano and Victoria, figuring they had gone to try on some things. Well, she was mainly looking for Victoria, still uncomfortable at the thought of facing the singer. She was in the middle of calling out for them when Damiano’s voice seeped through the curtain instead. She didn’t mean to listen, only to wait for him to stop so she could interrupt, but the second she realised what he was saying she wished she had never come over.

“Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

She stepped back. Frozen in place. Her heart was beating out of her chest, hurting, aching, breaking just that little bit. Processing what he had said seemed to happen not at all and then suddenly all at once. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. Anything but this suffocation. She needed to leave.

“I need some air.”

The words came out of her mouth much louder than anticipated, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that people were looking at her now. She didn’t care that was still wearing a pair of shoes that she had definitely not paid for yet. She just needed out, out, out, and away from all this. From him.

She didn’t realise she was walking on cobblestone until she wasn’t anymore, her ankle giving way, arms desperately trying to keep her from falling as she stumbled.

***

Damiano and Victoria stopped in their tracks as they heard someone approach from outside of the dressing room. Both heads turned towards the sound, when Y/n’s voice came through, telling maybe no one in particular that she needed some air. Her voice sounded strange. Damiano was convinced he had never heard that particular tone in it. As he threw back the curtain, he saw her stumble outside, clearly hectic, and he could feel a surge of panic run through him. Something wasn't right here. He forgot all about the conversation he was having, all about Victoria, and made his way outside. Not quite running, but the worry had him out of the door quickly. His heart sank when he saw her, lying on the floor just outside of the shop, holding her arm awkwardly, some scratches already beginning to bleed a little. As she looked up at him, he could see tears pricking at her eyes.

"Fuck, are you okay? What happened? I just saw-" The look on her face - or rather, the way she turned away from him - shut him up instantly. This wasn't the time to bombard her with questions. It didn't matter anyway. Instead of bothering her further, he quickly knelt down beside her, helping her sit up in return. He was acutely aware of the way she pulled away the second he touched her skin. Like she had been burned. ´

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry to ruin the shopping trip, you can go back in if you want to," she mumbled, trying to wipe some tears away but instead spreading some dirt and drying blood onto her cheek instead. Damiano wanted to touch her, clean her up, dry her tears, but the way she had pulled away a minute ago made him not want to try. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm her more. He watched as she pulled out her wallet, handing it to him. "Go pay for the shoes please. And stop looking at me like that, I said I’m fine."

Yet, as soon as she moved, she winced in pain, taking a deep breath before getting herself up to a standing position. He found himself holding her arm in support, but she only accepted it for as long as necessary. As he let go, she let out a small cry of pain, obviously holding her hurt wrist the wrong way.

“You’re obviously not fine,” Damiano sighed. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, but she was already in tears, turning away, and it simply didn’t seem like a sensible option. He looked around at the others as they gathered around Y/n. Only Thomas was missing, probably still blissfully unaware inside the shop and browsing for clothes. He tossed the wallet to Ethan. “Would you mind paying for her shoes real quick?” Ethan nodded, walking back into the store. Y/n was still standing between them, holding her arm close to her body in a protective gesture. Almost a similar expression to the one she had had on her face on the plane all those days ago. He wondered if something was scaring her the way the turbulence did back then.

“I am and will be fine, Damiano.” Her voice was stern. “I cry at a lot of things, this is no different. I wrap it up, put ice on it for a while and I’m golden.”

He watched as Victoria put a tentative hand on Y/n’s shoulder. She didn’t pull away from her touch, he noticed. “Y/n, that really doesn’t look like nothing. Look, it’s starting to swell up already.”

"What do you want me to do then?" She almost sounded resigned now as she looked back and forth between Damiano and Victoria. "We are in Amsterdam. I don't exactly have a GP on speed dial here. Now, where is Ethan with my wallet?"

She started walking towards the door of the shop, but Damiano defiantly held out his arm to stop her. "We are taking you to A&E."

Her face seemed to drain of all colour, and this time it was not because of the pain. "You are not taking me to a hospital."

Damiano looked at her, determination in his eyes, trying to make her understand that this was non-negotiable. Just for now, he would forget about the way she was brushing him off, the way she was evading his touch, the way she did not even want to look at him. Because right now she needed him and he would be there for her, if she wanted him to be or not.

"Yes, I am. Final decision. You would do the same for us if we got hurt. But we're responsible for you too, you're part of our crew, and right now, being responsible means getting this checked out. Besides, you're not getting your wallet back until you agree."

As soon as Ethan stepped outside again, this time with a slightly confused-looking Thomas in tow, Damiano snatched the wallet from his hands only to put it in his own jeans pocket. She was mad, obviously turning whatever was bothering her into anger, but Damiano was having none of it and he hoped the look in his eyes told her so.

"Fine! Take me to the hospital. But know that I am not happy about this."

"I don't need you to be. I just need you to come with me."

***

A quick refresher of her rudimentary Dutch verified that she was indeed looking for "spoedeisende hulp", another search on the internet confirmed that there was a hospital nearby, and before she knew it, she had been whisked into a taxi with Damiano. The others had decided to make their way back to the hotel, no point in clogging up the waiting room. Damiano promised to call with any news immediately.

Y/n wouldn't tell him, certainly not right then and there but she was happy that Damiano seemed to take the lead for once. She wouldn't have had any problems had any of the others needed medical help - but having people fuss about her? Making her the center of attention in a way she did not intend to be and having to accept help from others?... It was a completely different story. Still she appreciated the way he handled the situation, making sure she got registered with the administration straight away, listening attentively for further instructions, and leading her into the waiting area. She was also glad that it seemed to be quiet, not only because it would result in less of a wait, but also because the bustling would have made her all the more nervous.

This was out of her comfort zone. She had managed to avoid hospitals for the majority of her life, and yet here she was, because she panicked and couldn't handle her shoes. Looking down at them, she wanted to curse them. Curse the fact that they made her walk over to Damiano and Victoria in the first place, curse the fact that she had heard Damiano speak about her that way, curse the fact that they carried her out the door but not much further. She didn't even know where her actual shoes were. Hopefully, Ethan had kept his head and collected them on the way out after paying.

A few seats down, someone coughed loudly, reminding her exactly of where she was. It wasn't the worst hospital she had ever been in, that much was true, but she would rather not see one from the inside at all. She was dying for some comfort, some soothing words, a gentle touch, but as soon as Damiano made any attempt at reaching out to her she pulled back. His words were still heavily playing on her mind, the swelling of her wrist and the heat that seemed to seep from it a painful reminder. There was no way she was going to let herself fall, be reassured and consoled by him when he was so obviously sick of her presence. She wouldn't do that to either of them. Victoria with all her good intentions be damned. At least right now.

“Why are they not calling you in, it doesn’t even look like they’re doing anything,” Damiano grumbled next to her, eyes on the nurse’s station where a few of them were sitting. A few eyes were on them, something that looked like an excited discussion.

“Stop it, I’m sure they’re busy at work. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean they aren’t”, she bit back, slightly harsher than intended. He shot her a look, eyebrows raised, but she turned away, not looking to have a deeper conversation.

It left Damiano sitting in silence. Leaving both of them in the same situation, again. Y/n and him alone. Well, alone enough. Alone enough to not have anyone distract her from the uncomfortable feeling that settled over them. No Thomas being silly, no Victoria making a dumb comment, no calming presence of Ethan. Through this whole process, Y/n had basically crawled back into herself. She wished she could disappear.

She didn't know how much time had passed when they were finally called, too preoccupied with her own thoughts and the pain in her wrist. The nurse that beckoned them over had the warmest smile on her face, albeit tired eyes and it surprised Y/n how much comfort she found in the soft expression of the woman. White slacks, rolled up sleeves, pockets so full it looked like they were bursting at the seams, dark hair up in a bun. She found herself looking over at Damiano, wondering if he was aware of how gorgeous this woman was, how kind and calming her aura was, but his eyes were trained solely on her. She didn't allow herself to get lost in his gaze, quickly dropping hers and following the nurse into an examination room.

“Hi, I’m Ana, I’m going to be your nurse for today. You only speak English, am I correct?” She asked, gesturing for both of them to sit down, Y/n on the examination table and Damiano on a chair next to it. There was a slight twinge of an accent in her speech, but it was clear that she was fluent, which was a relief. Y/n didn’t even want to think about trying to get this done with the few words she knew in Dutch. She nodded, gratefully. “We’re going to go over what happened, and then I’ll do a physical examination, and the doctor will see you after as well.”

Y/n watched as the nurse fumbled with the computer, seemingly already typing things before Y/n had even said anything. “So, what exactly happened?”

“I, uh, tried on some heels and tripped on the cobblestone outside,” Y/n explained, taking a moment to glare at the offending shoes still on her feet. “Fell forwards, tried to soften the blow with my hands and now my wrist looks like this.” She held up the offending arm, gathering that the sight would speak for itself. The dried blood of the little scrapes on the palms of her hand did its best to make it look more dramatic than it felt.

“Oh, yeah that looks quite painful,” the nurse winced. “I see you’ve scraped your knee as well.”

Y/n looked down, slightly confused, only to realise her jeans had torn, revealing a beat-up knee underneath. Crap, she hadn’t even noticed, too occupied with… well, everything else. This felt like it was getting worse by the second, she never wanted to get back to a hotel room this badly. She felt like crying, but letting Damiano see her composure waver was the last thing she would allow.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed, moving her legs as if it gave her a chance of hiding her bruises.

“It’s not nothing, Y/n,” Damiano sighed next to her, before turning towards the nurse. “I think it’s more serious than she’s letting on.” In the same determined tone from before.

The nurse looked back and forth between the two of them. “It’s probably the shock of it.”

Oh yeah, the shock. Mainly that of finding out that Damiano didn’t want her around, apparently.

The nurse asked a few more questions, time of the accident, previous medical history, medication she was taking regularly, but they barely reached her. She found herself answering curtly, with Damiano filling in where he could. She wouldn’t tell him she was thankful for it. Even though the idea of him taking care of her made her emotional.

“Right, let’s get that wrist looked at then.” Y/n had feared it would be painful but as soon as the nurse started handling her? She knew it was her job to feel the joints, test her range of motion, move her arm. But unwelcome tears emerged in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to push Damiano’s hand away, as she almost reveled in the comforting touch on her back. The small talk didn’t even begin to make for a distraction. Yet, something was nagging at the back of Y/n’s head as she watched the nurse interact with Damiano. There was a familiarity in her eyes… Did she know who he was? Surely not.

“This will need an X-Ray to make sure it’s not broken,” the nurse concluded, finally letting go of her wrist. Damiano whispered a quiet ‘You okay?’ over to her, but she couldn’t do anything but nod. “I will bandage the scrapes a bit while we wait for a doctor. So, what brings you to Amsterdam today?”

“Work,” Y/n answered, trying to keep some degree of privacy, but Damiano didn’t seem to mind butting in immediately.

“I’m in a band, we’re on tour. She’s our assistant and overall angel.” She wanted to shoot him a look, both at the unnecessary honesty and the over-the-top way he was describing her, but a touch to her banged-up knee distracted her.

A doctor popped into the room quickly verified everything the nurse had told him And before she knew it she was being led down a hallway to get an X-Ray. Damiano stayed behind in the room.

“Cute couple, the two of you,” the nurse piped up next to her.

“Um, yeah, no. Not a couple. Just a working relationship.”

“You sure about that?”

Y/n almost wanted to stop dead in her tracks, ask the nurse what on earth had given her that idea, but she also knew she was here to get examined and the last thing she wanted to do was annoy the person responsible.

“Very. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s made that crystal clear.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t look like you in a way that suggests he doesn’t like you. If anything, I would have guessed he was head-over-heels for you.”

Y/n was stumped for a reply. Was this woman making fun of her? She didn’t look like someone who would. So why would she say these things? With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, Y/n decided she would have to talk to Damiano at some point. Have him either stand by his statement and back off, or explain what the hell he was doing. Because she was starting to lack comprehension about any of it.

She was glad the rest of the appointment seemed to fly by in a hurry, or maybe Y/n’s brain had simply gone into power-saving mode, not really taking it what as happening around her anymore. Her exhaustion was tangible. The X-Ray was done quickly enough, someone sent her back to the examination room, and before she knew it, the doctor had announced that it was, in fact, not broken. A quick wrap around her wrist, some instructions on how to care for it (that Damiano seemed to listen to more closely than she did), and she was almost out the door. She was sure she would have fallen asleep on the examination table. It was only the nurse quickly saying her goodbye and adding another comment that almost threw her off balance again.

“Bye, guys. And by the way, nice show yesterday. I promise I wasn’t the one who threw the bra.”

***

It was dark out by the time Y/n and Damiano made it back to the hotel. He had made sure to text the others, telling them to go for dinner without them, they’d be fine, and he figured she would need some rest. The hotel restaurant was quiet enough and he motioned towards it, but Y/n shook her head.

“I’ve got a few snacks in my room, but honestly, I’m not hungry at all. I just want to go to bed.”

Yet, tired as she was, it only took one pointed look for her to shut him up, so he simply nodded and led her towards the elevators.

“At least let me bring you to your room and see if you need any more help. And I can give you your wallet back.”

He could tell in the way she stiffened next to him, the way she barely reacted to his words, that she wasn’t keen on the idea, but he wouldn’t let her get away with it. He was desperate to find out what was bothering her and why she was so distant, but he couldn’t figure it out. Was the kiss still playing on her mind? Was she uncomfortable with him? It was the last thing he wanted. He needed to show her he was willing to be there for her.

Closing the door of her room behind him, a shout rang through the room.

“These fucking things, I hate them!” She was loud and angry while trying to get her shoes off, but her voice was wavering and if he watched her in just the right light he was convinced he was seeing the beginning of tears forming in her eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’s fine,” he tried to soothe, unsure if he was going about it the wrong way, but quickly bending in front of where she was sitting on the bed. She kicked her heels once more in frustration, obviously unable to get them off with her wrist still compromised.

“Don’t shush me when it’s all your fault,” she whispered and he almost stopped dead in his tracks, but he figured she hadn’t meant for him to hear. He stayed quiet, against everything in his heart telling him to find out what she was talking about. Instead, he focused on removing her shoes, gentle touches against her bare skin. Looking up at her, he realised that she was studying him, watching his every move, and he concentrated even harder on being the perfect gentleman. Yet, when he pulled the second shoe off her, he couldn’t help letting his hand rest on her calf a little longer than necessary.

“Come on, let’s get you into some pyjamas,” he decided, getting up and putting some distance between them. Too afraid of getting ahead of himself, of letting his hands wander more than appropriate places, of saying something he shouldn’t. He threw what he gathered to be her sleepwear in her general directions. “If you need any help changing because of your wrist, let me know.”

He hoped his smile was as sincere as he meant it. Either way, she didn’t give him much of a reaction, grabbing the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. A few sharp hisses reached him through the door, but he knew better than to offer his help again.

He wasn’t sure what the acceptable place for him to sit was, but since the room didn’t offer anything but a worn-out armchair and the bed, he decided that choosing the far side of the mattress wasn’t too bad. He didn’t even realise she had left the en-suite until her voice reached him.

“We really need to talk, Damiano.” She sounded resigned and tired and he wished he could wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was alright, but it didn’t seem like the right time. As soon as she reached the side of the bed opposite him, she all but collapsed on it. She sleepily grabbed one of the many unnecessary hotel pillows they placed on the bed and nuzzled her face into it.

“There will be more than enough time for that tomorrow,” he replied, grabbing the blanket and making sure she was fully covered by it. “It’s been a long day, try to get some rest.”

She didn’t even manage to argue anymore, eyes already fluttering closed, breathing slowly becoming more steady. She was gorgeous like this. A soft calm overtaking the scene. No wall up that kept everyone else from her inner thoughts. No front that she put up in desperate attempts to remain professional. Just a softness etched into her features that highlighted her natural divine beauty.

He wanted to take her worries away. He hoped that whenever they did get to talk tomorrow, it would yield some clarity. The last thing he wanted was for her to ever feel this way. He had grown so attached to her, so obsessed with the idea of having her around, that he already feared the end of the tour. If she would give him any option to stay in her life, he would take it, whatever way it was.

Damiano barely noticed the way he was slipping down on the mattress, his fingers softly patting her head, eyelids getting heavy. The last thing on his mind was Y/n, sleeping soundly next to him and wishing for nothing but to make her happy.

***

Taglist | @damianodavide @lizstans @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you @vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3 @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy @till-you-scream-and-cry @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @marriedwithmarktuan @bookish0918 @mehrmonga @kanevill @butterfly-skinnylegend @lidiyabest @killerqueen1985 @ccweasley @bluscryn @deluxeplanteater @ohtorchio @messyhairday-me @bidet-and-legolas @maybanksslut @katyldamusic @fuckim-so-gay @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @petit-poussin @fedorable-killjoys @luvbadass @buttercup-beeee @navs-bhat @etaerealboyv @tryymebitch @mell-bell @fenhakwe @solacestyles @softforlukescurls @vicsangel @theimpossiblehologramtree @alina-exe @cherricola66 @supercorp-mari @onlykissystyless @thatonebraziliangirl @dannasixxworld @immrbrightside @lifeofa-fangirl @gr8rainbowpunk @que--sera--sera @unitersmoonshine @achilleveleno

#maneskin fiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x you #damiano david x reader #damiano david fiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x you #maneskin x reader #quiet music #bethanysnow #mywriting

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naranciasimp · 3 years

Note

Hello I hope requests are open! :) Platonic lowkey romantic Bucci Gang (Not Poly but like the whole gang interacting with reader simultaneously) with a crush that always dances while eating for some reason AAA she could be crying but once food is served and she's munching she just wiggles and jiggles and jumps AAA FLUFF THANK YOU!!!

Food Makes Things Better

Bucciarati Gang x Reader

You were having a bad day. You woke up in a shitty mood, you only got four hours of sleep, you couldn’t get your hair to style to way you wanted it to, you didn’t like any of the outfits you put on, and you had a mission to go on today. Not that you didn’t like missions but you really didn’t want to go on one at the moment.

The mission was simple though. You and Abbacchio had to go and gather intel on someone who may pose a threat to you all later on. After you and Abbacchio came back from your mission you met everyone at Libeccio. They were all sitting down at the table waiting for you two.

You both grabbed a seat. Bucciarati asked how the mission went and Abbacchio gave him the details. Fugo and Narancia were arguing about something stupid, and Giorno and Mista were talking to one another.

You put your head down on the table and groaned. There was nothing that triggered your sudden sadness. It was just everything building up over time. You began to sniffle and then tears began silently falling down your face.

“Y/N? Are you ok,” Giorno asked. Of course Giorno would be the one to notice. He notices everything.

You shook your head but kept it downwards. You sniffed louder than intended.

Narancia stood up from his seat. “Are you crying!? Don’t cry!” He ran next to you and draped his body over yours to hug you.

Abbacchio put his hand on your arm. “What’s going on?”

You laughed to cover up the sobs. Narancia backed away so you could sit up straight. “It’s stupid. I’m sorry guys. Don’t worry about it.”

Bucciarati was still concerned. “Y/N. What happened?”

You sighed. “I’ve just had a shitty day and I’m really tired.”

Everyone stared at you for a minute. That was it? They all knew that you were over emotional. They never made fun of you for it though, in a way it was refreshing to have someone show so much emotion.

“As long as you’re ok,” Fugo said with a sympathetic smile.

All of a sudden food appeared at the table. You didn’t know the group ordered anything yet. The waiter began placing food down on the table. Bucciarati thanked him and turned to you. “Y/N we ordered you your favorite food. Abbacchio we orders yours too.”

You both thanked them and you all began eating. All the sadness you felt earlier began to wash away. You had a bright smile on your face and you were kicking your legs under the table. The chatter box inside of you came out and you began talking to everyone about a subject that made you super happy.

Everyone listened and tried not to look too surprised in the sudden mood switch you experienced. After you finished eating you got up and began walking around the table. No one knew what you were doing but they didn’t stop you. You walked over to Mista and held onto his arm.

Mista gave you a confused look. “Hi?”

“Hi,” you said giggling.

Abbacchio just shock his head and Narancia began laughing with you. Mista just kept on eating despite you hanging off of him. Then when you got bored you walked over to Narancia who was done eating and just sitting down watching you. You grabbed his hands and lightly pulled him up. “We should dance.”

Nara smiled. “Of course! When we get home I’ll show you the new dance me and Mista came up with.”

You jumped in excitement and Giorno smiled. You then ran over to him and hugged him while wiggling back and forth. He laughed a bit.

Then you waddled over to Bucciarati. He didn’t say anything so you began to mumble a song and dance. Your actions were comical and no one in the gang had ever seen you act like this. At first they all assumed something was wrong. They realized quickly that this is just how you are.

