#(thinking we can end here or on your reply)

[1-800-luvmail]

three times dick grayson failed to do The Fanfic Trope, one time he succeeded accidentally

dick grayson has been doing absolutely everything right. everything.

you, unfortunately, just don't seem to be susceptible for the charm he's trying to subject you to. all of a sudden, he's faced with a challenge he can't seem to win— but hell, he'll try anyways.

ice cream date? perfect. you've got a little bit of your favourite flavour smeared in the corner of your mouth and he sees the perfect opportunity to be a gentleman and gently tilt your chin up to dab away the mess with a napkin. hopefully leaving you a flustered mess in the process, of course.

"you got something there," he says, about to extend the napkin to you—

...and you just gently pluck it from his fingers, thanking him with a bright grin as you wipe it away yourself.

walking you back home and it's getting colder? the cliche is inevitable. this time, he's got the perfect method to get you all heated up in the face. the plan is simple: he's going to offer you his jacket, drape it around your shoulder (definitely tell you how cute you look in it) but before he can even offer, there you are, pulling something out of your bag.

he's unsure whether to be exasperated or impressed. "...how'd you fit an entire sweater in your bag??"

"konmari'd that shit, dude. i always carry an emergency sweater."

saying goodbye at your door after a date, dick is entirely convinced that you're just immune to whatever fanfic tropes he's trying to subject you to. which... kind of sucks, actually. how else can he impress you?

he's too busy thinking to realize you're staring up at him.

"i had a really great time. hoping we can do this again."

your voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he returns your smile, albeit a bit nervous, chucking awkwardly. "anytime."

a small laugh escapes your lips and you lean in just a bit, leaning against the wall, placing your palm just next to his head.

"guess i gotta say goodnight, huh?"

"i guess so," he replies, feigning completely and utter nonchalance.

his mind is going crazy. this is too inentional of you. mind you, people don't typically accidentally kabedon others (and yeah he's seen this in damian's shoujos).

in spite of his racing mind and heart, he manages to grin like he's not about to collapse.

this is it, he thinks, this is the moment.

his eyes flutter close as you both lean in, waiting to feel your lips against his and...

...instead, you gently press a chaste, sweet kiss to his forehead.

"alright. well, goodnight," you say, smiling at and clearly not registering the fact he was expecting something totally different.

part of dick wants to scream. he's the one who should be making you go all head-over-heels. being at the other end of it feels... strangely vulnerable. scary, even.

you missed, he wants to say. come back.

a clap of thunder interrupts both his thoughts and your steps towards the door. rainfall begins pouring from the sky so heavily that it's almost comedic.

"ah— guess i better get going," he says to you, notably umbrella-less.

"uh, absolutely not?" before dick can protest, you tug him with you through the open door "it's late and that's a thunderstorm."

your point is supported by a distant flash of lightning.

"it wouldn't be that bad." he shrugs, even knowing that, yes, it would.

but you're stubborn, as he's come to know and love, so he just trails after you.

"nope. looks like you'll be staying the night here!" you pause as you glance around. "...we'll figure something out."

dick grayson raises an eyebrow and looks around. "what do you mean by that?"

"oh, nothing. it's just— there's only one bed."

[loveroffemmes]

Slurring Sweet Nothings | Melissa Hat x Fem! Reader

warning: smut, overstimulation, established relationship, subtop! melissa, intoxicated! clingy! melissa, melissa with a strap-on -- slight cnc warning since melissa is drunk

summary: melissa, your girlfriend, gets drunk at a party and you drive her back to your place. melissa can’t keep her hands off of you.

“Are you ready to go home?”

Melissa flings her arm around my shoulders as she uses her other hand to take a sip from her cup, “Few more minutes.” Melissa’s words are slightly slurred, she’s clearly drunk.

I wrap my arm around her waist, steadying her, “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.” Melissa laughs, preparing to make a joke about the ‘I’ll give you a ride’ part of my sentence. I quickly rush her out the front door before she loudly announces how she wishes I would ride her.