You stopped your solo dance party and looked to Pannacotta. “You’re hair looks nice today Fugo!”

“T-thank you,” he stuttered due to him being caught off guard.

Lastly you walked over to Abbacchio and played with his long hair. “Hey Abba!”

“Hi Y/N.”

There was silence while you took off his headband and began separating his hair into three separate parts.

“What are you doing,” Leone asked.

“Braiding your hair!”

He sighed and tried to hide the smile forming on his lips. After you finished to braid you took a hair elastic and tied it to end. “Done!”

The gang tried not to laugh at the sight of Abbacchio’s hair being in a big braid as if he was a girl.

Abba looked at you. “Y/N.”

“Yes!”

He reached underneath his chair and grabbed his headphones. “Do you like classical music?”

“Yeah! It’s good.”

He put the headphones on your head. “Great. Now listen to this and tell me what you think.”

You happily agreed and he pressed the play button to the music. You began to mellow down and tap you foot to the music. Soon your eyes were closed and you almost feel asleep.

Did Leone give you the headphones just so you would calm down? Yes. Did you have to know that? No. He also did really want to share his music with you though. So it was a win win.

The gang a laughed a bit. They all loved you. You were one of them. They would do anything to make sure you were happy and if food and bothering them was the only way then so be it.

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katsukikitten · 3 years

Text

Hello friends! Here is my contribution to the Bakugou Birthday Bash! The master link will be linked here ! Please enjoy my bit of an angsty fic! And all of the other art and works that are on the master list! Enjoy the big bakugou blow out and remember to leave a comment on your favorite pieces! Happy birthday ya shitty man! (Lowkey become 3d please)

Warning: he's 28 btw 😂 (my fic says so also)

It shouldn't be this fucking hard to get groceries and booze. It's a quick and easy errand. Everything already pre-ordered for an important birthday that just needed to be picked up. And yet here you were crying in your car trying to get it together before the attendant asked for the order name. Honestly you had texted out "I can't do this today. Sorry." Several times before deleting it, telling yourself not to hit send. But you would have to be having the worst mental day of your life wouldn't you? Today of all days, how fucking selfish of you.

Especially with the amount of time and effort you and Kirishima had put into this idea. Since New Year's actually, months and months of planning after the two of you had gotten shit faced at Denki and Mina's new years party, creating the brain child. All after bonding over switching patrol partners six months before, you had gotten Bakugou and he had gotten Ashido. Kirishima and yourself giggle over stupid things to the side of the party, people watching as you took shots. Kirishima points towards a normally grumpy blonde.

"Wow I think he's actually having fun." You snort, as you watch Bakugou hide his rare cat smile behind a sip of his beer as Mina makes Denki the butt of a joke.

"He actually loves parties. He never says it so people just think he's a wet blanket." Kirishima laughs, pouring the two of you another shot. Bakugou lets out a particularly loud laugh after 'Dunce Face' proves Mina's point. I guess that would be the time that it started.

When you started to fall. His laugh makes your cheeks deepen in hue and burn, to want to hear it again, to watch it again and learn all of the other sides of your patrol partner that he obviously only reserved for his closest friends.

"Let's throw him a great birthday party." You say, holding up your shot as a devilish smile spreads over sharp teeth. The mountainous man clinks your shot glass before he adds.

"Let's." In unison the two of you down the burning liquid as the plan comes into fruition.

Four months, four months and nineteen days of you thinking of nothing but your patrol partner with whom you got extremely close with since New Year's. So why? Why today of all days were you struggling? Why would normal everyday tasks feel more as if you were wading through mud than the breeze they should have been? You flip down the visor, looking yourself in the eye through little square mirror as you grit your teeth hissing

"Get your shit together."

Your little pep talk helps you get the several cakes and the cart full of booze that everyone requested, planning to make this the best birthday ever. Helping Kirishima set his house up with decorations, setting out the snacks, catering and even pouring some drinks as guests began to arrive to set down their gifts and help with the last minute touches before hiding. Masking through the pit in your stomach as you smiled at all of your friends as they poured in through Kirishima's door. Through the weighted emptiness you felt as each one wrapped you into a tight hug, already praising you and Kirishima for the amazing effort, that Bakugou would be so surprised when it was more than just you and Kirishima here. . Finally you had to go and get the guest of honor just before sundown to catch him before he went to bed. A much needed breather from the constant smiling and forcing a laugh that everyone thought sounded genuine.

Enjoying the silence of the evening train as it pulled you across town to the unsuspecting blonde. And maybe you could have made it through the night from your shitty pep talk or at least through getting the freshly 28 year old to his party but instead you catch your reflection in the window. Your facial features weighted with exhaustion, shoulders hunched allowing your body to continue to produce cortisol. Tears prick your eyes as you deep low, too low. Remembering everything and nothing all at once, steeping in guilt as you beg yourself for just a few more hours. That the depression episode can happen when you're home and alone, after the party goes off without a hitch. Tears fall anyway and they do all the way to Bakugou's until you finally get enough control to step out of yourself for a moment. Ringing the doorbell several times as a smile is plastered on your face, the door swings open. Bakugou's eyes narrow as they take you in, he notices that something is off. Your smile is a little too wide, your eyes rimmed red but he says nothing about it. Instead he lets his initial anger come forth.

"Oi! I told you to fuckin' text me when you were on the train so I could meet you at the station!" He growls, slamming his door shut and pocketing his keys. Deadly and sweaty hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket as his palms itch to hold onto something else. Garnet eyes track your own hands as you reach over your head stretching.

"Yea yea, I hear you Dad." You tease giving him a look, "I still made it okay."

"Kirishima should have come instead of you that fuckin hair for brains." He snarls keeping pace with you as he always does on patrol.

"I know Dad must be sad cause his favorite didn't come to pick him up." You try not to sound dejected, nudging him in the ribs to distract from the crack in your voice, "Happy birthday ya big lug."

Bakugou cuts you a glare, mind racing before his barks out a "Thanks."

Comfortable silence stretches between the two of you before you two hit the train station, passing a corner store.

"Was shitty hair burning dinner? Do I need to stop for back up?" His thumb hooks over his shoulder towards the neon as he stands idle waiting for you to jog your memory. Kirishima had burned the last friend's dinner making Bakugou so angry he walked six blocks to make something that was 'FUCKIN EDIBLE!' while you tried to air out his apartment. You laugh loudly, genuinely for the first time that day causing Bakugou's shoulders to sag with relief. In the ten months he had been working with you he had only seen you faking a smile or laugh once or twice. Then the time after that you were absent from work the next day or two forcing him to patrol with Denki but worse yet...making him worry.

"Guess I'll grab something just in case." He gave you his back so you wouldn't see his face or the faint blush that dusted his cheeks.

"No, no! I ordered out this time. From that famous chef you like." Bakugou glares your way, digging in his back pocket for his wallet.

"How much." He demands through gritted teeth while you show him the palms of your hands in surrender.

"Woah woah! It's your birthday gift! You can't pay me back for dinner! I'd sooner burn the money before I'd accept it from you!" Your watch dings with a message from Kirishima asking for an ETA. You grab onto Bakugou's hand pulling him along into a run as you shout over your shoulder.

"We're gonna be late!"

Oh how Bakugou wished you hadn't done that, he was already struggling to keep his heart beat even when you were around and now to grab onto him. To pull him along in a hurry like those cheesy insta posts that couples did on their "grand adventure" together. He swallows the lump in his throat as he reminds himself that you are nothing more than his patrol partner. His friend at best.

Even though the train was mostly empty Bakugou stood closely by you, as he always did when the two of you were in a crowded space. He had seen how most men took advantage of the situation and he hated the idea of that happening to you although he knew you were more than capable of handling it on your own. Hell you could kick even his ass but he would die before ever admitting that. Instead he watches you talk about what you ordered for dinner and how you got the cake from that bakery Sato works part time at, the same one he got your birthday cake from but he doesn't hear a word. Instead all he can see is the golden light from the setting sun worshiping you. Kissing your skin to make it glow, giving your eyes a hue that makes his heart fall into his stomach and illuminating you in a true light. A radiant ethereal thing is what you were and Bakugou was just lucky enough to be standing by you. So out of it he doesn't realize the two of you are at your stop.

"Uh Suki?" Your voice is soft paired with the setting sun has him acting weird. He leans closer to you, pulled by some invisible force before he stops himself as he watches you look up at him beneath long lashes.

"You okay?" You ask almost nervously from his proximity, the smell of spice and caramel wrap around you making you feel warm and fuzzy. Temporarily making you forget that you were trying to act on the train, making you relax as you just talked to Bakugou. He sucks his teeth as he picks up your bag to sling over his shoulder.

"Yea but you were gonna forget your whole damn purse like you always do." He huffs, this time he was the one pulling at your hand in a rush before the doors closed to trap you two on the train. His hand feels warm in yours, his grip tight as he drags you along before pulling you within his sight, another habit of his you happened to notice. Almost reluctantly he lets go of you hand as Kirishima's house comes into view.

"We better have a good time tonight patrol Princess or you owe me a special birthday gift." He laughs causing you to roll your eyes at his stupid nickname that stuck after your first day with him, adamant that the two of you take your route instead of his it was a huge argument. But it was a good thing he listened to the "princess", it put the two of you smack dab in the middle of a robbery. You stick out your tongue.

"Trust me. You're gonna have a good time!" You push him up the steps as he bats away your hands. Opening the front door before everyone jumps out of various and bad hiding spots.

"SURPRISE!!" All of the alumni of class A and some of B shout, a select few already slurring their words. Bakugou's scowl turns into a smirk before he looks over his shoulder at you.

"Aw you did this to me?" His voice is teasing but his eyes almost sparkle, you nod encouraging him to go deeper into the party. As he does people flock to him laughing and yelling out happy birthday until he's sick of hearing it. All the while your smile wanes with the night. Until an hour in that heavy episode hits you full force. Numbness setting in where happiness should be, rotting as it turns to shame and guilt as you watch your friend, your crush, enjoy his night. Bringing a glass bottle to his lips as he talks with Kirishima, who then presses a shot into his hands. Bodies dancing to the house music that beat out of the speakers competing with chatter and laughter.

It felt weird to watch everyone truly enjoying themselves while you felt low. It felt more as if you were standing outside of the house, looking in through the window to see everyone enjoying themselves, no one even knowing who you were as you stared in.

You felt distant, alone. What a shitty way to feel in a room full of people, none of it being their fault and so the guilt pressed harder. Eyes watering as they lingered on the blonde who deserved this celebration and more. Making you decide to give the best birthday gift of them all.

To slip away upstairs and onto the roof, to give the room space to breathe when you felt like suffocating.

Crying to no one but the moon.

And no one noticed. Two hours slip by before Kirishima insists that Bakugou make a wish and eat cake before everyone gets too drunk too. The entire house drunkenly sings happy birthday but Bakugou notices a voice missing. Yours that's just a touch off key, not to mention he didn't hear you say the stupid nickname 'Suki' where his name should be in the song. Plus you weren't one to miss out on dessert. For as long as Bakugou has been working with you, you never turned down the opportunity for sweets. Whether that was taking the long way back to the agency to try to catch a certain street vendor or to hover by the deserts at a party to pick the very best treat.

And if it was a birthday party, you never could shut up that y'all could not leave until after they blew out the candles and made a wish.

His eyes linger for a second longer, making sure he didn't miss you before his heart sinks. He takes in a sharp inhale, thinks on his wish and blows out the candles.

Meanwhile you hear the cheers of everyone down stairs and sob into your knees. You missed your favorite part of birthdays. Of hoping they make a wish that comes true, of watching their face as they think of something quickly or how some people tear up when they finally realize just how loved they are on their birthday.

It isn't long after that do you hear the sound of combat boots on shingles. Whipping your head up in the direction of the sound. Stomach clenching with guilt as you watch Bakugou walking towards you with a slice of cake.

"Brought ya some cake, since I didn't hear you sing off key to me." He says sinking down beside you as you furiously wipe at your tears.

"I'm-um."

"You don't gotta explain yourself to me." He snarls as you stare dumbly at your cake, "You know that."

"I know…" Silence passes slowly, the moon shines overhead and the party carries on below.

"Well, I'm waiting!" Bakugou says dramatically, "You gonna sing or am I gonna have to sing to myself?"

"Oh." It makes you giggle a bit before you blush, realizing he is serious. You take a deep breath before singing "just off key" when you don't, to him.

"Sukiiiiii!" Relief washes over his features when he hears the dumb ass name, "Happy birthday to youuuuuu!"

"Okay, now you can eat the damn cake." He grunts, his smile never wavering as he looks to the empty street below. You follow his eyes, chewing the inside of your lip, setting the cake down.

"What'd you wish for…" Curiosity gets the better of you and earns his intense gaze. He smirks, scoffing at the end.

"You always say you shouldn't tell or it won't come true." He laughs at your pout, before he finally admits "I wished for courage."

With a furrowed brow you give him a puzzled look, he just holds your gaze.

"Why? You're like the bravest hero I know!" Bakugou can hear the truth in your voice, you aren't saying it just to fucking stroke his ego.

You actually meant it, making this conversation that much harder.

"Yea except when it comes to this one thing I want to do. Its fuckin easy and I've done it hundreds of times just as I'm about to do it I fucking back down cause I'm probably fuckin reading into things too much." He leans in closer, again his smell mesmerizes you, causing your body to visibly relax, "Too much of a fuckin bitch, thinking she doesn't want me like I want her. So I wished for the courage to follow through. To fuckin' just do it."

Your heart is racing out of your chest before one of his hands finds the nape of your neck pulling you into a feverish kiss. Teeth gnashing from the passion, lips perfectly modeling to the other before tongues lightly dance around one another. Lengthening seconds into hours with just a few head tilts and plush lips. You moan into his mouth, he pulls away, eyes clouded with lust as a string of spit connects your tongues. He pants, face flushed and his hand warm, almost burning at the nape of your neck, the shingle by his hand charred from restraint as he pants out.

"I wished for you."

#bakugou x reader #bakugou birthday bash #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha au #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bnha imagine #bakugou birthday

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barnesbabee · 4 years

Text

[B]reeding Kink || C.S

[ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴇɴᴄʏᴄʟᴏᴘᴇᴅɪᴀ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ʙ]

Summary: He broke into your house, and now he’s breaking you. (it's not fucking consentual non-con it's just inmate!San istg)

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Words: my fairy godmother said it was 4311 words

Genre: Smut

⚠ mention of drugs, breeding kink, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, inmate!San ⚠

You woke up with loud banging on your door. It was so sudden, you didn’t know what time it was, what was happening, or where you were. It took you a quick second to scan your surroundings.

It was 2am, or so said the clock on your bedside table, and you were sitting up in your bed, startled and confused about the booming sound echoing through your house.

You got up from the bed and hurriedly wrapped your robe around your body, however, just as you were getting to the living room to look through the peephole, the door burst open. You covered your mouth with your hand to prevent any noise from coming out and hid behind the sofa, praying to whatever wanted to help you that he hadn’t seen you.

You closed your eyes tightly and started breathing heavily as you heard the loud footsteps roam around your house.

It was hard to breathe and you felt as if someone was pressing on your chest.

You opened your eyes slowly and peeked behind the couch. You could see a man… His appearance wasn’t clear as the whole place was dark, the only thing illuminating the room being the moon. He had a broad back and dark hair, that you noticed, and he wore heavy, black boots, that left a trail of dirt wherever he walked.

Who was he? What did he want? Why was he in your apartment?

You hid back and waited until you could no longer hear him.

The silence of his steps felt unsettling… Your chest rose and fell rapidly, and it took all of the courage you had to peek around the couch once more.

However, this time you were met with a man’s face. He wore a wide, Cheshire Cat-like smile on his face as he stared right at you. You could almost feel his warm breath hit your face…

“Hello, doll!”

You opened your mouth to scream but the male was faster. He slapped his hand over your face, preventing you from yelling for help or anything of the sort.

The male approached his lips to your ears.

“I’m gonna need your help doll…”

You took a look at his appearance. He had on a white, stained, and slightly ripped wife-beater, along with a flashy orange jumpsuit. You examined his body carefully. His hair was damp and his inked, very well-built arms were shiny, he had been running. You were inspecting everything as carefully as you possibly could.. when you noticed.

Was that blood!?

There were little spots and splatters of dried, red liquid all over his clothes, which made you widen your eyes. What the fuck had he done!?

He noticed your sudden change of emotions and realized you had seen the state of his clothes.

“Listen, I don’t wanna hurt you. I need you to hide me, I’ll explain everything but you’re not in danger, yet.”

The ‘yet’ at the end of his sentence sparked something in you and you began struggling under his hold. He gripped your arm and forced you to stop shifting.

“Calm. Down. You’re not in danger, but if you call the police on me, if you yell for help, you will be. All you have to do is be a good girl and cooperate, because if anything goes wrong, all you need to know is that there are eight of us, if I get caught it won’t be looking too pretty for you.”

You looked at him, eyes still widened and breathing very heavily.

“You got it?” He asked.

He slowly removed his hand from your mouth and placed it on his thigh. You were full-on crying in fear at that point.

The male said nothing, he just sighed and ran his hand through his sweaty hair. He also didn’t know what to do. He had no idea where the other seven were, he had no idea if they were still alive and he honestly didn’t know what happened next.

“Y-you should take a shower.” You told him, as you finally felt the reek coming from him.

He looked down at himself and nodded. The male stood up and looked at you.

“I can’t trust you though.”

“W-what then? You’re just going to stink forever? Are you going to make me sit in the bathroom while you wash?”

You were just mocking him, but from the way he shrugged you could tell he didn’t mind one bit to have you in the bathroom with him. You refused at first, but you didn’t really have much choice as he dragged you around looking for the bathroom.

You sat on the toilet, facing the wall as you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this.” You complained.

“I was in prison, doll, I had hundreds of men looking at my ass every day when I showered, having a girl in a bathroom with me isn’t exactly a nightmare.”

You were both silent. The sound of the water hitting the floor echoed in the room and the water was so hot that the atmosphere around you two became foggy.

“Fuck, this is heaven…”

You would’ve chuckled if you weren’t so scared and uncomfortable.

“You know, we have warm water in there, but there are so many people taking showers at the same time so it just ends up being cold all the time. The showerheads are also really old, so they get clogged all the time and there’s barely any water coming out… You come out looking mustier than when you went in.”

You smiled at that. You could tell he was a people person, he was comfortable enough in this situation to tell life stories and maybe that was the purpose, but you started slowly feeling a little at ease. So much so that you gained the courage to ask the question you were scared of.

“What were you in there for?”

You had to know. You couldn’t have a conversation with him, you couldn’t not feel uncomfortable and uneasy without at least knowing.

There was silence, and the water turned off.

“Murder.”

Your eyes widened from the nth time that night and you felt all blood be drained from your body. The sense of fear and anxiety washed over you once more, and you didn’t know how to react. Should you run? Should you stay? Should you speak, or should you be quiet?

A little childish giggle sounded in the bathroom almost forcing you to look behind. He pulled the shower curtain to the side, and although this man was naked from head to toe right in front of you, your eyes were glued to his face. The giggling was creepy, you hated it.

“I’m joking, I went in for drug abuse and distribution.”

You took a deep, shaky breath and closed your eyes, letting your head fall forward. You shed a couple of tears out of stress and relief.

“You… fucking idiot.” You cursed at him, still feeling a little lightheaded.

He giggled once more and wrapped a towel around his waist, after roaming about the bathroom looking for one.

“Why… Did you have blood all over you then?”

He pointed at his abdomen, where a deep cut that your eyes had completely missed stood.

“It was mine. Mostly… Listen escaping prison isn’t that easy and there’s trap wire and people shooting, if you’re not bleeding it’s because you’re Michael Scofield, and sadly we’re all kind of stupid.”

Although he moved like the wound didn’t hurt, you couldn’t help but worry about it. You pointed at the ripped flesh.

“Can I… Can I fix it for you?”

He cocked his head to the side as he looked at you, silently questioning himself as to why you would want to help him. He shrugged, nevertheless. He wasn’t about to decline help…

“I’d like that.”

He tied the towel tighter around his hips so it wouldn’t fall, and sat down on the toilet you were previously resting on. You reached for the cabinet over the sink and took the medical supplies from it.

“This is going to hurt a bit so just, distract yourself by telling me about you.”

The male scoffed at your words.

“I’ve been to prison, I don’t think I’ll be hurt by- oh f-fuck!”

You giggled at his little curse as you pressed the gauze with hydrogen peroxide against his wounded skin.

He rested his head against the wall and flexed his abdomen.

“O-okay so, my name is San I’ve been in there for 2 years and- fucking Hell go easy on me!”

You giggled and mumbled a soft ‘sorry’ as you listened to his stories. You tried very hard to focus on your job, but your eyes would sometimes wander around his torso and covered thighs.

“I uh, I started selling drugs when I was eighteen, I got thrown out of the orphanage and my little sister came with me, and I wanted to make good money so she could go to university.” he paused for a second, wincing as you switched products “It was fine for a while, I made some friends there which was nice. I never really had friends, cause I kept moving from the orphanage to foster houses back and forth, so I never stayed in one place long enough to make lasting friendships… B-but it didn’t go so well cause I got caught in a swoop and the eight of us went in.”

When he finished the story you had no idea what to say… You felt a little bad about what he had just told you.

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine, life isn’t always kind. Plus,” he stopped to grab your chin and bring your gaze up to his “I never said I was a good person, doll. I just said I was tryna get my sister to a better place.”

You stared into his eyes for a second, before snapping back to reality. You stood up and mumbled something along the lines of ‘I’ll get you some clothes’ as you walked off.

Some of your larger garments fit him quite well. A pair of large, black joggers and a yellow hoodie that looked stupidly big on you. He had to go commando however, since you didn’t happen to have a pair of boxers lying around.

You set up the couch for him to sleep in as you weren’t about to give up your bed for an inmate that had just broken in, but he seemed pretty content in the comfort of your couch.

“You sure you don’t need some company in there, doll?”

You chuckled at his bold attempt and pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek.

“Yes San, I’d rather keep the convict at least one hallway away.” You joked.

Although you felt a little more comfortable around him, knowing that he wasn’t 100% a scumbag, you couldn’t let your guard down.

Your theory was proven when you woke up not much later after you fell asleep with a shadow looking straight at you from the doorway. Not remembering that you had a guest, you yelled.

He immediately came rushing to your side and shut you up with his hand.

“Why did you scream!?” San asked, panicking.

You removed his hand from your face harshly.

“Because a huge shadow man was standing in my doorway like a lunatic! What are you doing!?”

“It’s… It’s 7am I’m hungry.”

You shot daggers at him through your sleepy, hooded eyes.

“Do you not sleep?”

“Not really… We have a lot of sleep deprivation in there.”

Somehow he had this habit of making you do things by making you feel bad. And this was no exception.

You groaned and dragged yourself off of the bed, feeling kind of embarrassed about how terrible you looked compared to him. Although his hair was messy, it still made him look good, as it further defined his jawline.

You didn’t know what he wanted to eat, so you just pointed at your cabinets and began teaching him what was inside of each of them.

As you did all of this, you realized how often he’d brush his dark locks back, in order to get them out of his face. You looked at your wrist and surely enough there was a spare hair tie on it. You offered it to San, who gladly accepted the item and tied his hair in a small ponytail.

You started walking back to your bedroom, to resume your interrupted sleep, but a pertinent question popped in your mind, and sleep was no longer your biggest preoccupation.

You turned around and walked back to the kitchen, to find San shoving his hand down the cereal box and eating it dry.

“San… What’s your plan here? I mean, in the long run. You can’t just crash in my sofa forever.”

The male in question looked at you, a suggestive gaze playing in his eyes.

“I can always crash on your bed.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you as he said this.

“I’m serious, San. This can be really problematic for me! Do you realize the trouble this could put me in? If someone finds out you’re here I’ll have so many legal complications! I’m on the fourth floor, why did you even choose my apartment!?”

San went quiet for a second and looked at the floor.

“You’re the 69th apartment…” He replied quietly.

You rolled your eyes and turned around, stressed out about his response, while rubbing your temples.

Before you could get very far, however, the man grabbed your wrist and made you turn around.

“You’re right, I’m sorry… We agreed to meet up in an abandoned building a couple blocks down from where we lived. We needed to lay low for at least a couple of hours. I got lucky I managed to lose the coppers, but I don’t know about them…”

He had sat down by the dining table and buried his head in his hands. For some reason,

you felt as if you should comfort him, so you approached the male softly and pet his head slowly.

“I can try to help with the smaller things!”

But little did you know that that statement would soon come back to bite you in the ass, when you came home later in the day, after your very tiring night shift, and found eight very big men sitting around your living room, just chatting it up as if it was their own house.

Ignoring the possibly dangerous men sprawled on your floor and couch, you closed the door and walked towards San.

“What… The fuck.” You said through gritted teeth, trying to remain calm.

“Well, you said you could help with the smaller things, and that side of the town was flooding with cops looking for us, so I figured we could come here to lay low!” He said, gesturing to his friends.

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

“When I said small things I meant maybe food or warm water to shower with. I didn’t mean I’d be the shelter for eight hooligans!”

“What did you just call us?” One of them calmly asked.

You looked behind San to face the bleached haired male, who had a mixture of angry and offended on his face. It suddenly hit you that all of these escapee inmates were in your house, staring at you as you insulted them, and nervous tears started brimming in your eyes.

“I-I’m sorry Sir, but you are sitting on my rug and you came from jail I think I’m entitled to be upset right now.” You told him, holding up your index finger.

“Listen I’m sorry but overstaying my welcome-”

“Oh, you think you’re overstaying!?”

Already sick of your snappy attitude, San gripped your arm and pushed you back against the wall, causing you to wince and drop your keys. His face was millimeters away from yours, so close you could feel his breath on you.

“Listen doll, I don’t think anybody wants eight wanted criminals in their living room but you don’t have a choice, okay!? Neither of us would be here if we had a better choice but we fucking don’t, so why don’t you make this easier for all of us and cooperate?”

You had no choice but to nod, as you swallowed nervously. San let go of you and sighed, disappointed that he had to resource to violence.

There was an awkward silence, that the male you had known the longest felt the obligation to fill.

“So, uhm, these are my friends… “ He said and began introducing them one by one.

Some of the men remained expressionless, only giving you a nod as a greeting, while a couple smiled politely and the rest chimed a small ‘hello’.

“Did you… All go in for the same thing?”

“Friendship goals, right?” The male you now knew to be named Mingi said, stealing a smile out of you.

There was the heavy silence again… And you searched deep in your head for what could solve the awkwardness.

“Are you guys hungry? I don’t have enough food here but I could go out and buy some chicken. I don’t think it’s safe to have people deliver.”

They all agreed and so you went on your way, to buy food for all the unwanted guests. It was probably a bad idea to go out on your own and carry all this chicken and alcohol (that you bought hoping that the eight men would become bubblier and less threatening after consuming it) but you still thought that was a better scenario than being caught in public with a wanted criminal. So after about forty-five minutes of struggling, you managed to get into the house with three huge bags: two for the chicken and one for the drinks.

Their eyes all lit up once you stepped foot inside of the house and suddenly they resembled little kids. The men instantly attacked the food, proceeding to hurriedly unwrap the chicken.

“Damn Y/N, were you in jail too?” San asked when he saw you hungrily devour the food. It seemed like you too hadn’t eaten anything that good in years.

You quickly flipped him off and continued eating.

Your speculations were correct, and as the empty alcohol bottles started piling up, the room started echoing with happy chatter and laughter.

All of the stress and panic about the situation started washing off from them as the hours passed by and you had to admit, hadn’t they been wanted criminals you wouldn’t have minded being a part of their odd friend group.

“H-hey Y/N, you should sit here, it’s more comfortable.” San joked with a sly smirk, as he patted his lap.

“Keep trying, lover boy.” You told him as you rolled your eyes.

San then placed his hands around your waist and pulled you to sit on his lap, keeping a slight grip on your body, soft enough for you to leave if you were uncomfortable.

“Was this a good enough try, doll?” He whispered in your ear.

You said nothing, and your silence made him chuckle as he pulled you back, until your back hit his chest. Somehow he was right. It did feel more comfortable… And maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that San was actually insanely hot, but all of the tension left in your body evaporated, and you felt yourself melt into his touch.

All of the sounds started fading into the background and you didn’t even acknowledge the rest of the boys, as all you could feel was the way San was drawing shapes on your thighs with his long fingers, and how you wanted them a little farther up your body. You pressed your thighs against each other, and this action didn’t go unnoticed by San, who squeezed them tighter in his hold and groaned in your ear.

You could feel a hard-on beginning to form in San’s pants, as it began poking your ass. You shifted in his lap, causing his boner to harden by the second. He gripped his waist tighter and pressed you down on his growing problem.

“I really want you, doll, I think you want me too…” He whispered in your ear.

“You’re imagining things San.”

He rolled his hips up and held you in place, so you could feel every curve of his fully hardened member press against you. Of course he noticed the way you inhaled shakily and giggled. Giggled.

San was indeed an intriguing person…

He kissed a couple of spots on your neck, and bit down on an area he found softer, managing to steal a small whimper out of you.

A couple of heads turned towards you and they smirked, acknowledging what was happening, but not wanting to bother or steal the moment away. They turned their attention back to the other men, leaving you two isolated once more.

“Please, let me fuck you, doll… I wanna feel how well you clench around me. Will you let me do that?”

Your mind was clouded by pleasure and curiosity, and so you stood up and grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards your bedroom, not even bothering to give him a verbal response.

The second the male heard the door click, he pushed you against it with his body and smashed his lips against yours. His hands were obsessed with your hips and thighs, constantly squeezing them as you grinded against his crotch.

He tapped the back of your legs and you wrapped them around him. San carried you to the bed as if you were made of feathers, and even though his tongue was harsh against yours, the way he let you down on the bed was soft.

The two of you only pulled away when the confinement of your clothes started becoming unbearable. You peeled the work clothes (that you had never changed from) hastily from your body. San undressed just as quickly, and he couldn’t believe his view. After all that time being incarcerated he managed to have someone so good looking so willing to fuck him… He smirked and slapped your thighs, proceeding to grab them as he kissed your jaw, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach, only stopping when his lips were dangerously close to a place you’d be wishing for him to touch you. He stopped and looked up at you. God, he wished he could take a picture of you right now… All jittery and messy, needy and aching for his touch.

"F-Fuck San, please!“ You begged, finally, when the teasing became too much.

"Anythin’ for you, doll."

He teased your entrance with his tongue before entering two fingers, as to prepare you for what was to come. San squeezed and bit your thighs as his fingers entered you in a high speed.

"Oh my G-God, San- I want you in me."

He groaned at your neediness, and shoved the fingers that had previously been in you past your lips.

You maintained eye contact as you sucked slowly on his digits.

San lined up his cock with your entrance and pushed into you slowly, causing you to wince slightly and bite his fingers.

The male immediately removed his hand and moved both his hands to rest on your waist.

"Y-you okay, doll?” He asked, afraid he’d hurt you.

"Yes- yes, move…"

San bottomed out inside you with a loud groan. He didn’t move for a second, trying to take in how tight you were and how good he felt. And even though he tried to hold back by starting to thrust into you slowly, he soon lost control. His hips snapped against yours uncontrollably fast and neither of you cared if the moans and whimpers could be heard in the next room.

"S-shit, look at you doll, taking my cock like a good girl-“

You gripped his arms, digging your nails into his skin, loving the way he talked to you.

Something about seeing all of those artworks in san’s body made you feel more attracted to the male.

"You feel so good inside me Sannie.”

The pet name and the little praise caused his cock to twitch inside of you, and you could tell he was almost there, by the sloppiness of his thrusts.

You wanted to see what he looked like in pure lust, you wanted to do the dirtiest things with this man, his sinful figure bigging out someone you didn’t even know you had in you.

"I-I need to cum doll, where do you want me to-“

"Inside me! Please, please cum inside me San!” You begged as you clung onto him for dear life.

His cock twitched once more, and he looked at you with a mix of surprise and lust in his eyes.

"Y/N are you sure cause-“

"Fucking breed me, San! I want your cum dripping out of me, please!"

The intensity of his thrusts increased as did the grip he had on you.

"You want me to breed you? Hm? Make you mine forever? Turn you into a bad girl for me? Y-you’re so dirty…”

"Y-yes! God yes!“

"Oh f-fuck!” Was the last thing he managed to yell as he buried his member deep inside of you, shooting white spurts of cum that covered your walls.

It was the way his body trembled and the way his mouth fell open with small whimpers that caused you to climax right after him.

His sweaty body collapsed on top of yours as he slowly pulled out, and you could feel the cum drip out of your hole.

For a couple of seconds all that could be heard was the heavy panting, until San lifted his head and looked at you.

"Fuck, I guess you belong to me now…“

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

Text

in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

#ffcc #wincest #dean jr #my writing #this is again just sort of a collection of paragraphs #and it's--mostly what you asked for i think?#but mainly it's me musing about the unknowability of parents and children #so uh #that's what i was able to manage #hopefully i'll remember how to construct a story soon lol

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mingishoe · 3 years

Text

𝓜𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓨𝓸𝓾 | 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓮 [9]

Summary: Chapter 9 of Promise, San hasn’t seen you in so long and he’s really missing you… he’s just lucky you miss him too.

Genre: Smut, Social Media AU

Pairing: SwitchFem!Reader x Switch!San

Word Count: 2.9k

Smut Warning: dirty thoughts, masturbation (m&f), phone sex, praise, use of the word whore like once, reassurance for San, unprotected sex, marking kink, light breeding kink, cum play

a/n: You can probably read this with little confusion without the rest of the chapters, but it’d be nice if you’d check them out :)

You were so nervous! Today was the day that you were going to Hongjoong’s studio with Mingi and Jongo. You were pacing back and forth looking in the mirror, trying to decide if you should change or not.

What if Seonghwa was there? What would you do then? You can’t have that thrown on you all of a sudden! Maybe you shouldn’t go… Just as you were having a little internal crisis, your phone rang.

“Y/n- Y/n! Y-You’re going to meet us there right? I don’t think either of us are going to be able to meet him on our own… we need your support.” You listened to Jongho’s worried voice on the other end of her line.

“I think so- I mean Jongho I’m so nervous! I think I’m going to throw up.” You groaned loudly and took a deep breath.

“Okay… I’ll see you in a bit.” You agreed and hung up before you could put your phone in your pocket, it rang again. You looked at the phone and saw Sans's name. You looked at it for a second before you sighed and declined it.

San groaned and threw his phone in annoyance. He had never genuinely been annoyed or mad at you, but at this moment he was getting there. He missed you so much! He hadn’t seen you in forever, but it was partially his fault… he had purposefully been avoiding you.

He figured it was time to get over his pride at this point. He was so unbelievably horny. He was just going to put it that way. You always took care of him and he hasn’t talked to or seen you in like a couple of weeks.

San trailed his hand down in his sweats as he remembered the last time you were together. “I know I pegged you the other day.” He can’t believe you said that with everyone right there! I mean… you did- but that’s not for them to know!

Regardless, San couldn’t stop thinking about it. His cock was throbbing but he didn’t want to touch himself… He wanted you to help him. He looks at his phone and contemplates if he should call you again.

Before he could even fully decide, he grabbed his phone, and before he knew he was calling you. It rang for what felt like forever before he heard your voice, “Hello? San. What do you want? I’m busy…”

“Y-Y/n-” San heard a pause on the other end of the line before a door shut.

You were just about to walk out of your apartment when you answered San’s call. As soon as you heard San’s voice, that voice, you couldn’t resist, “San…”

Before you could get another word in, San’s desperate voice rang out, “Please?!”

You placed your things down and flopped down onto the sofa, “Of course my love. You know I can never say no to you. What’s wrong?”

San groaned at your condescending tone, “Stop. I don’t wanna play-”

San could hear the smirk in your voice, “I’m not playing lovely… I really don’t know. What do you want me to help you with?”

San let out a moan and you inhaled sharply, “I-I’m so horny Y/n!”

“Are you touching yourself Sannie?” You listened to San’s heavy breathing as he whined.

“Y-Yeah but-but I didn’t want to. Wanted you to touch me but you kept ignoring me!” San shakily spoke but he was getting tired of waiting. “Look, Y/n, I need you. I need you so much. Please. I need to cum.”

“Okay baby, I got you. Get undressed for me. Wish I could see how pretty you look right now. All desperate to be touched…” You made yourself more comfortable and your legs began to spread, making your dress fall above your hips.

San hums and his hand was shaking as he so badly wishes it was you who was touching him. He quickly stripped himself of his boxers and sweats, already shirtless from his previous touching. His voice was deep as he signaled he was done.

“Okay, Sannie. Close your eyes and imagine it’s me touching that pretty cock of yours.” San does as he’s told and his breathing was heavy as he listened to your soft voice, “You know San, I never get to praise you because you’re always such a little whore,” San lets out a loud moan as his hand is wrapped around his cock.“But you know what? You’ve been a good boy this week. You haven’t touched yourself have you?”

San’s whines are loud as you put him on speaker. Your fingers are drawing shapes on your inner thighs as you listen to all of San’s pretty noises and cries of, “Nonono- I haven’t! I’ve been a good boy for you!”

“Of course, baby. I know you have. You’re touching that pretty pink cock of yours, aren’t you? You have such a nice cock. A nice... big cock.” Your fingers trail underneath your panties and run them along your folds.

San mewled from the praise he was receiving, “Yeah? Do I fuck you well? I fuck you good don’t I?”

You could hear the loud squelching noise of San’s cum as he jerked himself off roughly, “Yeah, yeah you do. You fuck me so good. You’re the only one who makes me cum like that.”

Your finger begins to rub soft circles on your clit making you let out a soft moan as you finally relieve yourself from the week of stress since you’ve seen San.

“Y/n..?” San pauses his movements as his ears pick up the noise of your moan.

“Yes?”

“Are you touching yourself too?” That was the last straw for San.

“Yeah- yeah. But you know what? I wish it was you who was fucking me. I wish I could feel your big cock inside of me.” You listened as San let out drawn-out whine as he came.

You bit your lip as you imagined how pretty San looked as he came. Soft pleads of your name from San made your stomach tighten and your heart beat faster, “W-Wish you came inside me. Wish you- Wish you gave me your cum…”

Before San could even catch his breath he cried out, “Can I go over? I- I need to go over! Please!”

You paused for a minute to think about it but you couldn’t say no to him, “Okay… I’ll be waiting for you.”

“But Y/n…” you hummed softly, “Stop touching yourself. I wanna be the one to make you cum.”

You laughed softly at San before you agreed, “Better hurry then.” Before you could say anything else, you heard shuffling before the dial tone, signaling that San hung up.

You brought your hand away from your dripping pussy and wiped your fingers mindlessly on your dress. San doesn’t live too far away from you so you give him 10 minutes tops, but knowing him, he’ll be here in 5.

You sit there impatiently for only a few minutes before you suddenly remembered about Mingi and Jongho. Oh shit. They’re probably already there waiting for you.

You grab your phone and you’re about to call Mingi but before you press his contact, your front door swings open.

San practically runs up to you before he throws your phone to the side and picks you up. His lips immediately attach to your neck, “You better not have been speeding-“

San only hums as he’s more preoccupied with you. He sits down on your sofa and his arms wrap around you tightly, “I missed you so much… so so much

You push your chest into San’s, trying to get as close as possible, “It’s only been a week, you know.”

“Yeah but it’s been a long week-“ Sans lips trailed lower and lower to your cleavage and his free hand made its way in between your legs and cupped your pussy, “I can feel how wet you are.”

“Mhm. Told you I’d wait for you. Thought you wanted to make me cum?” You looked at San with innocent eyes and a tilted head.

San bit his lip harshly and pushed you off of him, “Fine. I’ll make you cum.” You smiled as San pulled your dress up before your panties were ripped off of you.

San fumbled with your dress before he huffed, “Take it off!” You laughed softly and gave San a cute peck before you unzipped your dress and swiftly pulled it off, leaving you in your matching bra and underwear.

As you were undressing, San was quickly doing the same. He was fumbling as he pulled his shirt off and his sweats to reveal his hard cock. San had been hard this entire time.

San nodded his head signaling for you to lean over the sofa. You and San switched places. Your chest was pressing against the back of the sofa and San was behind you gripping your hips tightly.

You bit your lip in anticipation as you felt San’s cock rub against your pussy, “San- please San.”

San rubbed your back gently before he swiftly pushed his cock inside of you. You cried out and gripped onto the sofa tightly.

San’s thrusts were gentle at first, wanting to savour the way you felt around him. San angled his hips up and you let out a loud moan, “R-Right there!”

San laughed teasingly before he adjusted himself and angled his hips differently making you huff out in annoyance. Stupid boy- he never listens to you!

“Fuck you-“ your head drops and you bite your lip as to not give any satisfaction to San.

“Fuck you? I am fucking you, and you seem to be enjoying it.” You rolled your eyes but the way you were clenching around San, trying so hard to keep him inside of you, it told how you were really feeling.

Suddenly San began to play with your clit lightly, making a loud drawn out whine come from your lips, “San- please?! Want you to fuck me good. Want you to fuck me properly with your big cock!”