Melissa taps the dashboard of my car with her fingers, drumming along to the music blasting from my radio. When I start driving, she stops and rests one of her hands on my thigh. Melissa always wanted to be touching some part of me, no matter what we were doing, so it was no surprise.

I pulled into my driveway and got out of the car, helping Melissa out of the passenger seat. Melissa was a lightweight — something she would never admit to being; yet, here she was, stumbling to my bedroom after only three drinks.

Once we were in my room, Melissa’s arms wrapped around me, her face digging into my shoulder, “Miss you.” She mumbled against me.

I laugh, “Miss me? I drove you here.”

Melissa lifts her head up, ignoring my reply, “Missed your lips.” Melissa lightly presses her lips against mine, her hands hiking up my shirt so she can rest her hands on my bare waist.

I pull away and peck her lips, “I missed your lips too, baby.”

Melissa slowly leads me to my own bed, her hands never leaving my waist. She sits down on my bed and pulls me into her lap. Melissa wasn’t as dominant as she made herself out to be in her head. She liked the illusion of being dominant, but she was basically a big puppy in reality.

I cupped Melissa’s cheek with my hand and she nuzzled her face into my palm. She kissed me again, her lips were warm and her mouth moved slowly against mine, savoring the moment. I felt her lips part slightly and I pushed my tongue into her mouth. Our tongues moved against one another’s and Melissa whimpered at the contact. She was always so needy whenever she had a drink in her — she was usually needy, this just upped it.

I pull away and Melissa’s head returns to my shoulder, burrowing into the side of my neck, “Mmm,” She hums against the skin, “Couldn’t stop thinking about you, so glad to get out of that party.”

“Are you drunk, baby?” Melissa nods, “Do you want to go to sleep?” Melissa shakes her head and I feel her begin to place soft, wet kisses along my neck. “Melissa, baby,” I coo and I feel her suck on my neck in response.

Her hands grabbed my hips firmly, rocking me back and forth on her lap, “You’re so unfair, (Y/n).” She says against my neck.

I giggle at the feeling, “Unfair?”

Melissa withdrawals from my neck slightly and I can feel the wet kisses still on my skin, “You’re such a tease.” She pouts, “You always dress so hot when we go out and then I can’t even touch you until we get home!”

I laugh, “You act like that’s ever stopped you! You tried to slide your hand up my shirt like an hour ago.”

Melissa shakes her head, “Key word; tried.” I jokingly roll my eyes. Melissa was so cute, always so touchy. Her hands always lingered, mostly on my thigh or waist, but her lingering hands usually end up somewhere inappropriate when she’s inebriated. Melissa didn’t waste the opportunity of being alone with me; her hands traveled to my ass, squeezing it, “You’re so hot. I can’t believe I get to call you my girlfriend — look at you.” I blushed, Melissa loved referring to me as her girlfriend or her girl. Not only did she love the possession of the name, she loved the label. She loved being my girlfriend more than anything in the world, even referring to herself in the third person and saying ‘(Y/n)’s girlfriend.’

Melissa grabbed my shirt, lifting it over my head and discarding it somewhere on the floor of my room. Her lips moved to the edge of my bra, leaving a trail of kisses anywhere she could reach, “My girlfriend’s so fucking hot.” She mumbled against my skin. She unclipped my bra, slipping it off. She trailed kisses down to my nipples, taking one of them into her mouth and sucking on it. Whenever I would moan, Melissa would get rougher, attempting to elicit more noises from me. She swore she felt drunk off of my moans (and not the multiple drinks she had).Every action of Melissa’s felt like she was worshipping my body, worshipping me.

Melissa pulled away from my chest so she could move me, changing positions so I was laying on the bed while she was on top of me. Her kisses trailed down to my stomach and she began to unbutton my jeans and tug them off of me as her kisses followed. Melissa practically tore my jeans and panties off the chance she got.

Once I was fully undressed, Melissa sat back on the bed and stared at me, her eyes raking over her body, “I’m so lucky to be with you. I can’t believe I’m the only person that gets to see you like this. I’m the only person who gets to kiss you, touch you — how did I get so lucky?” Melissa had a goofy grin on her face as she continued to stare at every inch of me. She did this every time we had sex, always insisting that she needed to memorize me, to appreciate me.