San breathed in deeply before he positioned himself in a way that he could have some leverage to fuck you, “Okay darling. I’ll fuck you now.”

San had both of his hands gripping on your hips tightly as he finally began to fuck you like you wanted. Your entire body was tingling and it felt like it was on fire.

The sound of San’s pelvis slapping against your ass filled the room and you pathetically pushed back to meet San’s thrusts. It wasn’t your fault that you were so desperate. You hadn’t seen San in forever and you had stopped touching yourself in the middle of it just so you could wait for San.

“Does it feel good darling? Am I fucking you good?” San knew the answer to that question. He just wanted to hear it from you and you had no problem with feeding his ego a bit.

“Mhm- yeahyeah you fuck me so fucking good- feels so good! Such a nice b-big cock!” Your hand reached back to grab onto one of San’s and he holds onto yours gently with his thumb rubbing softly on your knuckles, a harsh contrast to the way he was fucking you.

San leans forward so his back is pressed against yours, making sure to have his lips as close to your ear as possible. With him so close you could hear and feel every one of his movements.

His breath was fanning against your neck and cheek and your eyes squeezed shut even tighter as you listened to San’s heavy breathing and deep grunts, “You feel so good. Such a good pussy for me to fuck.”

Moans were flowing uncontrollably at this point and you were holding onto San’s hand tightly, “Pleasepleaseplease I need- I need to cum S-San! It feels so good!”

San completely stopped his thrusts and started to grind into you. Your entire body tensed as with every movement, his cock brushed against your sweet spot.

You could tell San was starting to get impatient too when he suddenly straightened himself and pulled you up with him.

Your head was thrown over his shoulder and his lips gently kissed and sucked along your neck as he roughly thrusted into you.

Your hand was shaking as you brought one of his hands down in between your legs. You were so so close and you needed that one little thing to push you over the edge, “S-San! Gonna-I’m gonna-“ you got cut off and the both of you immediately paused.

Your mouth dropped open when you saw Mingi’s name flashing on your phone, “shitshitshit San- hold on.” You reached for your phone and San stopped you, “San it’s Mingi. I was supposed to meet him and Jongho at the studio-“

San let out an annoyed groan and you were honestly just as annoyed from the unintentional edging but you had suddenly remembered and you felt terrible, “H-Hello…?”

“Y/N what the fuck?!? Where are you?! It’s been like 30 minutes and me and Jongho have been waiting outside for like 10 minutes and Hongjoong keeps asking us where you are!” Mingi’s voice was loud and even San flinched from the tone of his voice.

“Mingi- shit I’m so sorry. I should’ve called you earlier- something came up. I’m really really sorry I couldn’t make it- can you tell Hongjoong that I’ll text him later?” Just as you were finishing your sentence, San started back his thrusts and touches to your clit.

You turned to give him a glare but he only smirked at you in response, “Yeah but- Y/n you said you were gonna be here!” You could hear how nervous Mingi was and you felt terrible you couldn’t be there to make him feel a little more at ease.

“Fuck!” San’s cock hit the right spot and suddenly you were about to cum again, “I-I know Mingi. I’m really sorry. I promise- ohmygod- I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You held the phone as far away from you as possible as you shoved your face into San’s neck as you whispered, “I’mgonnacum San- fuckfuckfuck!”

You could still hear Mingi talking so you knew he hadn’t heard you but a particularly hard thrust from San, you came. Your entire body was shaking and you bit down on San’s shoulder harshly in a pathetic attempt to muffle your moans.

San was doing the same. He was trying his best to contain his moans so Mingi wouldn’t hear him but he was close too. You were clenching so tightly around him and your pussy was desperately trying to suck his cock back inside of you every time he even slightly pulled out.

“So Y/n?” Your attention was suddenly brought back to Mingi who was on the phone, “Just promise that next time you’ll come.”

“O-Of course Mingi- I promise I’ll go to all of them from now on, okay?” You were being sincere, but you just wanted Mingi to hang up already.

“You better-“ Mingi laughed softly, “Okay, I gotta go. Hongjoong is calling us… Love you, bye.”

You quickly said bye back before San grabbed your phone out of your hand and threw it to the chair next to the sofa, “I’m gonna cum in you. Gonna give you my cum, okay?”

You nodded and shut your eyes so you could focus on every bit of San. Your body was still twitching and shaking as San was still thrusting inside of you. You could feel his cock throbbing inside of you and you were whining only driving San closer to cumming.

“Please San. Please give it to me! Want it so bad- I want your cum so so bad!” Your voice and moans were ringing in San’s ears and before he could give you any warning, his cum started filling you.

San’s head was thrown back and his eyebrows were furrowed as he just kept cuming. You took everything he gave you. Your pussy tried desperately to keep all of his cum inside of you but it started to drip outside of you and cover your thighs.

San was breathing harshly and he had cum harder than he had in a while, not even his orgasm earlier was half as good as this one. And as soon as he pulled out of you, his cum spilled out of you, dripping and staining your thighs.

San’s hand reached down and ran his fingers through your mixed cum and before you knew it, his fingers were in your mouth. You moaned around his fingers as you tasted his cum.

You stayed like that for a couple of minutes as San continued to run his fingers through all the cum and switching between pushing it back inside of you or making you suck his cum off of his fingers.

Once San was satisfied, he stopped and gently kissed your forehead and cheeks before he finally kissed your lips, “Come on baby. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

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iwantutobehapppier · 3 years

Text

Our Future

Pairing: Dark Steve Roger x reader

Summary: You left Steve after he did the unforgivable. But what lengths will he go to to make you forgive him?

Warnings: +18 only, smut, dark themes, sex pollen, dubious consent cause ya know, implied cheating, dark Steve Rogers, dark avengers. Please if any of this bothers you read no further.

Word Count: 2.924

A/N: Happy 7th night of Chanukah! It’s almost to the end! Can you believe it?! Thank you everyone who has read, and reblogged. It means the world to me! Hope you enjoy this nice Dark Steve Rogers fic. Shout out to the ever talented @imanuglywombat for helping bounce some ideas off on this one I didn’t know totally where to go and she helped me find my way.

Trying best to hid your wince you hold your dislocated arm close to you to ease any jarring as you make your way up the ramp into the Quinjet. You’re fairly certain you’re bleeding somewhere if the wetness you feel in your suit is any indication. All you wanted to do was get back to the compound, see medical, then make your way to SHIELD Strike quarters with some good narcos.

“Let me see your arm,” you could break glass with the intensity your jaw clenches at the sound of his voice.

“I’d rather let it fall off,” Steve sighed at your clipped tone, he moves to reach to your arm to set it but you jerk away. Unable to hold in the grunt of pain. Steve frowns at your stubbornness

“I don’t want you touching me,” adamant to solidify your words you take a seat.

“Fine be in pain see if I care,” he stomps off not missing your muttering “You never did care.”

Steve could admit that gutted him. His steps faltered for a fraction. He cared for you more than his own life, more than stupid missions. Sometimes he was just a fucking idiot with women. He’d find a way to fix it though.

Squaring his shoulders he keeps walking to the pilot seat, sitting next to Bucky in the co-pilot seat who side-eyes him. “You gonna leave her like that?”

“She won’t let me touch her,” Buckling himself in he tries his best to keep the pain at bay. Was it really that bad that he couldn’t even set your shoulder back? You’d just sit there in pain than even have him touch you?

He knew you would be mad at him for a while but he figured after 3 months some of your ire would wane.

“Hm,” Bucky watches Steve start up the QuinJet controls, “well can you blame her?”

“Told you not to let her catch you,” he flicks Steve’s ear who tries to swat the hand away, “ever,” Bucky’s condescending tone the same he’d been hearing for months on end since the incident.

“Please don’t start too.” Bucky shrugs flipping switches in response to Steve’s prepping the Quinjet for take off.

Bucky turns his head back, catching your figure way in the back, head tilted down. Your slowed heart rate indicating you’d fallen asleep. He turns back to Steve.

“Now you’ve fucked it by letting her catch you with a side piece,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes, if Bucky went on about this one more time he was liable to punch his best friend unconscious.

“I wouldn’t start if you’d not fucked this up,” Steve grunts wishing for this conversation to not start-up once more, “how long did I have to hear you going on and on about wanting her?”

“I offered my help,” Bucky bobbed his head back and forth in mock “But no the Great Steve Rogers had to woo her.” He scoffs, resituating himself in his seat.

“My side piece? The girl was yours after all.” Steve recalls for Bucky.

“Yeah well let’s be thankful she didn’t know that when she caught you balls deep in her.” there’s a soft snort from you and they both look back catching their breath. They were fairly certain you hadn’t heard anything, but still...

“All I’m saying is fix it,” Bucky grumbles in a whisper looking directly at his pal, “Cause if I have to hear you whine about not being with her one more time-”

“Yeah I get it, Buck,” Steve sighed looking back at you once more.

Once you’re all back at the compound Steve is hot on your tail following you toward medical. You wanted to scream at him but with your loss of blood, still not sure where from, and the pain in your shoulder you didn’t have any fight left in you.

Steve should have headed his buddy’s words of giving you more space but he was unwilling to be apart any longer. You just had to forgive him and let it go. Simple as that. He’d make sure you saw it that way too. It’s not like you knew about all the other times.

A nurse sees you before you can say anything and you’re ushered into a room the door shutting in Steve’s face. Your snide smile makes his hands ball up.

Pushing his thumb to the entry bad you stick your tongue out when it blares at him denied entry. Of course, you would have made sure FRIDAY knew to keep him away from you. He’d get in. He could see through the partially closed vertical blinds making out your figure removing your gear and uniform. Licking his lips at the outline of your breasts.

It had been too long since he’d had sex. None of the other girls did it for him anymore, knowing you weren’t at home waiting for him to go another round with. He had to get in.

Looking at the pad he types in the override code and smiles in triumph with the door slides open for him to come in, shutting after his entry.

Turning around after finally getting the gown on provided for you, you hiss at the sight of him “Why don’t you bother whatever whore’s bed you crawled out of today?”

“I am not sleeping-”

“I don’t really care Steven.” the resignation in your voice when you interrupt him leaves him speechless. You had been mad at him, that’s all he had seen since that night. Just your fire.

“I’m not the one who stepped out of our relationship,” You squeezed your eyes tight trying to will the overbearing oaf out of your life.

“That’s not fair, as far I knew you-” Eyes snapping open at his pathetic excuses you whipped around, finger-pointing. Steve couldn’t help but inhale the smell of your shampoo at the quick turn. God, he missed you.

“I what? Slept with some dude?” Your fingernail presses into his chest, not caring that he couldn’t feel it through his suit, “Well, I didn’t but you couldn’t listen to me so you went,” you jab your finger into his chest feeling the anger flash through you as if it was that night all over again “and got your dick wet with one of those SHIELD trainees.”

Saving you from this hell the nurse comes in with supplies to tend to your wound and reset your shoulder. You step away from Steve to fall onto the bed, the nurse starting on the gash across your abdomen.

”Go” The soft defeat in your voice, turning your to the side catching his gaze from the corner of your eyes.

“I want to be here,” he makes a step towards you, ignoring the way you hiss at the antiseptic being applied makes his stomach turn. He never did enjoy seeing you uncomfortable, it reminded him of his younger years feeling helpless.

“Please,” You whimper, “If you love or ever loved me you’ll leave me alone.” looking at the nurse you try to convey your apologies for the awkward situation you put her in

“I’ve always loved you,” you can barely find it in you to scoff in disbelief at his words, just so tired of this back and forth.

“Sure have a fucked up way of showing it.”

He knew he had to leave, the finality in your tone let him know there was no moving you. Just yet.

Four weeks, he didn’t see you for four weeks. It was making him irritable, he doesn’t have to talk to you but to at least see your face even with the surly look you give him now would be enough. But nothing for four weeks.

“If you sigh one more time I’m gonna blast a hole through your chest,” Tony declared pointing the blaster cannon he’s tinkering with at Steve.

“I mean you can find another girl right?” Bruce offers before Bucky can stop him, scrambling in his chair. The four of them sitting in Tony’s lab relaxing, having guy time. Well, now it’s just friends’ time. It used to be guy time when he had you.

“No, don’t-” Bucky buries his face in his hands resting elbows on his knees after seeing Steve’s face scrunch up.

“Find another girl?” Steve lamented. Oh if it was so simple.

“Well fuck now you started it.” Bucky groans into his hands. He had just gotten him to agree to getting out of the apartments and spending time with some people.

“What?” Bruce looks around confused at his suggestion. It seemed reasonable, there is plenty of fish in the sea as they say.

“I can’t just find another girl like her, she’s one of a kind. Full of fire and passion but nurturing. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted. But she won’t talk to me,” Steve cards his fingers through his hair messing up the perfectly comb style. “I know if I could get her just have an honest conversation we could work past this.”

“Maybe if you had some HYDRA truths serum you could get her to talk,” Bucky sits up straight sure Steve is done for now.

“Why not give her the serum?” Bruce offers nonchalantly.

“The serum?” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Dude!” Tony reprimands Bruce who has the audacity to look confused by Tony’s displeasure

“It’s just this thing we made,” Tony opens his mouth before Bruce can start. “Nothing just gets someone to express their thoughts as they come to them and cannot stop.”

“A truth serum.” Bucky offered.

“Nooo,” Tony rolls his eyes, “it’s just a serum that makes them… talk.” Bruce looks at Tony in confusion.

“That’s not the one I meant,” Bruce looks at Tony not picking up on his eyes shifting and grimace to get Bruce to stop talking.

“The one you call ‘Sex Pollen’,” Bucky tried to hide his chuckle with a cough, but Tony catches it glaring at him.

Steve stands up and marches to stand in front of Bruce who looks up at him. “UUh,”

“Show me.” Bruce can only nod at the authority in Steve’s voice.

“What a pushover,” Tony mutters going back to tinkering with his hand blaster. Bruce scampers away to return quickly with a vial.

“It lowers the progesterone and raises estrogen, but the only caveat is the hormones don’t level out until, well,” Bruce stutters trying to explain.

“Until you cum in her, mouth, pussy, ass anywhere,” Tony supplies, Steve’s brow raise, and Bucky stands up in curiosity. They all surround Bruce’s hand holding out the vial.

“Just a little bit,” Tony instructs, “And she’ll be crying for your cock.” All four men stare at the vial with varied interests. More so pride on Tony’s part. “It also makes them fertile as fuck so if you don’t want a baby don’t finish where you can have one.”

Tony chuckled to himself recalling a memory he fails to share. “That’s kind of how we got Morgan.”

“If you don’t give her what she needs, though, her body temperature will climb and well,” Bruce flusters himself trying to explain without being so technical.

“Boiled brain,” Tony finishes watching Steve grab the vial.

“Only about 3 drops bud,” Tony calls out to Steve’s retreating figure.

Steve heard him but his mind was focused on a plan to get you back. Using this he’d easily seduce you, show you why the two of you were so good together and leave a little present in your body tying him to you forever.

Yeah, this would work just fine.

Steve couldn’t believe his luck, you had left your quarters and he was able to slip in, put three drops in a water bottle on the kitchen he knew you’d finish soon.

Then he waited. It wasn’t 20 minutes later that he was knocking on your door upon your return. You were already flushed when you answered. He knew you had drunk the water, if not all of it.

“St-Steve?” You questioned, you had been doing so well not seeing him or knowing he even existed. It had helped so much in cooling your temper. However, it wasn’t to say you did miss him. You missed him something fierce when you were alone in bed using your toys. Toys that never compared to what Steve could do for you.

Eyeing his physique in front of you now was temping enough. The tight shirt showing his pecks and muscles hidden underneath, your eyes trailed down to the sweat pants sitting low on his hips. You had no shame licking your lips at the sight. Maybe you should have rubbed one out this morning?

Gripping the door frame tight you felt shivers run up and down your spine, centering in your underwear where you could feel growing dampness.

Steve,” you repeated, not failing to notice the way his eyes trail up and down your body. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles, pushing his way in, you stumble back giving him full entry into your living space. One part of you says to push him out but the other says to feel his pecs. Shaking your head you repeat yourself. “What are you doing here?”

Steve says your name, it’s deep, masculine, and soaking in desire. You teetered on your feet.

“You feeling okay baby girl?” he catches you in his grasp, though you weren’t really running. His arm around your back, the other holding your hip.

You try to speak but your throat feels suddenly too dry. Eyeing the water bottle on the counter Steve grabs it, keeping one arm behind your back, and hands it to you.

“Go on,” His eyes trained on your lips as you take the bottle to your mouth. You drink and Steve watches the way your throat moves with each swallow. Just as you’re about to take the bottle from your lips Steve tips the bottom of the bottle up making you swallow the remaining contents.

You keep eye contact even as he sets the bottle back down, his thumb running over your bottom lip collecting missed water. Without thinking your mouth opens and you twirl your tongue around his thumb. Collecting the remains.

“Such a good baby girl,” He purrs, your hands on their own accord trail up his shirt, nails dragging along the defined muscles.

“Yeah, you missed me huh?” You begin to nod your head but something shakes you from your stupor. Your eyes widen, hands on his chest begin to push trying to get him away but that only makes him pull you in against his chest.

Your head tilted up, looking at him with growing fear. “What-” you try to think clearly. “What did you do?”

“I only did what I had to,” His eyes shift to the side for a brief moment and when you look over you see the water bottle.

“Did you drug me?” Your words slur, and your hands that were once pushing him away began kneading his muscles under them.

Steve slides his hand down your back to cup your ass. Two fingers dipping between your butt cheeks and pushing you to your toes. When your body rocks against him you can feel his erection pressing into you.

“Its gonna be okay,” He coos, you fight the sensations pushing through, Your desire to rub up against him, the way his fingers feel so good pushing against your ass. A soft mewl pulls at your lips, feeling his chest rub against yours, nipples pebbling with arousal.

He flips you around holding your back to his chest, hands sliding down your sides to pull your shorts and underwear down. One hand cupping your mound, he groans at the dampness against your mound, You certainly had made a mess.

Tony wasn’t lying about this ‘sex pollen’.

“What did you do?” your voice softer than you want it to be. You should be screaming but your body is responding completely contradictory to how you want it to. When he pushes on your back sending your chest forward he doesn’t relieve the pressure until you’re bending in half.

“I’m reminding you how much you need me,” He pushes his sweats down to under his balls. He didn’t wear any boxers for this, no he wanted to be ready to enter you as soon as he could.

He leans back to groan at the sight of your pussy dripping with arousal. Oh, he may have to start giving you a drop of this every day if you were ready so quickly every time.

You moan when he drags his knuckles up and down your slit, admiring the way you rock on your tiptoes and back down pushing his cock against your ass. You knew you were asking him something but for the life of you, you couldn’t recall. All on your mind is how you can feel the heat of his fat cock behind you, the tip rubbing against your ass cheeks.

“What..?” You speak out, your subconscious trying to push through.

“I’m making sure you won’t leave me again baby,”

“No,” you mewl, upset at the thought of leaving him. Not when he makes you feel so good.

“It’s okay though,” he comforts you, gently caresses your sides before lining his cock to your entrance.

He pushes in grunting at the way you grip him, it had been so long since he’d be in you, and from the feel of your tightness it had been just as long for you to take anything inside.

“I’m securing our future.”

#dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x you #Dark!Steve Rogers #Dark avengers #dark fic #smut #sex pollen

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heshoes · 3 years

Text

Twin Telepathy

❝And I never thought it would be true that one day I'd have to live without you.❞ In which a connection started at birth remains strong until the bitter end.

Warnings (BC THIS ONE IS TRIGGERING): ⚠️ angst, main character death.

Idk the word count but this one is short

Main Characters: Harry Styles, Edward Styles

There is no smut in this one my loves. I wrote this like 5 years ago and I’m posting it here now. I hope you enjoy and reblog let’s talk about it after you read.xx

Age five is when Harry and Edward noticed that they were identical. Age five was the time of development for secret languages, tricks, and pranks pulled on parents, grandparents, and even the teachers at primary school because they could get away with it.

They would even switch classes sometimes.

Harry was always good at maths. He progressed at counting blocks and telling time where Edward was a bit more fuzzy in the subject. However, Edward could always read and excelled in primary school literature despite the fact that he would throw a tantrum anytime his mum would pull him away from the television in order to for him to read her a bedtime story.

“What time is it Harry?” Their mum would ask knowing full well what the time was herself, as she took her seat behind the two curly headed boys on the floor who sat helplessly too close to the television. One because he really couldn’t see all that well, the other because he wanted to be close to his brother.

“I’m not Harry! I’m Ed.” Harry laughed cheekily as he told a lie while his brother squinted to look at the cartoon characters on the telly screen.

“Well, Ed,” His mother spoke playing along with his game, “What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock! Time for bed?”

“Thats right!” Their mother laughed, “When did you get so much better at telling time Edward?”

“Uh-oh”

“That’s right, Harry. Uh-oh.” The boy laughed in his mothers arms as she began to tickle and he began to squirm. Edward found it amusing, and because his brother laughed so did he, feeling the same exact joy that his brother did from the top of his head down to his tiny toes. Rushing for his mother in order to save his brother from the tickle monster, Edward pulled Harry from her arms, and for once he didn’t put up a fight when his mother asked him to read to her after he and Harry were dressed in their pajamas.

•••••

Ten was the age of growing into your face and the ever present awkward phase that everyone has to go through. By age ten, Harry had to wear braces and Edward wore a pair of glasses thicker than should be allowed. Their pranks didn’t work as well as they used to when they were younger due to the physical tell all’s that adorned their faces, but it didn’t make the boys any less close together. If anything it made them stick together more. Age ten was also the age in which they were constantly bullied.

As the boys walked down the hallways books would be ripped from their hands or feet would be purposely stuck out in order for one to trip. When Edward fell and broke his glasses, Harry had decided that he had, had enough. Edward was angry, furious even, but because he could barely see he couldn’t do much about it. Harry, however, could and the anger that Edward felt radiated off of his twin in hot streams.

“Apologize!” Harry shouted at the much bigger boy, standing his ground though he was much shorter.

“For what?” The boy challenged in a much more condescending tone. He knew what he had done and he was proud of himself for it.

“Apologize to my brother or I’ll– I’ll...”

“You’ll what brace face?!”

“I’ll kick your ass!”

The crowd in the hallway ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at the use of Harry’s language as he stood in between Edward and the boy who was much taller. Edward had since put his broken glasses in his pocket as he squinted, tugging at Harry’s arm to get him to walk away from the situation, but Harry wouldn’t budge.

Harry wasn’t prepared for what was to come. As the boy lifted his fist to connect it with Harry’s jaw he was cut short. Before any contact could be made, the boy who was much taller was seated forcefully on the ground holding his bloody nose in his hand, looking up at Edward. Edward looked down on the bully while flexing his hand open and closed hoping that if he shook it hard enough the pain of breaking someone’s nose would go away.

Harry looked at his twin with shock in his eyes and a smile on his face as Ed continued to shake his hand while all three of the boys were escorted to the principal’s office.

“I thought you couldn’t see?” Harry whispered to his twin in hopes of a quick explanation.

“I can’t see things that are far away, but that fucker, he was pretty close.”

Harry and Edward both began to laugh as they sat patiently in the principals office for their parents to collect them for their suspension from school.

•••••

Fifteen was the age of rebellion, girls, and more argument’s between the boys than usual. They had since grown into their faces and their own personalities and though they were still close, they didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. Harry had gotten into sports and school, while Edward had gotten into bands and trouble. The one thing that they did both agree on at the moment however was going to Tash Fraser's birthday party. Although she was two years their senior she had still sent the boys a personal invite. She was turning 17 and this of course would help boost their popularity for the year.

They were already high on the food chain at school for boys of only fifteen years old, and since they had grown into their faces and out of their braces and glasses, they had become rather attractive aside from the baby fat that they still had here and there.

“You ask.” Harry spoke, shoving Edward towards their parents room and grabbing the newspaper out of his hands, disturbing him from his place at the table as he read while flicking his brand new tongue ring against his teeth. Harry didn't care if Ed was angered by his rude interuption. He was older after all even if it was only by two minutes. Edward should do as he said.

“Why would I ask?! I just got off of punishment. I’ll be lucky if I can go anywhere. If I ask, dad will take one look at me and say no. No doubt I'll go anyway, but I'd rather do it without having to sneak. Leave me alone and give me my shit back! If you wanna go so bad you ask asshole!” Edward pushed his twin back, both of them equally aggravated by the other.

“We won’t be able to go anywhere if mum and dad hear you cussing! Fat chance on sneaking out with your big mouth!” Harry spoke aggressively above a whisper to his brother, making himself be heard.

Edward pulled his tongue ring between his teeth, playing with it and making Harry cringe before he nodded his head up and down in agreement.

“So what are we going to do?” Harry asked as if he were fresh out of ideas though he really didn’t bother to think of any.

“We’ll make them breakfast.” Edward spoke quickly, thinking on his toes much to Harry’s approval. And so they did, buttering their parents up with toast, pancakes, tomatoes, sausage, and bacon in order to get a simple, “alright” from their mother and father.

“You have to be home no later than one thirty!” Their mom reminded them as they headed out the door, riding with a mutual friend in order to make their way to the party.

“We’ll be home by twelve.” Harry yelled back jokingly earning a slap to the back of the head from his brother.

As the night went on, the music grew louder and the illegal activity had gotten more out of hand. Drinks of the alcoholic kind had been passed around, and though both Harry and Edward had one or two, neither of them dared to get drunk, knowing full well that their mother would be up waiting for them to get back.

“It’s one fifteen.” Harry spoke looking at his silver wrist watch that Edward had gotten him as a gift on their thirteenth birthday. “We should get ready to leave soon.”

Edward nodded his head in agreement as he looked around the crowded room for their friend. Hoping that he was sober enough to take them home. When he spotted him and told him that he was ready to go, their friend agreed to drive them even though Harry had notice the stumble in his step.

“Nuh uh, Edward. He’s drunk out of his mind.” Harry spoke to his twin, but was ignored as soon as the words left his lips.

“I can’t get in trouble again Harry. He’s fine we just live right up the street. It won’t take us long to get home. It’s fine.” Edward began to walk towards the car, but as soon as he took a step Harry pulled him back.

“Ed no! Why don’t you ever listen?!”

“Harry! If you want to stay here and get in trouble with dad because you’re not home in time then fine! Stay! I’ve just been freed and I’m not gonna be grounded again over something as stupid as this! I’ll see you when you get home.”

Harry let his brother go tired of arguing back and forth. There was no arguing with Ed and no point in trying to get him to think clearly when he had gotten an idea of his own.

Twenty more minutes passed before Harry had found a sober soul in the party who was willing to take him home. He hadn’t been drinking again, but he had the worst headache that he’d ever had in his life and it felt like it would split him clean in two if he didn’t get home and lie down. As they got in the car they traveled down the road only to see that it was blocked, a sudden panic started to set in. Harry’s head pounded worse and his mouth went dry and before the police got the chance to turn them in the opposite direction, Harry saw the car that Edward was in wrapped around a tree as if it were a flimsy piece of aluminum foil.

•••••

Today Harry was twenty and though this was considered to be an age of a milestone in life, he didn’t celebrate it in the traditional way. Harry hadn’t celebrated any birthday since fifteen because he saw no point in it. Instead of throwing a party or hanging out with friends, every year since after his fifteenth birthday, Harry would go to the cemetery in Cheshire so that he could be close to his brother.

Today was a day of remembrance.

As Harry sat against the cold granite headstone that represented Edward, he thought of the time that they spent together while he was living. Harry was thankful that he was in a fairly secluded area because he would talk to Ed and tell him about the things that went on in his day and as he thought about his brother, he would laugh out loud when he would remember a prank that they pulled when they were younger, like when Harry dressed up as Edward for an hour at school just so that he could take his maths test for him. Their mum was so proud of Edward for passing with flying colors.

Or when Edward would run into Harry’s room and pretend to be him when they were supposed to be sleeping. Harry had a girlfriend at the time and would sneak out of his room at night to go see her, where they would make out under a tree. Harry realised that he had never thanked Ed for that so he did it now. A simple “thank you” left his lips before he fell silent and his eyes began to water. Because this was a day of remembrance, Harry would also remember the day that he lost his best friend.

Harry remembered the waiting.

Waiting in the oddly cold room at the hospital with his mum and dad as doctors rushed about doing everything they could in order to save his brother.

Harry remembered the tears.

Tears that rolled down the faces of his family and himself as he rocked back and forth in his chair with with his hands clasped together tightly, saying a silent prayer that Ed would somehow walk out of the emergency room with maybe only a couple of stitches here and there.

Harry remembered the screams.

The deafening screams that came from his mother, his father, and himself when the doctor came out of the operating room and said that Edwards heart had given up and that his poor body was too weak to put up a fight.

Most of all, Harry remembered how he already knew that Edward was gone before the doctor came to announce it. His head had stopped hurting and his stomach was in knots, but he could no longer feel that strange connection that he and Edward shared since before he could remember and since age five, the age that he and Edward realized that they were identical.

Harry sat against Edward’s tombstone and allowed his tears to fall uninhibitedly, ridding himself of the pain that he felt everytime he thought about that fateful day. And though it hurt that he no longer had Edward around physically, he wasn’t sad anymore because he knew that he was there in spirit. The feeling that Harry felt was more overwhelming because everytime he thought about it, he could barely believe it.

He never thought it would be true that he would have to live a day without his best friend, his brother, his twin.

#harry styles #harry styles fic rec #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #Edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst

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fvrxdrm · 3 years

Text

.•*Friends to Lovers on Holidays with Leon Kennedy*•.

Happy Single Asses’ Day!!!

Pairing: Modern!Leon x F!Reader

Warning(s): NSFW

*****

“Cheers to us single fuckers!”

The clinking of wine glasses subtly intertwined with the voices of the actors in a horribly-done “horror” movie that was running on the television as you and Leon briefly joined them together before letting the tang of sweet, bitter, and sour wine hit your tongues. And when they did, you moaned in satisfaction.

“Not bad.”

“It better not be. This shit costed, like, $100.”

Leon grabbed the wine bottle in front of him and went on to refilling yours and his glasses respectively.

“My wallet’s fucking crying,” he continued.

“Hey, don’t bullshit me now. Jack Daniel’s costs $50.00 and I don’t hear you complaining. And from what I remember you buy five of ‘em,” you retorted back hitherto taking a small sip of your drink.

“For your information I only buy one bottle now. Had the president not let us quit going on missions your statement would’ve been correct.”

It was true. Ever since the New York incident, bioterrorism had gone down and those rare times where an occurrence would go down somewhere in a small region on earth the BSAA would be sent, sometimes even bringing one of the newer DSO agents to help them with the cases. And so, with the conclusion that the count was dying at a leisure pace, the government decided there was no need for their veteran agents to be sent on missions unless they were lethal and needed someone who was as exceedingly experienced as you on the field and sanctioned both you and Leon to only do office work until further notice.

“I mean, yeah, true… Pass me the bowl?” With eyes still glued to the T.V., Leon reached out to grab ahold of the large bowl of popcorn and blindly looked for your hand until he finally felt the bottom of the bowl touch a surface, letting it go once he felt the weight shift lighter.

“This is bullshit. Who the fuck just crawls on the ground after tripping while the killer is literally right behind them? Like, fucking 5 inches away from them! I would’ve stood up and ran.”

The movie had been going for about half an hour now and Leon couldn’t be more amused at how you reacted at every scene where the characters’ brains seemingly flew out of their heads. He wasn’t paying attention to the film. He’d watch this way, way, way, way back anyway and he knew how stupid it was so he just entertained himself by listening to your rants and laughing (also getting smacked every now and then).

“Oh my god! Why the fuck does she keep screaming?”

“You know what, I wouldn’t care if he gets killed.”

“Of course, the phone just had to be dead.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now!? Why the fuck are you making out while a psycho is literally out there to sheesh kebab you?”

“Oh my god, I just lost my brain cells.” And so on and so forth…

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Leon muttered with a smirk, popping a chip in his mouth as he turned his gaze towards the movie.

“Well, I didn’t know it was that bad. I thought it was one of those movies that are so bad they’re good,” you defended as you swigged the rest of the wine that filled a portion of your glass. Your friend just snickered in response, stretching his arms and legs and smiled in fulfilment once he heard the crack of aging bones and staring narrow-eyed at the credit screen in front of him.

Words became trapped inside your heads. You didn’t know what to do from here. The only thing you planned was watching a movie for Valentine’s day – or Single Asses’ day as you call it – and fight shy of anything revolving around romance whether it be some sort of song or movie or something.

You both had been unlucky when it came to romance and intimacy. The closest you had to love were some one-night stands with random strangers and even that was far away from said emotion. Your jobs were complicated and when you both had started in the agency years after the Raccoon City incident, it already began taking a toll on your heads and continued to up until the incident in New York. And so, relationships were the last thing you worried about. Though, that didn’t mean your hearts wouldn’t race every once and a while. Truth be told you caught feelings halfway through your career, both of you. You sometimes entertained the idea of you and your best friend being together while he had conflict between you and Ada. Both of you were people he couldn’t let go of but he felt like one was superior to the other and his brain scrambled around for a bit until the day he almost lost you. It was the day disease almost took over the world: Tall Oaks and China. That was the day he realized just how much you meant to him.

“So, um… I should go now. I’ll see you around.” Leon stood up from the couch and was about to head out your apartment door until he felt something warm enclose around his wrist. He turned around to find your pretty face looking sheepish and pleading – pink creeping from your neck to the tip of your ears.

“I-it’s already late and I… I don’t think you’re in the right condition to drive. You can stay here if you want.” The blush on your face darkened even more and your eyes suddenly found interest on your tiled floor, your grip around Leon loosening. Seeing as how abashed you looked right now, he playfully simpered and decided hey, I teasing is fun!😀

“You don’t think I can drive myself home while drunk? Haven’t you seen me in action back in New York?” He spoke.

All enervation and intoxication suddenly voided out of your body; eyes bulging out of their sockets as his statement caught you unwary for a second. Incoherent words stumbled out of your mouth and none were piecing together to form an acceptable response.

“I’m just playing. I get your intentions. You seriously need to chill the fuck out,” Leon finally said after a few enough rambles were pitched into the room ceaselessly.

Your shoulders sagged and the tension that rapidly built up in you were unfettered in a matter of seconds. “Jesus,” you murmured. “You know how I get when I’m drunk.” Leon continued in his bursts of loud laughter and it only made you sink into your seat even more.

“I’m sorry… You’re just so freaking cute!”

Whoops… Didn’t mean for that to come out…

Leon’s fit of hysterics died down in a trice, feeling like a twelve-year-old whose embarrassment was so immense after getting rejected and being made fun of in front of the whole school that he’d rather melt in a puddle where he can be forgotten.

“I-I’m sorry. That just…flew out of nowhere. I- “

“It’s fine. At least I’m not the only tomato here, right? And um… Thanks… For the compliment,” you said, face burning another 100°C.

“Well, uh,” Leon scratched the nape of his neck and shoved his free hand in his pockets where each of his fingers twiddled with one another, “wanna chat?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be bed anytime soon, unless you’re really tired.”

“No, I’d love for you to accompany me tonight,” he replied.

“Okay, come back here you himbo.” You patted the empty space on the couch Leon previously sat on and smiled at him once he made himself comfortable with his feet resting on your coffee table and hands finding contentment in providing itself as a pillow for his head. “So, how’s life?”

“Okay, okay…fine I’ll…haha…do it.”

A few minutes had passed, talking being the only thing you’d done up until Leon tackled and attacked you with tickles on your sides.

“You, Leon Scott Kennedy,” a giggle fell past your lips, “are…”

“Are?”

“…a fucking…idiot!” Leon fell in a daze at your words and while he was at it you took advantage of his vulnerability and shoved him down to the floor with you collapsing on top of him. Only when he felt the softness of your carpet and the hardness of your floor did he bring himself out of his stupor.

“You sneaky little shit-“ He was about to place both of his hands on your waist and flip you two over when his wrists were suddenly grabbed and pinned above his head not even a second after he blinked.

“Uh uh, not so fast. You really think you could get away with this, don’t you?” A smug grin pulled the corners of your lips. Leon sighed.

“Fine, you win.”

Silence had taken over the room once more, the muffled chirping of crickets outside the closed windows the only sound filling in the missing gaps. Though the light that gave life to your apartment was dim, the distance between your faces was enough for Leon to take in every detail that defined the complexion of your face: from the lines that explicated the years and hardship you had been through, to the little dimples beside your lips that he was sure was as deep as the Pacific Ocean. From the constellation of cute freckles that flecked your cheeks and the bridge of your nose, to the pink hue that gave light to them. You were beautiful and there was no doubt it was one of the many things he admired about you. And there was also no doubt that he wasn’t afraid to voice it out while he laid flushed beneath you.

“You’re cute. You know that, right?”

“Mhm, I’m gonna be hot when I’m sixty.” You giggled at your own joke but when you saw just how awestricken your friend was by you, your smile immediately dropped and you were left flustered on top of him in diffidence and nervousness. And because of your oblivion, your hold on his wrists slackened and he took no time flipping the two of you over and switching up the roles.

“I knew you would fall for that, princess,” Leon remarked and before you could even let out a single letter, he already had his lips smashed onto yours.

A soft gasp fell from your lips but it didn’t take long for you to succumb to the feeling of his supple and slightly chapped lips.

In that kiss was the sweetness of passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into a moment, and in that moment, you were in your pure and vulnerable selves.

It was slow and subtle at first, lips delicately lingering against each other for a moment of lip-lock until a relentless appetency set fire in your bodies. It became sloppy and messy and the abiding flavor that ghosted on your tongues left you wanting more and more of what you could give.

Hands set sail on plump skin and it wasn’t long until pieces of clothing slowly began replacing the space on your carpet where you once laid, Leon having carried you to sit you down on your couch.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this? I don’t want to push you into something you don’t want,” Leon whispered against your kiss-swollen lips, the ghost of his breath sending a delicious chill down your spine.

“I want to… Please?” And that did it for him.

He let out low growl from the depths of his throat before battering your neck with tickling kisses and bites were marks were left as graves created by the inner animal that was housed inside of his body. The brush of his skin against yours arised the short hairs that adorned your own and it didn’t help that the evening cold would tease past you in a speed that sent you shivering to your toes.

“Leon, please.”

“Please what, babe?” Leon kissed along your thighs while he looked at you through the shortness of his lashes.

“I need you, please.”

“In a minute, babe. I fucking need to taste you,” he mumbled, voice raspy with lust and desire.

You anticipated with what was bound to happen next with closed eyes and lip restrained in between teeth. However, no matter how much you prepared yourself for the feeling of his tongue touching your folds, your back still arched at the feeling and a soft moan sounded from an open mouth, hands finding home on Leon’s disheveled hair.

“Oh, fuck!”

“That’s it, baby. Moan for me, moan my name.” That you did. You let a string of curses unknowingly escape your lips along with his name slipping in between them as he lapped your sex with a type of hunger even he couldn’t describe for the life of him. He simply couldn’t get enough of your taste; getting you off once, twice, thrice, until you couldn’t take it anymore and pulled him by his hair before having a sample taste of your own through his lips. And while he was busy savoring your mouth once more, you pushed him on the floor again and straddled his hips impatiently where you felt the twitch of his cock touch your pussy.

“Please, Leon. I want you. I want you so bad. I wanna feel your cock inside me, now.”

“It’s all yours, sweetheart. It’s all yours.”

Permission granted.

Your hand grasped the base of his cock and stroked it a few times before lining the tip up to your entrance, pushing it down once you were sure enough that his dick would just slide in you, and you both moaned at the stretch and the tightness that surrounded him.

“Fuck, babe, you’re so tight,” Leon grunted.

You let yourself give in to his astonishing size before you slowly began bouncing up and down his length, your eyelids falling close to the feeling of his dick hitting just the right spots with neither of you trying. You moved in sync together, his hips propelling into yours and gradually speeding up as indulgence replaced the throbbing of your walls at their painful expansion.

“Fuck, Leon, shit.”

This was good, painfully good, but somehow it still wasn’t enough for Leon so he decided to take control again and turned you to your back where he can finally satisfy both you and him much to your contentment. He pounded into you with so much force and the tips of his fingers dug into your skin that you were sure you were going to be sore the next day at work and bruises were going to be a part of your attire for a while. Oh, well, I’m just going to call in sick tomorrow.

“You’re taking my co – ngh – ck so good, baby girl. So – ngh – good.”

Mewls left your mouth at the sound of his broken words and a familiar tight warmth filled your stomach, your moans getting louder and louder each time Leon gave a powerful blow.

“Leon, please, please, please, I’m so close – shit!”

“I know, baby, I know. Just hold on a little longer for me.”

After a few more thrusts, they became sloppy, you noticed, and all pent-up emotion boiled over into one strong orgasm that has you writhing and shaking in relief.

“Well, fuck. That was good,” you spoke in between heavy breathing, the blanket you took from inside your couch now covering your glistening wet bodies.

“Best sex I’ve ever had if I’m being honestly,” Leon added, chuckling despite struggling to get some air himself.