Melissa stood up off my lap, opening up my dresser and taking out her strap. She stepped into the harness, tightening it around her hips before climbing back over me.

Melissa pushed her strap through my folds, using my wetness to lube the strap. Her hands fell on my hips and she was breathing heavily, I could tell the anticipation was getting to be too much for her.

“You’re so wet.” Melissa moaned, continuing to grind her strap against me. Her hips pulled back slightly and I could feel herself lining the strap against my entrance. Melissa slowly pushed the tip in; watching intently as her strap slowly went into me, inch by inch.

“So tight.” Melissa whimpered, her hands gripping my hips even tighter. She pushed the rest of her strap in, loudly moaning once it was fully inside me. Without giving me time to adjust, Melissa slowly began to rock her hips, “Mm, you feel too good, (Y/n), need you right now.” Melissa slurs, her hips moving a little faster.

“Melissa, you feel make me feel so good.” Melissa groaned, it was her favorite phrase. She loved the praise, she loved knowing I made her feel good, and she absolutely adored how her name sounded coming from my lips.

“(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n)…” Melissa moaned, repeating my name with every thrust. I wrapped my legs around Melissa, pulling her further into me. The action made her thighs tremble and made her fuck into me even harder. I could feel heat coiling in my body, whimpers and moans slipping from my lips.

Melissa used my hips to push me against her with every thrust, an action that made my back arch and my hands grip the sheets as hard as ever.

Melissa could tell I was getting close. Her movements didn’t lighten up, she was too determined to get even a little bit tired by how fast she was going. Her head dipped down to my neck, sucking and kissing the sensitive skin as she thrusted into me.

“M-Melissa, I’m close.” Melissa sucked even harder, desperately wanting to hear me finish. I let go of the sheets; my hands settled on her back, my nails digging into the skin. I moaned her name as I came, an action that made Melissa tremble from just how turned on she was. Her thrusts slowed down as I tightened on her strap. Melissa pulled away from my neck, looking at my face as I came. She loved seeing my eyes shut, my head thrown back, just completely lost in the pleasure she was giving me.

Melissa’s thrusts stopped as I finished, her strap still inside me. She watched as I panted, leaning down to plant a soft kiss to my lips.

“You always look so pretty when you cum. I can’t get enough of how you sound.” Melissa kissed my cheek, “You are so perfect, (Y/n).” Melissa kissed my other cheek and her hips bucked, thrusting her strap slightly and causing me to moan, “I can’t get enough of you, you feel so fucking good.”

“Melissa, too much.” I whimper.

Melissa kisses me again, “It’s okay, I’ll make you feel so good, okay? I promise.” Melissa rolled her hips a little faster, groaning. It felt like too much, the coiling happening way faster now. Everything felt so sensitive, but Melissa was relentless. She never broke her rhythm, getting rougher with every whimper. I was shaking, but Melissa didn’t stop. Her hips were chasing the noises that left my lips.

I could feel the tears forming in my eyes; not from pain, but from how much pleasure I felt. Melissa leaned down and kissed my face (sloppy, but gentle) as she fucked me, trying to comfort me. Too much. Too much. Too much.

“Look at what my strap does to you.” Melissa groaned, watching as my thighs trembled once again and my back began to arch. Melissa was determined, doing anything in her power to draw out another orgasm.

“I can’t—” I breathed, my voice cracking as I spoke. My nails clawed at her back as a broken moan escaped my lips.

“You can, (Y/n).” Melissa said and I did. I let out a noise that was somewhere between a moan and sob. I tightened around Melissa’s strap so hard that she couldn’t keep thrusting. Her hands drifted to my chest, rubbing my nipples to provide some stimulation to help me ride out my climax. Melissa’s movements completely stopped once my breathing became more normal. She pulled out of me and I felt like crying from the emptiness.