“Yeah. But seriously though,” you steadied your head in your hand and began tracing random doodles on the exposed skin of his chest as you spoke, “Is this going to be a one-time thing or…”

“Well, to be honest, I wanna go further from just being a one-night stand. You know, a real relationship and all that. But if you want it to be a one-time thing, I’ll respect that.” You could tell Leon was disheartened at the thought of him being a one-night stand only but your intention was just the same as his and now, you were sure about your decision.

“I wanna go further than this, too. I love you so fucking much.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page then.” Leon placed a chaste kiss on your lips before he pulled you on top of him and lulled you both into a deep slumber.

*****

Lmao this was longer than intended XD.

#leonkennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon+kennedy+imagine #leon kennedy x you #leon+kennedy+fanfic #leon kennedy imagines #leon s kennedy x reader #leonxreader #resident evil #leon+s+kennedy+x+reader

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bi-writes · 4 years

Text

mine—mob!tom

a notorious extra

She is the sun, moon, and stars, and she is all for me.

this fic can be read stand-alone from the series

type: one-shot, alternate universe detail: mob!tom x fem!reader word count: 9.1k warnings: mature language and themes, nsfw content 18+ (unprotected sex, breeding kink, dom!tom, oral—fem!receiving) series masterlist

this part is dedicated to @duskholland—thank you for always supporting this series and being my cheerleader

Everything was blue. The moonlight was soft, and the drapes were open, and it made the room so blue. Perhaps it would calm him when he found out. Maybe, just maybe, he could be comforted by the light when he discovered the side of your bed cold and empty, left behind.

Maybe it would help him to forgive you.

You watched his sleeping figure as you zipped up your jacket. He had been so tired lately, those eyes you loved so much always drawn downwards. He carried deep, dark circles under them, a permanent frown on his face, a bitterness to him that left the space between you cold and distant and tense. You tried to soothe him with kisses, with love, with something gentle, but Tom turned away from you always. Not even switching your normal attire for something more revealing had done much to calm his mind. He was somewhere else entirely, his eyes always closed. He always said it helped him think, but you thought it better allowed his already-formed opinions devour him.

Finally, tonight, you had gotten him to sleep. You wouldn’t let him into the bedroom unless his hands were empty, free of his laptop or documents or papers, and Tom had a rule against sleeping without you.

The rule was that he never did.

He had tried hard to force himself into the bedroom, but one look at your face had him frozen. In any challenge, Tom was no match for you. Your word was final, always, and while Tom always had a way of standing up to you, it never mattered.

“I know what I’m doing, y/n.”

“Men always say that, and then they fuck it up.”

“I’m not going to fuck it up!”

“Don’t yell at me. You’re not a child. Give me a reason why, and look at me like you respect me, in the fucking eyes, Tom. Tell me.”

Silence always followed arguments that went that sort of way. Tom was always so angry, hands so tense he thought of grabbing you and shaking you, but then he would realize that was exactly what you wanted to hear. Nothing, because Tom was always too angry to think properly. Men that were angry never thought, they only acted, and then Tom would be angry because as always, you were right.

There were no secrets between you. Tom voiced every thought in his head, even if he thought it stupid, because you were listening, and sometimes you were the only voice that ever made sense and the only one that would listen. His men were obedient, willing, but all they did was try and please him with new ideas, and sometimes Tom just needed to say what was on his mind. His favorite way to think was to sit on your shared bed, with your head in his lap as he played with your hair, his voice low as he spoke gently, sometimes into your ear. It soothed him to have you near, to know you were giving him your undivided attention, and it was where most of his decisions suddenly became clear and sound. His wife was listening, and if she was still listening, it meant she thought he was right, and if she thought it was right, then it just was.

Tonight had been different. There had been no arguments, no talking. You finally let him in when he was without anything, and as soon as he came in, you turned out all the lights and got into bed. Tom had taken the silent cue, undressing and getting into a warm shower, and when he came back to bed, you were waiting for him, one hand drawn out for him to take. He had taken it; tightly, he wound himself into your arms, and he realized he didn’t need to work. His head hurt, so much, and finally there was nothing but silence around him and the touch of you. Fingers threading through his curls, soft skin against his own, warm body near his. He had fallen asleep before he even had the chance to say anything more.

You waited until his body had gone completely limp beside you before you had gotten up. There were no secrets between you; not until now, at least.

You respected Tom’s privacy because you loved him; it was also because you and Tom had vowed to never have secrets, lies, stories get between the two of you. You were better than that, meant for more than that, but you had noticed things had been off for some time now. You weren’t worried about other women no matter how many times his men talked around you.

You were certain other women did not excite Tom. Sometimes you wondered if his men thought they were clever because of it, maybe they even thought they were funny; poking at relationship insecurities must have been a game for them. You had let the thought entertain you once or twice, but Tom’s love never faltered, not even once. The distance between you was not one of love.

It was words.

You had noticed weeks before the way he sat. Tense, unrelaxed shoulders, the hard set of his jaw, that thing he would do with his fingers when he was stressed. Flexing them and unflexing them, and he would scratch at the tattoo of your initials on his finger absentmindedly. He ate in his office, and when you would fall asleep by yourself, sometimes you’d notice him wearing the same outfit as the day before in bed. There were things on his mind, and when Tom Holland was sure of himself, he was not a tense, stressed, bottled up man in sleek suits. He was confident, open, and he was bold enough to bend you right over his desk and take you in any room of his house. But even those moments didn’t feel right; staring into his eyes had been scarce. Tom was always good to you, always sweet, but no longer did his love feel direct. It felt like something to find release, to find relief in the tightness of his being, and while you liked to be that outlet for him at times, it didn’t seem to relieve any part of him anymore.

There was something on his mind; and he was not telling you what that something was.

You found yourself in his office. Your heels clicked against the wood as you stepped inside, and you made sure to lock the door behind you as you carried yourself through the room. On the chair in front of his desk was where he had thrown all of the things he had planned to carry to bed. Laptop, papers, a few pens he had left uncapped. You picked up the pile, moving his laptop to the side as you flipped open the first few manila folders.

Sheets, a money trail you had seen many times before on paper, but you didn’t recognize the accounts on it. They were not Tom’s accounts, no, they belonged to someone else. You took a seat in Tom’s chair, grabbing one of the uncapped pens and dragging the ballpoint tip against the paper as you went over the numbers. The money moved around like clockwork. Tom had written notes in the corners in his scrawling handwriting.

Offshore to shell, shell to offshore.

Back and forth, where is it coming from?

No English companies, can’t trace the transaction.

You eyed Tom’s laptop, picking it up and opening it up in front of you. You typed his password in, watching it unlock, and you made sure the searches were untraceable before following the breadcrumbs Tom had left behind. You had a sour taste in your mouth.

If he had asked for my help, I could have found the fucking answers myself.

Tom was good at getting answers, but he always had trouble connecting the dots. Men always had the motivation to gather the puzzle pieces, but it was women who always figured out where each piece lied.

Tom was always too busy in his mind to ever do it on his own.

It didn’t take you long to produce a name. Money was easy to move around, but it was difficult to hide, especially when it amounted to hundreds of millions of pounds. With everything digital, the footprints were hard to find, but they were always, always there.

You shut Tom’s laptop, reaching down into his desk. He kept a drawer with a false bottom on the left side; it was where he kept the cigarettes you never let him have. When you opened the drawer and popped the bottom, you did find the cigarettes. But it was something else that made your heart drop.

There were crumpled parchment paper notes, smashed and ripped, at the bottom. You slowly took them out, smoothing the paper out on the desk. You swallowed hard as your eyes scanned over the small papers. They had been ripped out of a notebook, the paper thick and brown and rough, and there on the paper was you.

You had a smile on your face, and you were wearing your favorite leather jacket. You were sketched onto the paper, deep smudges of lead filling in the shadows of your face. Near the bottom was an address. You had been to that address wearing that smile.

The rest of the notes were similar. Sketches of you, in different outfits, with different smiles, but all of you in that smudged, dark pencil shading. Each picture had a caption, locations of where you had been when they had been sketched, and you had tears in your eyes when you realized why Tom had been so upset, distant, away from you.

“I love you.”

“I know that, Tom.”

“No—”

“Tom, hey! I’m trying to do some work here, please, I don’t have time to—Oh!”

“Just…let me look at you, darling. Please.”

“What’s gotten into you, Tom?”

“Nothing. I just love you. Say it back.”

“Tom…”

“Say it back, y/n. Please.”

“I love you, Tom. You know that. You know I love you.”

You smoothed out the last note, and you felt nothing but anger when you read what was scribbled onto it.

She’s beautiful. Give it back, and maybe, just maybe, we can talk.

You shoved all the notes back into the drawer, haphazardly closing it. You slammed it closed rather, grabbing Tom’s gun off the table and stuffing into the back of your jeans. You rummaged through his drawers looking for anything else, but you came up empty.

Tom wasn’t going to have enough time to stop you. He was fast asleep in your bedroom, and he would stay there. His men would tell Tom as soon as they noticed you leave, but you knew that, and that was why you left from the second story window of his office, dropping down a few ledges until you made your way to the garage. You were quick to pick a vehicle, getting into the drivers’ side. Tom never trusted you with his cars. You had grown up driving on the other side of the road, and he would joke that you would ruin his precious collection.

Really, you knew that didn’t matter to him. You could burn Tom’s millions, and he would still look at you with that same, doe-eyed lovesick expression. Really, you thought he was afraid of where you might go if you were the one driving. You always thought about taking him with you, driving off into nowhere. Tom would object, but if you left, you had a feeling he would follow.

You drove for what felt like hours. You always taught Tom not to act rashly, but you had acted rashly just now. But even with the time between you, even having silence around you to let yourself breathe and think, you were still angry, seething with it, hot inside all over.

You knew why. People threatened you all the time. You were a princess, a queen, an heiress that had inherited an underground, criminal fortune, and everyone wanted your head just to have a taste of the wealth at your fingertips. You weren’t afraid of other people, you weren’t scared of what they could do to you.

But not my Tommy. Never my Tommy.

All of the lights were on in the house when you stepped through the front door. You had put your hair up and away from your face when you left, but now it was down, forced out of its style. Your jacket was in your hand, and there was blood on your clothes. Tom’s gun was still tucked into the back of your jeans, and as you made your way into the living room, you tried to hide your hands, but it was no use. They were bleeding at the knuckles, bruised and split. You held your head up high as your heels sounded, and as you came further into the living room, Tom was there, sitting on the couch, a glass of dark liquor in front of him and a cigarette hanging off his lips.

“What did I say about that?” You tried to scold him, but it came out soft and low. When Tom finally turned to look at you, his face twitched with a touch of something sinister. He eyed the cut above your brow, the split lip, the dried blood under your nose. Other than your small injuries, you were relatively untouched, but it made him feel no better.

“Sit down,” Tom said firmly.

“Tom—”

“Don’t say another bloody word,” Tom snapped. “Sit down.”

You shook your head, “I’m not. You’re going to yell at me. You’re going to tell me that I’m stupid, that I’m careless, that I’m—”

“Oh, really?” Tom stood up, coming towards you, “and why do you think that is, y/n? Who else is going to tell you how things are? Who the fuck else is going to tell you how bloody stupid you are?! How reckless you are?! How you must have your head so far up your own arse that you didn’t even bother to ask for any backup?!”

You had not seen this Tom Holland in a long while. In fact, you had not seen this Tom Holland since you had met him. The one with unhinged and limitless anger, the one that broke glass and severed heads with nothing but his glare. The Tom Holland others were afraid of, and the Tom Holland you had tamed.

I suppose tamed until now.

“I know what I did!” You shot back. “I know what I fucking did, I don’t need you to tell me how it is, I already know how it is!”

“Clearly you—fucking don’t!” He grabbed your chin, forcing you closer to him, and you glared up at him as he held you roughly, making you look right into his eyes.

“If you’re looking for an apology, you won’t be getting it,” you spit at him, your voice a growl. “I’m not sorry. I don’t regret anything. If I had the chance, I would do it all…over…again.”

Tom let out a bitter laugh, his hand falling until he had you by the throat. You were staring each other down, both eyes dark and blown wide with that familiar rage. Tom thought that you had never been more of a Holland than this moment. Reckless, clouded with fury, willing and guilty of doing the most impulsive, dangerous things. You had never been more of a reflection of him than you were now. You were terrifyingly beautiful.

He was shaking. You were dizzy from being hit and thrown and grabbed, but you never faltered in your ability to get things done. No matter how many men he sent your way, they laid in a trail behind you, groaning, unconscious, laying in heaps of their own blood as they failed to get back up again. You had a crazed, starlight reflection in those brilliant eyes of yours, and you held Tom’s gun up in front of you, finger on the trigger.

“You,” you breathed, swallowing the blood in your mouth. You wiped the blood that was coming down your nose on the sleeve of your leather jacket, shaking your head. “Do you fucking recognize me?”

“Yes—” He held his hands up, cowering. “Yes, fuck…yes…”

“You’ve been watching me. Like a coward, in the shadows,” you laughed bitterly, stepping over one of his men that was on the floor in front of you. “You don’t look so happy to see me, though.”

“You’ve got a bloody gun in my face.”

“You’re lucky that’s all I’ve got,” you growled, glaring at him. “You’ve been threatening Tom. My Tom. Tell me why.”

“This is between us,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re just…collateral damage.”

“Well, collateral damage came back and bit you in the ass, so start talking, or I’ll make sure you never forget today,” you lowered the gun, pointing it at his knee. “Start fucking talking.”

He glanced between you and the gun, and when he made a move, you pulled the trigger, this time aimed at his thigh. You were careful with where you shot him, nothing but flesh and ensuring the bullet went through and through, and then you moved the gun back to his kneecap.

“I won’t ask again,” you said softly, kneeling down to his level as he cried out in pain in his chair, holding onto his leg. His face was reddening, his whole body shivering, and you tilted your head to the side. “Tell me why you’re after Tom.”

“He—gah!” He let out a few coughs, holding his hands over the wound to stop the bleeding. “He can’t just come back and take back this bloody city. He left to play kingpin in New York, and there’s no more room in London for—God!” He shook his head, “there’s no more room for Hollands here. You can’t leave for years and expect everything to be handed back to you. Even you understand that, don’t you?”

Your nose twitched a bit. You did understand; but it didn’t matter. He was your Tommy, and you couldn’t just let people threaten him. They could threaten you all they wanted, but not him. You swiped a pen off the table, clicking it open before shoving it into the bullet wound, grabbing him by the neck and forcing him facedown into the desk. His screams did not deter you; they only encouraged you.

“If you come after us ever again, I’ll find you all over again,” you whispered in his ear. “And I’ll make sure London forgets your name ever fucking existed. Do you understand me?”

“Yes—yes! Yes…yes, God, please…please…yes…”

“You’ll bend the knee,” you murmured, forcing him to look at you. “You’ll look Tom Holland in the eyes, apologize, and be grateful that he’s allowed you to keep your head for this long after all of the trouble you caused. You’ll bend the knee to him, you’ll pay your dues, and you’ll warn anyone else in London that if they don’t do the same, I’ll pay them a visit, too. But I will not be giving out warnings anymore.”

He had tears in his eyes. He was afraid of you. You pulled his head back and slammed it against the desk, watching his eyes flutter shut as you knocked him unconscious. You fished into his suit jacket, finding his cell phone, and you dialed the first number you saw, tossing it onto the desk with a thud. You wanted him to be alive. How else would he tell others what happened today?

You glanced between Tom’s eyes and his lips, your body relaxing a bit as you stared at him. You loved him with every fiber of your being. You loved him endlessly, desperately, completely, and you would do it all over again just to protect him. You were not sorry about what you had done, not even a little bit. They had threatened your Tommy, made him feel small and powerless and at war, and you remember all too well what that felt like.

“I’m not sorry,” you said again, softer this time. “They wanted to hurt you, Tommy. Yell at me all you want. It won’t change my mind. They deserved it, and I hope they’re afraid of me now. I hope they think twice before threatening you, I hope that they are scared of what we’ll do to them if they don’t fall in line.” Your eyes watered a bit, and you sucked in a shaky breath. “You are mine, and I will do it again and again until people stop trying to touch what’s mine.”

Tom was breathless. That anger inside of him had faded, nothing but a deep lull in his chest as he realized how undeniably his you were. You were fearless when it came to things that you loved, and he was nothing but breathless listening to you speak. You lit a warm fire in his heart, and suddenly he understood you completely. Tom had been prepared to do just the same as soon as he discovered who was threatening you; he had been prepared to scream, to fight, to hurt anyone that tried to come close to you. Of course you had gotten to them first. You were brilliant in more ways than one, and Tom was foolish to think he could finish jobs without your help. He simply couldn’t.

Tom was silent as he pushed you backwards, his hand squeezing the expanse of your throat as he shoved you back into the wall, his eyes on your lips as he stared down at you. His eyes traveled back up your face, meeting your own, and you reached over, grabbing both sides of his face firmly and pulling him close, close enough that his forehead rested against yours.

“The things I would do for you, Tom…” You whispered against his lips. “I’m afraid of it.” Your voice faltered for a moment, and his breath was so warm against your lips, his chest rising and falling. “I’m afraid of how far I’ll go. B-Because the truth is Tom…” He loosened his grip on your throat, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. “I’ll let the whole…I-I would let the whole fucking world burn if it meant you would be alright.”

“You’re so selfish,” Tom muttered, shaking his head, but his entire body was warm. He was grounded here, right in front of you, and the only thing he could truly focus on was the way you were licking those luscious lips of yours and how gorgeous you looked as you let your jacket drop onto the floor. He pushed the straps of your camisole down your shoulder, running a thumb along the bare skin there, and he grunted a bit as he pushed you back into the wall again. “You’re so fucking selfish, y/n.”

“Maybe,” you shrugged, your eyes calm. It didn’t faze you, it didn’t bother you, not even a little bit. “But you’re alive. I don’t much care for anything else.”

Something about the tone of your voice was so ominous. Tom could see in your eyes that you meant every word, and the thought that you would let everything fall to chaos for him put you in a dark light. You were dangerous, in love, but Tom was not easily deterred.

No, he was not deterred. In fact, there was something stirring inside of him at the thought of you burning the world for him.

“You don’t mean that, love,” Tom licked his lips, his thumb finding your bottom lip. He touched where your lip had split, and you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it for a moment. The intense stare between you remained, and neither of you dared to look away from one another. “You and I both know that you care about other people. Not just me.”

You blinked, “I meant what I said,” you said softly. Your words echoed in his ear.

She is afraid of how far she will go for me.

You shoved his chest harshly suddenly, backing him up until his knees hit the couch, and he was forced to sit. You fell into his lap, gripping his chin tight, and you made him look at you as you brought the camisole up and over your head until you were sitting in your jeans and nothing else in front of him. Tom kept his eyes level with your own, and you smirked down at him, as if daring him to look at you.

You took his hands, sliding up the expanse of your thighs until they rested over your hips. His fingers played with the belt loops of your jeans before he was unbuttoning them, shimmying them down your legs until you were in nothing but lace underwear. You tossed the gun onto the floor, and before Tom could take control, you used your weight to push him onto his back, shoving him into the pillows as you sat up on top of him.

You leaned down, gripping the collar of his dress shirt tightly, and Tom swallowed hard as you laid a soft, supple kiss under his ear.

“You’re mine,” you whispered in his ear. “I made men bleed for you, Tommy. I made them scream…and cry…and beg. I made them promise they would bow to you. I made men cower in your name, and I made them pray on the Good Lord that you would deliver them mercy.” You giggled darkly, making him shiver. He was drunk on the intoxication of you, and every word was bliss. “No one touches my Tommy,” you cooed, slipping your hands into the waistband of his trousers, humming as you wrapped your hand around his throbbing length. “No one but me.”

“Fuck—” He choked out, leaning his head back. He was breathing hard now, panting. Your words had him absolutely breathless. There was not a woman in the world that could ever match your fire. “You still can’t do this shit, y/n. You still can’t do things without telling me, you still can’t—”

“Shut up,” you breathed against his lips. “I did what I had to.” You used both hands and unzipped his pants, shoving them down his legs, and Tom flipped you both over, towering over you, forcing you back into the cushions. You grunted a bit, but he held you down.

“We’re supposed to be in this together,” he growled, and you pushed on his chest, forcing him backwards, and you both stared at each other menacingly.

“Exactly,” you breathed. “But clearly you don’t trust me. We aren’t supposed to have any secrets, Tom. And then I find out you’re doing this?” You reached down and started to gather your clothes harshly, “maybe if you had just told me what was going on, I could’ve fucking helped you. But as usual, you underestimate me.”