Melissa took the harness completely off, discarding it in my drawer. She grabbed a water bottle from my nightstand and lifted my head up for me so I could take a sip. She placed the water bottle back down and laid next to me. Her arms wrapped around me and her head dug into my neck, “You did such a good job.” Melissa said. She paused, her face getting red, “D-Did I do a good job?”

“Yes, Melissa, so good.” I breathlessly replied and watched as the biggest grin ever made it’s way onto Melissa’s face. I knew Melissa wanted to go again — that girl would fuck me until the sun came up because of how much she enjoyed my reactions, but she knew not to push it, not wanting to make me cry.

“Can you say it again?”

“You did a good job, Melissa.” Melissa was practically beaming, unbelievably proud of herself.

totally did not write this bc i got drunk

masterlist (requests = open)

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Catastrophe

BuckTommyWhumpWeek, Day 7: Canon Typical Injury (on BOTH Buck and Tommy) | AO3 version

“The one time we don't go to Micelli's, and this happens.”

Buck's smile is crooked and pained as he says this. Tommy’s, however, is worse: there’s a bright, red streak running from his lower lip down to his chin. It’s not a good sign.

“I liked the cannoli,” Tommy says. His chuckle seamlessly turns into a cough, and he clutches his side.

“Shh,” Buck mutters. “Don't make it worse.”

“I'd like to say it can't get any worse, but...”

They exchange glances. It can always get worse, they both know that. But who could have guessed?

───── 2 hours earlier ─────

It was a nice restaurant: a good table in the back, fabulous food, and a great view from the 23rd floor down on the brightly lit city. But most importantly, it wasn't Micelli's. According to Buck, there was some kind of curse on that place because their dates that started there had never ended well. If you asked Tommy, it was either bad luck, coincidence or karma, but hey, as long as he didn't have to accompany his boyfriend to the cemetery again to break a curse... His boyfriend. This felt good, and they had worked hard for it, so this new six-month anniversary definitely needed to be celebrated. There was champagne and chocolate-filled cannoli for dessert. And, somehow, a promise lingered in the air that this time, it would be better. This time, it would work out.

“So,” said Buck, who’d barely touched his cannoli — the man was baking like a pro now, and he was adorably competitive — “this time I have something for you.”

Buck pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his linen jacket. It was a special occasion, so he’d dressed up, and in the candlelight, Tommy couldn't help but look at him and think that this was his guy. However...

“I don't have anything for you,” he replied. 

“You're paying for dinner,” Buck grinned. 

They looked at each other, both probably thinking about the last dinner where those exact words had been spoken. But tonight was supposed to be different. A special kind of new beginning. 

“Well, then maybe you should eat your dessert to make it worth it.”

“Oh, I know just the dessert that's really worth it,” said Buck, nudging Tommy under the table with his foot.

“Evan!”

“What?” Buck replied with a not-so-innocent smirk, holding out the envelope. “Take a look.”

“I hope those aren't Lakers tickets,” said Tommy, causing Buck to roll his eyes. 

“Conversation is key,” he returned in a tone suggesting he’d had one of his therapy sessions lately. “To listen, pay attention… I think I know what you like.”

“Ouch, Evan,” said Tommy, but he smiled and took the envelope. “But you really didn't have to...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck made an impatient gesture. “Go on, open it.”

Tommy placed the envelope next to his plate. “Okay, but let me eat this chocolate before it melts,” he said, reaching for his spoon. 

“Tommy!” This time, Buck's foot searched for Tommy's shin under the table.

“Very mature, Evan. All right...”

 The second Tommy reached for the envelope, a scream rang out.

───── .:**:. ─────

“We have to get out of here,” says Buck. 

It's more than just a statement; his words resonate with determination. Not despair, you have to give him that. Their situation is tense, to say the least, but Buck knows there's always a way out. That's what life has taught him — and Bobby, of course. 

“Obviously.” Tommy slides a little higher up the wall behind him, trying to sit a little straighter. It looks painful and uncomfortable, and he grimaces. Then he says something that makes the knot in Buck's stomach grow a little bigger. “I don't know if we can, though.”

“Hey,” Buck urges, and even though he tries to sound confident, his voice sounds shaky in his own ears. His hands are bloody, which doesn't exactly make him look credible. “Hey. Of course we can We're firefighters, okay?”