“I’m not underestimating you,” Tom argued, picking up his shirt. He followed you upstairs, into the bedroom, where he slammed the door shut harshly. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“God, dammit, Tom, when are you going to understand that I don’t need you to protect me?!” You snapped, turning and throwing your jacket at him. “When are you going to see that I am not as delicate and breakable as you think I am?! How long have I been doing this on my own, Tom? How long? Why can’t you just…trust me?”

“I do, I do!”

You sat on the bed, tossing your clothes onto the floor. Tom shook his dress shirt out before wrapping it around your bare torso, kneeling in front of you so he could meet your eyes.

“I do trust you, love,” he promised, gentler this time. “I’m sorry if it doesn’t appear like I do, but I do. I do trust you. But the truth is, I’m…I’m ashamed.”

“Ashamed?”

“I thought we’d run the bloody world here,” he murmured, finding your hands, squeezing them tight. “But every fucking day brings a new roadblock. Some arse running the east end, another deal gone to pot…I feel so out of control here, and that isn’t what I wanted for us. I was so…Hell, I was excited to bring you here, to show you what I’ve built, but I’ve got nothing, darling. Nothing. Nothing but threats, empty promises, and problem after problem that somehow you keep cleaning up, and I…”

You put a hand on his cheek, smiling a bit. You leaned down and kissed his forehead, shaking your head.

“Tom…you’re ridiculous,” you laughed. “If everything was perfect, I would be absolutely bored.”

He sighed, a bit annoyed, and your hands found his shoulders, rubbing them soothingly.

“Tom, you should know me by now,” you brought your left hand back, wiggling your fingers where your sparkling wedding rings sat. Tom leaned down to kiss your knuckles there gently. “I adore chaos. It makes things exciting, don’t you think? What’s more exciting then coming back and showing them that London belongs to the Hollands, hmm?”

Tom shook his head, “y/n…”

“Tom, you know better than I that this business doesn’t run like a Fortune 500,” you rolled your eyes. “It keeps us on our toes. But that’s why we do this. Because fuck, Tom, nothing makes me happier than seeing men bow to me…to you,” you teased, bringing his head up by his chin. “They think they run the world here. Don’t you think it’s a little fun making them learn their place?”

Tom pursed his lips, and you leaned down to kiss them, parting them with your tongue. You kissed tenderly, your fingers going into his curls, and you pulled away slowly, humming against his cheek.

“Promise me, Tommy,” you whispered. “Promise me no more secrets.”

Tom rubbed along your bare thighs, nodding in response, leaning his head up as he chased your lips. He kissed you warmly, slowly, his hands sliding up your thighs as he took your hips into his hands and pulled you close.

“It’s fun,” you purred, sliding his shirt off your shoulders, tossing it aside. “Admit it, Tom. It’s fun making them feel afraid…small…” You grabbed onto the back of his neck and forced him to crawl on top of you as you backed up on the bed. “…unimportant. Admit it. Admit that it’s fun,” you giggled between kisses, using your other hand to shove his trousers off of him completely. You gasped a bit as he took a hold of your throat, pulling you up to sit against the headboard. He finally smiled, darkly, sucking on your bottom lip as you felt your whole body grow in warmth.

“Hmm…” He chuckled. “Aye, ‘s fun. But not nearly as fun as commanding you, sweetheart.”

“You can’t command me,” you grinned, but then he squeezed your throat tighter, and you drew your thighs together. Before you could close them all the way, Tom forced his knee between your legs, shaking his head.

“Nuh uh,” he tsked, meeting your eyes. “Spread them, y/n. I won’t ask again.”

You giggled, kissing him lightly, “and what if I don’t?”

“Oi, love,” he pressed his thumb against the base of your throat, his rough fingers drawing gasps of breath out of you. “Don’t test me, yeah? Do as I say. Spread your legs.”

“Say please.”

Tom’s eyes darkened, “I won’t ask again.”

“Try me—ah!”

Tom grabbed onto your hips and yanked you back down onto your back. He caught your hands, pinning them above you, against the pillows, and you gasped into his mouth as he kissed you hotly. You wound your leg around his waist, flipping the both of you over, and you intertwined your fingers, laughing against his lips at his bewildered expression.

“Are you trying to be in control, Tommy?” You cooed, sitting up on his hips. “Cute. You’re so cute when you think you can overpower me, you know that?”

Tom scrunched his nose a bit, his chest hot, and he brought his hand down and grabbed a handful of your ass, bringing you down on top of him to kiss again, his other hand wrapping into your hair. You let out a soft whine into his mouth as his fingers slowly made their way between your thighs, teasing you lovingly.

“You know I only allow you have the upper hand, yeah?” He hummed between kisses, and you smiled brightly. You knew he did. You and Tom had countless nights together since you had been married. Nearly all of them involved you underneath him, in whatever position he liked, letting him coax you into the most blissful orgasms of your entire life. There was just something about letting Tom Holland be in his element in the bedroom that made you absolutely weak in the knees, and you would never get over the way he could make you feel, which was ethereal and otherworldly.

There was also just something about allowing yourself to not think. You thought always. Your head was always running a million miles a minute, but here in your bedroom, you could be alone with just him. You could let Tom take control, and he would, because you needed him to. His voice would whisper praise in your ear, and you could just relax, because you trusted him like this, naked, bare, under him. You trusted him with every part of you, even the intimate parts, and he never faltered, not even once.

You came apart every single time.

“Open,” Tom muttered, and you relaxed in his arms. Despite being on top of him, Tom was in charge, and he had given you a command, and you obliged without question, your eyelids fluttering as you parted your lips for him. Tom slid his hand up your body, fitting two fingers into your mouth, and you hummed as you tasted yourself on his fingertips. Your eyes closed as you sucked on his fingers, and Tom let out a deep sigh as he watched you.

“My pretty, pretty girl,” he murmured, and you opened your eyes at that, letting his fingers go gently, kissing them softly. “You’re just bloody gorgeous, aren’t you?”

Your eyes sparkled at that, hearing his soft voice love you like it always did, and Tom adored the way your body sunk down into his. Your tense upper body relaxed, and the way the palm of his hand was against your cheek had you nuzzling into him, closing your eyes again as you breathed deep breaths.

“You are,” Tom sighed, licking his lips. “You’re beautiful, y/n. You’re my beautiful, precious angel—” You winced a bit as his fingers touched the gash on your forehead, brushed against the yellowing bruise around your eye, “and if you die, I die.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his dark gaze, and you swallowed a bit as you looked at him. The lust died for a moment, replaced with something deeper, and you could see how genuine he was being.

If you die, I die.

You nodded once, just barely, and Tom brought you close to kiss you, soft this time, just barely touching his lips to yours.

“If you die, I die,” you echoed, and Tom nodded, hand around the back of your neck as he rolled over, getting between your legs, practically ripping your underwear off your legs.

“Fuck, I can’t take this,” he said, mostly to himself. “Make room for me, love, I’m starved, yeah?”

Your eyes rolled back in your head. He sounded so nonchalant, as if eating you out was a normality. You watched as he dipped his head to meet the skin of your neck, kisses you there, letting his mouth carry him further down, until he was sucking a taut nipple into his mouth and pushing your legs open as far as they could go. The sounds leaving your mouth only made him more eager, and he didn’t stop smirking as he tugged your panties down your legs roughly, tossing them behind himself. You think your heard them rip, tear maybe, but you couldn’t be bothered. Your husband was hooking your legs over his broad shoulders, and all you could think about was having Tom Holland’s lips buried between your legs as far as they could go.

And he did just that.

Tom liked to make you scream. He knew just how, he had learned your body so well. He knew what every twitch and movement meant, what every gasp and moan to leave your mouth signaled. He had learned what could make you tip over the edge in seconds, and he had learned how to get you right to the edge and bring you back down again. Tom prided himself in knowing your most intimate parts, memorizing your quirks, and eating his wife out was no different. He knew exactly what you wanted.

Your back arched as he kissed sloppily around your throbbing clit. He smiled to himself as he slid a hand down your quivering thigh, teasing your folds as he softly lapped at your clit. Your eyes rolled back in your head as Tom made it his mission to draw shapes against your bud. He loved spelling out his name with his tongue so slowly, and he always waited to see your reaction when the tip of his wet muscle would draw that aching, wonderful O, and he groaned when he noticed how you whined at that, bringing your hands up to fondle your breasts as he slid two slender fingers inside of you.

Tom closed his eyes for a moment as he heard you cry out with delight, “there’s my girl,” he murmured. “Sound so good, love…let me hear you, you know how much I fancy your voice, yeah?”

You nodded desperately, your body hot all over as Tom stretched you out wonderfully with his fingers, slowly moving them so he could find that special spot inside of you and rub it gently with the tips of his fingers, curling them every once in a while to draw out a loud moan from your sweet lips. Tom suddenly couldn’t believe you were his; completely, utterly, eternally his.

“Fuck, my wife is so beautiful,” he breathed, kissing the inside of your thigh as he worked his fingers. “Aren’t you, dove? Aren’t you beautiful? ‘specially when you come…you’re so bloody gorgeous when you wet my fingers, baby.”

“God, Tom!” You whimpered, and he laughed heartily, a smirk on his lips as he kissed along your thigh again.

“You’re mine forever,” he mumbled, grunting as he picked up the pace of his fingers. “No one else is going to fuck this pretty pussy except for me, darling. No other bloke on this fucking earth is ever going to know how perfect your cunt is. It’s mine,” he leaned down and wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking warmly.

“Tom—”

“And you’re going to give me heirs,” Tom growled. “Aren’t you, y/n? You’re going to give me beautiful, perfect heirs…”

You choked on the moan coming out. You saw stars, your vision turning white as you came over his fingers, his lips still on you as he kissed your thighs lovingly, guiding you through your orgasm.

“That’s it, princess.”

“Fuck, you’re soaking my fingers…”

“So sweet…you taste divine…”

You sat up after a few minutes, getting up onto your elbows. You looked down at him, trying to ignore how attractive it was to watch Tom suck on his fingers slowly, licking them clean. You swallowed hard.

“Tom—”

“Mmm,” he hummed, interrupting you. “You liked that, huh, love?”

You pursed your lips, staying quiet as Tom raised himself over you, caging you between his arms. He stared down at you with dark eyes, his curls falling over his forehead, his lips wet and his cheeks flushed.

He leaned down, sucking on the skin beneath your ear, and you let out a pathetic whine as he rolled a nipple between his fingers, his wet fingers making the sensation all the more enticing.

“You like the thought…don’t you, y/n?” He whispered huskily. “You like the thought of it…” You swallowed hard as his hand traveled lowered, smoothing over your stomach, “the thought of having my baby,” you closed your eyes as he rubbed his thumb along your ribs, trailing it around your hips and back up your stomach, “you want it…don’t you?”

“D-Don’t be ridiculous, Tom, we…” You couldn’t finish. You didn’t want to sound desperate or pathetic, more than you already did, but he was right, and it was true. You were at Tom’s mercy, and the thought of being intimate with purpose had you wet all over again for him. You looked back up at him, back into his eyes, and finally you nodded silently, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and bringing him close to kiss you. “Fuck, Tommy…you make me feel so many things…sometimes I don’t even understand them.”

Tom chuckled warmly, hooking a thumb into your mouth, smirking.

“’s alright, love. You can admit it,” he winked. “You can admit you want my baby. You can admit that you want me to bury my cock inside of you, and give you everything I’ve got…” He tilted his head to the side, watching intently as you sighed and sucked on his thumb. “You can admit that you want me to fuck you senseless…and that you want to give me the heirs that I so deserve.”

Normally, a comment like that would’ve had you smacking Tom across the face. But here, underneath him, lustful eyes staring down into yours, you were submitting to him completely. The thought made you shiver, and his words were making you hot with desire. You did want it. You hated to admit it to yourself, but you did want it, and you wanted it so badly, you thought maybe, just maybe, you would even beg him for it.

For a moment, you paused. Your hand came up and caressed his cheek, and he laid his forehead against yours, so close to you. Your breath mingled, and you bit your lip hard, studying him. Tom was your family. Tom was your husband. You didn’t need any more convincing about it all; looking up at him, seeing the way he softened to your touch, put you completely at ease. You trusted Tom with your life, and this was no different.

I fall in love with him more and more every second. How is that even possible?

You shared hot, passionate kisses for a long while. Tom’s hands were squeezing your thigh and your hip, and yours were secured around his shoulders, nails digging into the skin of his back as you encouraged him to grind against your, wet folds welcoming his cock as his tip bumped against your clit every so often, making you whine into the kisses and pull on his sweaty curls. Tom was a mess above you, teasing himself now as he gripped your hips and let you coat his length with your arousal. You found yourself gasping desperately, clawing at his back, and at the feeling, Tom knew you needed him just as much as he needed you.

You kept your eyes on his as he gripped your thighs firmly, wrapping them around his waist. His lips turned up into a dark smirk, and you ran your fingers down his face as he finally pushed into you, fitting himself snugly inside of you until his hips touched yours. Your mouth fell open as he did, and you let out a sigh as he stopped, his eyes roaming over your face to gauge your reaction. You were completely relaxed in his arms, clenching tight around him, and Tom took that as his cue that you were enjoying every second of this.

“No matter how many times I fuck you,” he pressed a kiss to your neck, “you’re still so bloody tight, huh, love?”

You let out a breathy giggle, making him smile, and you felt intoxicated by his presence. Tom was so handsome, so fit, so incredibly perfect, and your head was spinning with how wonderful he felt. He wasn’t even moving yet, and you thought if he stayed still for much longer, you might just come from how sensitive you were. But he could feel that, surely, because he finally hiked your thighs up a bit more and started to move, his hips rolling against yours so slowly.

“That’s it,” he murmured, watching your head fall back, your entire body shivering with pleasure. “That’s it, m’love…fuck…you take me so well, sweetheart…God, I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Tom,” you let out, grabbing onto his biceps. You squeezed the tense muscle under your palms, and you kissed again, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You touched his face again, and Tom thought he might lose his mind. He could feel the cool metal of your wedding ring, a stinging, beautiful reminder that you were undeniably his, and he found himself picking up the pace, cradling your head in his arms.

“Give it to me, Tommy,” you cooed in his ear.

“Yeah?” He asked, breathless, “is that what you want, kitten? You want me to give you everything I’ve bloody got, is that it?”

Your eyes fluttered as he spoke in your ear, a husky, breathy tone accentuated by his accent and punctuated by his rhythmic movements as he kept his hips steady against yours despite his chest going flush red. You nodded silently, not trusting yourself to speak, and he nibbled on the edge of your ear, humming warmly.

“You want to be full of me, darling,” he murmured. “You want to be stuffed full of me…dripping with me…you want me to fill your sweet, pretty cunt with whatever I’ve got so you can give me heirs, don’t you?”

You grabbed onto his cheeks, kissing him in response. Your throat was dry, and your body was on fire, and his words only made you spread your legs wider, and he cursed against your lips as you clenched around him at the thought.

“You do,” he chuckled darkly. “Say it, y/n.”

“Tommy—” You whined, but he grunted, slowing his hips, and you cried out in desperation, needing him to keep up his constant thrusts. “Tom!”

“Say it, love,” he ordered you, tangling a hand into your hair and tugging hard, exposing your neck for him as he sucked on the base of your throat. “Say you want me to cum. Say you want me to fill you to the fucking brim and stay there until I’m certain you’re spilling with whatever I fucking give you.”

You let out a desperate sob, clutching onto his back, digging into the tense muscles there.

“I-I want it,” you panted. “I want it so badly, Tommy, please.”

Tom had never heard you beg quite so nicely before. Tom had never heard you speak in this tone, never heard you submit so well for him. It was foreign to hear you plead, unfamiliar to see you so wrecked and submissive, but Tom thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed. You were so combative, so competitive, so authoritative in the way you carried yourself. But for him, for Tom, you were here, underneath him, begging like a good girl in his ear, and Tom thought he couldn’t love you anymore than he did now.

“Want what?”

“Baby—”

“Say it, y/n,” he growled. “Say it, or I won’t give it to you. Tell me what you want from me. Be a good fucking girl, and say what you want.”

“I want you to come!” You cried out finally, arching your back into him. He smiled as you seemed to fall apart in his arms, clawing at him, trying to get as close as possible even though you were both pressed against each other firmly. “I-I want you to come, Tommy, please…I want you to come, and I-I want…”

“Want…?”

You kissed him softly, tenderly, and Tom stilled his hips for a moment, his hands on both of your cheeks as he kissed back just as feverishly, groaning when your ankles crossed behind his back as you pulled him as close as you could, feeling the tip of his cock rub deliciously against your sweet spot.

“Want heirs, Tommy,” you breathed against him. “I want them, and I want them to be ours.”

He grinned, his eyes darting between your lips and back up to your eyes. His own eyes were dark, so dark, but they were sparkling with something beautiful. He was asking if you meant it with a smile like that, and you nodded slowly, prompting him to grip your hips firmly and start moving again, harder this time, making your whole body shake.

“So warm,” Tom muttered. “Gonna take me so nicely, aren’t you, kitten?”

“Yes, Tom,” you answered breathlessly, nodding as you wound your arms around his neck. He was close, you could tell. His eyes were screwed shut, and he was concentrating on how you felt. His body was tense, and he seemed focused, and you brought your lips close to his ear. “Come for me, Tommy. Let me feel you, please…please…” You knew he liked it when you begged. You never begged, you never pleaded, and when you did, it was only for him.

“G-ahh, shit,” Tom leaned his head back, “bloody perfect, you are…look at the way you take me, love…fuck..”

Your eyes opened wide when he reached up for you, his hand wrapping around your neck, snuggly as if it was meant to be there. You closed them again as he pressed his forehead to yours, squeezing the flesh of your throat, drawing soft whimpers from you as he fucked you harder, deeper, his skin so hot as it touched yours. Tom stuttered above you, his arm giving out just a bit, and you had tears in your eyes as he finally, finally came, filling you just as he promised, his teeth digging into your jaw as he groaned against you. The rings adorning his fingers were searing against your skin, so cold and hard, but you didn’t want him to stop touching you, not ever, not like this.

Tom never stopped, even though his body was relaxed, exhausted. He kept his hips steady against yours until he heard that signature gurgled moan leave your mouth, until he could feel you clenching so tight around him that you almost made him hard all over again.

Your eyes closed slowly, and you sighed as you felt the weight of Tom’s body gently rest on you. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his hand leaving your neck as he rubbed down your sides, over the outside of your thighs, hooking into the back of your knees and tightening your legs around his middle.

“’m so in love with you,” he said into your ear, and you ran your fingers through his damp curls, a lazy smile coming over your face. “Fuck, I’m so in love with you, y/n.”

You caressed the back of his neck, your eyes opening again. You stared up at the ceiling with a soft, content expression on your face, and you turned your head finally and planted soft kisses on Tom’s shoulder, your fingers scratching gently over his back, soothing him.

“You do things to me, Tom,” you said finally, laughing a bit to yourself. “You do things to me, and I can’t explain them.”

He chuckled, kissing the side of your neck, “you mean the way you completely fall apart for me? How all I have to do is get you into my bed, and suddenly you’re my quiet, beautiful, sweet good girl?”

You hit his back playfully, tossing your head back as you laughed warmly, hugging him close to you.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “I…” You hid yourself in his chest, holding onto him tightly. “I can’t help it, Tom…”

“I know, love,” he lifted himself up, enough that he could look down at you. “And you’re perfect.”

You both broke out into soft smiles, just staring at each other, gentle eyes looking into gentle eyes. You had done terrible things. You had hurt people today, gone behind your husband’s back, you had done things that you wished you hadn’t, things you swore you would never do. But looking up at him, running your fingers over those handsome features, you didn’t feel guilty, not even a little bit, not even at all.

There was nothing you wouldn’t do for him, and it scared you to admit it. You had said it so nonchalantly, but in truth, you terrified yourself. There was not a line you would not cross, not a life you would not take, not a soul you would not hurt. Tom Holland had you wrapped around his finger so tightly, he could break you, and you would say thank you.

Your lips parted as he kissed you, mumbling soft praise into your mouth. He was saying that he loved you, that he appreciated you, that you were his wife, that you were perfect, but there was a ringing in your ears, fear in your heart that started to choke you from the inside out.

You thought perhaps you might die trying to save him. You thought it was poetic. You thought—

“y/n, are you hearing me?”

His voice came through, and you looked up at him, blinking to focus.

“Hmm? What did you say?”

“’m sorry,” Tom repeated, cupping both of your cheeks. “I said ‘m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For…all of it,” he brushed your hair out of your eyes. “We should’ve done it together. We should’ve…”

“Yes, we should’ve,” you hummed, rolling your eyes a bit. “But we didn’t.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you whispered. “For being reckless. A bit stupid.”

Sorry for being reckless, but not for what I’ve done.

He smiled, and you smiled, and you thought you saw love in his eyes. Those dark eyes, usually clouded over because of how much was on his mind, were clear and glowing, staring down at you.

“I’ll admit…I am proud of you,” Tom said softly, shaking his head. “You’re living up to your name, love. You’re a Holland at heart, you know that, yeah?”

“Oh, God, you’re rubbing off on me,” you sighed, giggling. You felt a swell of pride in your chest at the thought of Tom being proud of you. You didn’t need validation, you didn’t need his approval, but the thought that he was proud of you made you feel relieved, serene, loved. You sounded so sweet to him, laughing like that, and he adored seeing you so relaxed. You were safe, in his arms, and there was no reason for him to be anything except utterly content.

“You are mine, y/n. All mine. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Reckless, stupid, beautiful, it didn’t matter. Tom wouldn’t change anything.

Not then, not now, and not ever.

#tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland au #tom holland series #mob!tom #notorious #thnsfw

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

By the king’s hand 🐍 XVI

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence/death, trauma, allusions to torture.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The king proves himself and the reader must accept her fate.

Note: Welcome back, King Loki. Y’all better be ready because our little mouse will never stop suffering.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You felt like you were suffocating, slowly under a heap of rocks. Your return to the palace was a blur. You barely recalled the ride in the carriage or the flights of stairs between you and the chambers.

You were entirely consumed by your memories and their voices; Magnus, broken before the court, confessing his crimes. Thor, angry and brutal as ever, shouting back at the people as they cried out at their traitorous prince. Neither gave you peace; they were only trapped animals waiting to break free and lash out again.

Hal was a spot in your vision. His voice tickled your ears but you couldn’t answer him as you laid across the bed, clutching a pillow as you rocked frantically. As you calmed, spent from your fit, you rested on your side and quivered every now and then. The sobs would not come, only rattling breaths that seized your whole body.

Time slaked away like layers of ice melting into a puddle. The curtains were drawn back and revealed the shift of sunlight. A pale grey darkened to a dull slate and cast shadows around you, looming over you like the monsters in your mind.

You flinched as you heard the door, the hinges creaked and your fingers sank deep into the feather pillow. Hal greeted the king and firm footsteps marched across the floorboards. Loki’s figure appeared at the edge of your sight as you laid with your back to the hearth. He sighed as he came up behind you and sat on the edge of the mattress.

“You left rather suddenly,” he said as his hand settled on your side. You winced and hugged the pillow tighter. You hid your face against it, the feathers poking through and causing your cheeks to itch. “Mouse…”

You whimpered and curled your legs up. What had this man done to you that was any different than those two savages? You still bore the scars of his switch across your back and your only shield was the life growing in your stomach. It was him who had brought you to this; who had sentenced you to live as a piece of a flesh; who had exposed you to the barbarity of his kin and kith.

“Why?” You asked softly as you turned your head against the pillow.

“I thought… I thought you would want to see vengeance done.” He said sternly. “To see that I’ve brought those beasts to justice.”

You sniffed and shook your head. “I never wanted to see them again… I…” You shrugged and exhaled weakly.

“I did it for you, Mouse. I dragged that animal, Magnus, down to my dungeons and cut his flesh until he did confess. I watched his blood weep from his flesh and reminded him of what he'd done to you. I made him tremble at my hands. For you.” He sneered. “I’d do it again.”

“You did it for you. For your pride.” You uttered. “You’ve never done anything for me or any other. It is all for you. They humiliated you, took your plaything, kept from you your pleasures. It isn’t about me, it is about what I can do for you.” You wiggled away from his touch, “Do not lie to me, it not only makes me a fool, but you as well.”

“Do not presume to know my will,” he snarled, “Do not talk to me as if I am your subject and not the other way around. And look at me--” He grabbed your chin and forced you onto your back, “When you speak to me, mouse.”

You blinked as a lump lodged in your throat and let the pillow fall away from you. You braced yourself for what he would do next. You remembered the noise of the hinges, the heavy footsteps, the metal against your wrists, the stony touch of loveless beings, the violent claims to your body.

You grabbed the king’s arm and began to flail. “No, no, no,” You exclaimed, “Please--”

“Gods,” Loki said in exasperation, “Hal! Hal!” You heard softer soles on the boards, “Fetch Birger. Now.”

Loki wriggled his arm from your grasp and grabbed your shoulders. He pinned you down as you kicked out and clawed at the air. “Mouse, shhhh. Mouse!”

“No! No! No!” Your hand flew up and struck Loki’s jaw. He grunted and shook away the jolt.

He struggled with you until the door sounded again and there was a clatter of footsteps across the front chamber. Loki climbed over you as the physician appeared and touched your forehead.

“I don’t know what has come over her.” Loki said, “She has these… episodes.”

“Ah, well she is with child and only just returned from an immense situation. Her nerves are split.” Birgir rubbed your cheek calmingly, “Dear, tell me five things you can see.”

“No, no, no,” you chanted.

“Five things, dear. Five things you can see.” He urged.

“The-- The bedpost…” You wisped, “Y-Your cap… Hal… The ceiling… A chair…”

“Very well, dear, and five thing, “Three things you can feel.”

“Y-Y-Your hand,” you touched the back of his hand, “The bed…” Your eyes flicked back and forth, “The fire.”

“Great, great,” he took your hand gently, “One thing you can smell.”

“The wood. Burning wood.” You gulped.

Birger nodded and smiled at you gently. “Hal, my boy, bring my chest.”

“What is wrong with her?” The king knelt on the mattress beside you.

“I told you. It is stress.” Birger said staunchly and squinted at the king, “Have you…”

“Not in the last days.” Loki admitted.

“But since her return?” The physician prodded. The king rolled his eyes and glanced away tellingly. “And you expect you to be as she was after all that? Do you even know all that happened to her?”

“She does not speak of it.” The king huffed.

“And why should she? To you?”

“You tread a dangerous path, Birger,” Loki warned.

Birger tutted and caressed the back of your hand. “Alright, I’ll do what I can.”

“You have something which can restrain her,” Loki said, “That can calm her.”

“As her condition stands, not much.” Birger stood as Hal approached with his chest, “It is better if she is kept calm. You can burn lavender--”

“No, you will sedate her so she will sleep,” Loki ordered, “I’ve pressing matters and little energy or time for this nonsense.”

“With respect, your majesty, this nonsense is as much to do with you as it is your brother or his accomplice,” Birger insisted, “It will persist.”

“So be it,” Loki pushed himself off the bed, “Find one of your vials and do your duty. She needs sleep, not quackery.” Birger let out a long breath and tapped his fingers on the lip of the chest. “Well, you’ve something else to say?” The king challenged.

“No, your majesty,” Birger looked into his chest and stirred through the contents, “Boy, bring some milk for the woman.”

Your body was limp across the bed, suddenly without strength as you listened to the argument. It was your fault. All of it. If you could just control yourself. If you weren’t so weak and stupid.

“When you finish, you will go.” Loki neared the door. “And do not bother me on your exit.”

The king disappeared through the doorway and you looked up at Birger as he pulled out a glass vial. You saw the irritation on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

“Why?” He asked bluntly, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

You clamped your lips shut and stared at the top of the bedpost. Hal returned and handed a cup of milk to Birger. The physician mixed in drops of the tincture and sat to hand it to you. You pushed yourself up and took it from him.

“Perhaps it is better you sleep for a time,” Birger said. “Are you eating well?”

“Yes, a lot,” you assured him and sipped the thick milk.

“Well, you make sure you keep on. Rest as much as you can.” He looked to Hal, “See if the boy is permitted to take you on walks. You must keep active as you can.”

You nodded and swallowed the milk tainted with the odd flavour of the medicine.

“Is the king rough with you? As he was before?”

You shook your head as you offered the empty cup. “Not since…” You nodded to your stomach.

“Good, good,” Birger set the cup aside and packed up his chest. “Take care, dear. I will be look in as I can.” He hauled his chest up and clapped Hal’s shoulder, “And boy, you will keep her well in my absence.”

“On my honour,” Hal promised and followed the physician to the door.

You felt heavy as you laid back and listened to Birger’s departure. The king was just in the next chamber and you heard the flutter of pages. Hal’s figure lingered as your eyelids shut and you sank down into the abyss. You were smothered by a sleep deeper than any you’d known in months.

🐍

You weren’t certain how long you slept. You woke in a fog. It was dark but for the glow of the fire and the shapes around you, the furniture shroud in grey, seemed distant and yet close. You felt light and airy and your body felt detached from your thoughts.

You lifted your head and peered around, trying to focus on the chair before the hearth. A wraith sat in it and as you sat up, you realised it was the king. You giggled and let the blankets fall away from your shoulders. He glanced over at you and tilted his head as the firelight limned his features.

“Mouse?” He said quizzically.

“Looookiiiii,” you sang as you turned your legs over the edge. He was visibly aghast at your use of his name. You only laughed again as you stood and wobbled. “Such an odd name.”

“Is it?” He lowered his brows and carefully stood to face you, “You should stay, mouse.”

“No, I’m not tired,” you argued and gave a long yawn. “I feel alive!”

“You can barely stay on your feet,” he rushed forward as you stumbled and caught you. “Come on, to bed with you.”

“Wouldn’t you like that!” You snapped and wriggled in his grasp. “But I’m hungry.”

“You’re deluded,” he rebuked.

You laughed and continued to struggle with him. “I’m perfectly well,” you slapped his chest, “I’m just…” You looked down as your stomach brushed against him and your mouth fell open. “Oh, gods…” You rubbed your middle, “I’ve already eaten too much!”

“No, mouse,” you heard a sliver of amusement in his tone, “You… you are just fine.”

“I’m fat!” You pouted and glared up at him. “Why am I so fat?”

He barely withheld a snicker and took your hand daintily. “I have some biscuits. Would you like one?”

“I couldn’t…” You shook your head as you felt your stomach. “I’m already-- but I am hungry. Just one, just one.”

“Well, you must sit if you want one,” he chided. “Understood, mouse?”

“Mouse! Mouse!” You mocked. “I hate that name. I am not a mouse.”

“Alright,” he nudged you back to the bed and you sat heavily, “Then what are you?”

“Hungry. I told you.” You crossed your arms. “Who are you?”

He grinned and looked around as if confused. “It is me, Loki.”

“Your nose is big,” you said sharply.

“Thank you,” he said rigidly. “Just wait here.”

He left you and returned with a small box. He took out a biscuit with currants baked into it and held it out. He set the box aside and sat beside you as you eyed the treat.

“What is it?”

“It’s a biscuit,” he said curtly. “Like I said.”

“Sure, sure,” you smelled it and cautiously took a bite, “Suppose it tastes like a biscuit.”

He was quiet. You flinched as you felt his hand on your back suddenly. He rubbed a circle there as you chewed and you clapped the crumbs from your hands as you finished.

“Good?” He asked.

“I told you,” you grabbed his arm and shoved it away. “No.”

He dropped his arm and nodded. He watched you as you balled your hands in fists. You stood and stomped like a child around the room.

“As good as it feels, no, no, no!” You swept your finger through the air. “But perhaps…” You stopped and thought for a moment, “No! No!” You sneered at him. “I don’t want your royal cock tonight, sir!”

At last he chuckled and you were startled by the noise. His features contorted in his mirth and you watched him with wide eyes. He stood and neared you slowly. He reached out tentatively and touched your arms.

“Fine. Not tonight.” He assured you. “But you must lay back down.”

“Why?” You quivered and looked at your body again, “Are my legs broken?”

He smirked and shook his head. “No, because it is the middle of the night.”

You frowned. “Oh.”

“So, bed?” He asked.

“Wait!” You stopped him.

“What is it now?” He sniffed.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged.

“Right,” he said and calmly led you back to the bed. “Time to sleep, mouse.”

“Hmmpf,” you grumbled at the pet name and let him lay you across the bed. “I’m not tired.”

“Oh, you’re not?” He taunted as you yawned again into your hand.

“No,” you argued and your eyes closed. “Not at all.”

“Not at all,” he echoed as he pulled the blankets over you.

He sat with you until you drifted off again though you were barely aware of him. You fell back into the warmth of the bed and the haze of your mind. The peculiar scene blending in with your senseless dreams.

🐍

You awoke facing the king. He slumbered beside you, his pale features unmarred by his waking thoughts. Your head was fuzzy and your limbs heavy. You sat up slowly and wiped the sleep from your eyes. The events of the days before slowly came back to you but did not hit you with the same force. You were anxious to think of Thor and Magnus but not terrified.

Loki groaned and reached out to touch your leg, as if assuring himself of your presence, as he stirred. You watched his long fingers as he squeezed you through the blankets and opened his eyes.

“Mouse,” he voice was hoarse as he retracted his hand and swept his dark hair back. “Is there something the matter?”

You shook your head and looked around. You didn’t like how comfortable you felt. You recalled his callous words the day before during your panic and all those times before he had been unkind. How could he sleep beside you as he would a wife? A wife…

You turned your back to him and evaded his reach again as you stood. You hugged yourself as you neared the dwindling fire and shivered. You heard the mattress move beneath him but he did not rise. You looked to the ceiling as you tried to clear your thoughts.

“Why won’t you give me an answer?” You asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What is to become of me when your wife is here?” You spun back to face him. He sprawled across the mattress as his shoulders and chest were bare above them. “I know this… will change. And I know once this babe is born, you will be done with me or cruel as you were before.”

His face darkened but he made no move to rise. He exhaled, a low growl, and rubbed his forehead.

“I needn’t tell you anything more than you need to know.” He sneered. “I will do whatever is best at the time.”

You gritted your teeth in frustration. You hated his riddles. You weren’t going to get an answer.

“My wife will do whatever I wish of her. And when I have a child on her, then you and the bastard will be of little bother.” He uttered. “And when you are ready, you will return to your original duty.”

Your chest knotted and your stomach grumbled painfully. Your anxiety mixed with your hunger and made your core a pit.

“And the child? I am to carry it to some unknown fate?”

“My child. I shall keep it safe.”

“And me?”

“You are its mother. But you are mine, first and foremost.” He bent his arms behind his head. “You will serve me before the child.”

You scowled in disgust but said nothing. He watched you and slipped his hand beneath the blankets.

“I will have a nursemaid for you. You needn’t worry for the child’s health.” He cooed.

“And my own? Do you care?”

He scoffed. “I’ve provided you with shelter, with sustenance, with a physician for your ailments. I’ve seen you well and I ask little in return.” He declared. “Remind yourself again that you are not my wife.”

“Yes, I am your whore. I am aware.” You hissed. “But you do seem to forget yourself.”

“I forget myself?” He sat up. “Oh, let us put things straight.”

You staggered backwards as he was off the bed in an instant. He seized your arm and you struggled with him as he tried to drag you back with him.

“The child!” You cried.

“Will be well,” he snarled as he grabbed a hank of your hair and twisted your neck painfully. “Come on, mouse, you want things to be as they were.”

“Stop! I only--”

He sat and you lurched against him. He pushed you back and forced you down to your knees and drew you between his own. His cock twitched and hardened slowly as he clung to you. You pushed on his thighs and wrestled with him as he gripped your jaw.

“My patience for you is spent,” he spat as he shoved your head into his lap. “Open up, whore.”

“Please--”

“Let me give you your answer.” He bit out. “When you have born my bastard, I will use those parts of you unruined by its passage.” He squeezed until you gasped and forced his tip into your mouth. “I shall have my wife’s cunt and your mouth.”

You gurgled as he pushed against the back of your throat and slid down it. You gagged and he pulled you back.

“Breathe,” he warned, “You don’t want to hurt the child.”

He forced you back down and you clawed at his sides. He moved your head steadily, up and down his length until he was entirely hard. You were dizzy and helpless against him. His groans and grunts added to the noise of you in his mouth and he clutched your head tighter.

He fucked your mouth until you were gasping and gulping around him. He wrenched you off of him suddenly and stroked himself to his climax, his seed stringing across your face. He released you and you fell back in a heap. He stood and stepped around you without concern.

“That is what you will be. Always.” He barked as he crossed the room. “Mine. To do with as I please.”

🐍

The days that followed were frigid and fraught. You could not forget that morning as the king’s former disposition returned fully. He left you in the morning without disturbance and you bided the hours silently, barely aware of Hal as he tried to cheer you. When Loki returned, the boy was sent away. He didn’t speak, only sat and stewed in whatever blight had angered him that day.

And when he wanted you, he had you. Hand, mouth, or cunt. You bore it and hid yourself under the covers when it was done.

Another week gone and Hal announced that the verdict had been dealt. Loki hadn’t said and you hadn’t dared to ask. You listened as the boy explained how the jury and judges had found Thor guilty and condemned him to death by the sword. Magnus, however, was to be hung like a common criminal.

But that did not mean you would be without a villain. Loki’s moods assured you that nothing had changed at all. It assured you that your life would be as it ever was. That the fate he’d promised you down in that dungeon would come to pass. You would never escape him and perhaps, though you’d not realised it, your time with Thor and Magnus could have been your only hope at an eventual end to the agony.

You sat in limbo. You could hardly believe that they would die and yet, you feared the future beyond. For all the certainty of their sentences, yours was still frightfully abstract. You could not decide if you were appeased by their demise or envious of it.

Your inner strife was interrupted as Hal stood suddenly and you turned to watch the door open. The boy bowed to the king as he entered, clothed in fur and his horned crown. You stood and the king looked between the two of you. He raised his chin and looked down his nose.

“Get her a cloak and boots,” he demanded, “You will accompany us to the green.”

“The green? Why--”

“Gird your tongue, woman,” Loki demanded. “Haven’t you asked enough questions?”

Hal glanced at you wistfully but did as he was told. He helped you into the fur-trimmed cloak and you pulled the hood up as he helped you step into the boots and laced them tightly. Hal snatched up his own cap as he followed you and the king into the corridor.

You walked behind Loki and his guards, Hal was at your side and foreboding set deep in your stomach. You could guess at the event on the green though you hoped it wasn’t as you expected.

You came out into the blustery winter light and a crowd gathered around a stage erected over the white yard. Just before the walls of Boulder Tower, housed tight within the borders of the palace, a platform stood awaiting the executioner and his victim. You stopped short and Hal quickly caught your elbow and urged you on. The king peered over his shoulder in a wordless reproach.

The people parted as the monarch approached and you were diverted into the crowd of onlookers by another armored man. You went unnoticed as the king passed to the front of the audience and you stood alone with the steely sentinel.

A hush went over the crowd as the king stood with his head high. The hooded executioner came out onto the stage and waited by the lever. Armor clinked and announced the arrival of the criminal before he appeared. Magnus had only rags wrapped around his feet and shreds of clothing barely hanging from his form.

He twitched nervously but showed little emotion as he was herded up the steps. The hooded man came forward to wrap the noose around his neck and a holy man offered muttered prayers to the condemned.

You froze as you gaped up at the scene. It felt like a horrid nightmare. The prisoner shrugged away the holy man and strained against the rope. He looked across the green and his eyes narrowed at the king stood among the masses.

“Fuck the king!” He shouted and the lever was pulled suddenly.

The heavy body plummeted downward and all could hear the crack of his neck above their gasps. It was a sickly sound that made your legs weak. You saw Hal, close to the king’s shoulder, lower his head and a few onlookers swayed before they fainted. You felt queasy but did not waver.

You only remained as you were as slowly, those who still had sense, roused those in shock and dispersed. Those who had fallen were carried away by their companions and you still did not move. It was only as the king’s figure retreated that you were woken from your trance.

“Shall I have his skull boiled and brought to you?” He asked as he neared with his guards in tow. You shook your head and looked away from him. Your eyes stung. “Do not act as if I’m the same as they were,” he lowered his voice as he leaned in. “They would’ve killed you and the child. Where do you think they were taking you?”

You shivered and pulled your hood low to hide your distress. Loki let out a breath that clouded before him in the cold. Snow crunched as an unseen figure neared and another armoured man came up breathlessly. You peeked from beneath your cloak and king frowned at the guard’s frantic energy.

“What is it now?” He poked the guard’s breastplate harshly.

“Your majesty,” the man caught his breath in rasps, “The prince--”

“What of my brother?” Loki tensed and fidgeted as he glared at the guard.

“He is gone. He has escaped.” The guard announced. “He--”

“What do you mean he is gone?!” Loki seized the guard by the mail that poked up around his cowl. “How could he be gone?”

“It seems there was a plot. Lord Fandral and his ilk--”

“Fuck!” Loki shoved away the man and punched his palm. “Fuck!!!” He shouted and looked around at the liveried guards, “Well, you fools, go find them!”

#loki #dark!loki #dark loki #loki x reader #the bitch is back #series #by the king's hand #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #au #medieval au #magnus #dark!thor #dark thor #thro #king!loki

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