Tommy grins, which looks a little creepy with the blood on the corner of his mouth. 

“Evan. You realize that's kind of the problem, right?”

Well, yeah. He's right, of course.

───── 1:45 hours earlier ─────

It was a high-pitched scream, and it could have meant anything.

“Did someone lose a tooth?” Buck asked, craning his neck. 

“Why a tooth?”

"We had a call once, someone was eating a steak and lost a canine. There was a huge commotion, blood everywhere, someone at the next table fainted. In the end, it turned out to be insurance fraud, but the guy was an idiot and had accidentally torn out his entire upper row of gums.“

”Yuck," said Tommy, looking around, as did a few other people.

A scream in an almost full restaurant could mean anything... not necessarily a broken tooth, thank you very much, but it also didn't sound like the cry of joy of a woman who had just been proposed to. Part of the dining room was behind a pillar, so he couldn't see very far. 

“Was probably nothing,” he said.

But fate, karma, chance, or perhaps a curse had something else in mind. Now, there were noises that could now be heard clearly above the clatter of cutlery and the quiet conversations at the tables. Something that disturbed the idyll, a rumbling sound as if something had fallen over. And then, again, something that almost might have been a scream—but one that broke off abruptly.

Two people emerged from behind the pillar, and with that, the evening was finally ruined.

───── .:**:. ─────

“Why,” says Tommy, and it doesn't really sound like a question, “is going out with you so difficult?”

“Hey. That's unfair.”

Buck is still grinning, but there's nothing funny about their situation. But both of them only know two ways to deal with something like this—dark humor and action. Except the latter is pretty difficult right now. And it's really not Buck's fault.

“You have to keep pressing,” Tommy says, pointing to Buck's left shoulder. 

He's squeezing one of the restaurant's formerly white cloth napkins against it. Now it's covered in red stains, but not nearly as soaked as the one Tommy is pressing against his side. That's actually worrying. Just like the sweat stains on his forehead and his deliberately shallow breathing, because every breath feels like he's inhaling fire.

“There has to be a way out,” says Buck. 

His eyes scan the walls, the ceiling, the floor for the umpteenth time. They are in a storage room: shelves full of cleaning supplies, rags and, luckily, piles of packs of napkins. The kind you use to gracefully dab your mouth in a really good restaurant, but yes, surprisingly well suited for stopping blood. But apart from that, no windows, no ventilation shaft, no secret trapdoor in the floor. In other words, no way out except the door that stands locked in front of them. 

The sounds from outside are muffled, which only adds to the surreal feeling. There are voices, shouting, someone’s sobbing. A clatter and a scraping sound, as if something is being dragged across the floor. The hairs on Buck’s arms stand up. Does he have the chills now or is it just his circulation? Finally, his gaze falls on a mop next to the door, and a plan forms in his head. It's a wild and rather half-baked plan, but looking at Tommy, he knows they have to do something. Well, Buck himself is longing for a decent dose of acetaminophen, but that's not the only reason every fiber of his being is screaming for action. There are people out there in danger. There is something in him—and in Tommy—that wants to help, even when they need help themselves. There's no denying that's the case. But if they don't do something, anything, things will end badly, he can feel it. Not just for Tommy. 

“I have an idea.”

“That,” Tommy points out, “already got us into trouble today.”

───── 1:30 hours earlier ─────

The two people entering the restaurant’s main dining room made a fascinating couple. A man, no taller than 5'8", but with the look of a street fighter—gold chains, shaved head, and tattoos—and a woman who towered over him by at least a head. She had short, purple-dyed hair and wore a floral dress that would have made her inconspicuous at any of the tables. And it wasn't actually their appearance that seemed remarkable and attracted the attention of many of the guests. Most stared in horror, some with their hands over their mouths, at the guns the two were armed with. He was carrying a short-barelled rifle, she had a small submachine gun. Whoever they were, they were obviously dangerous, and they made no secret of it. 

“Listen up,” the man shouted, casually raising his rifle. Meanwhile, the woman playfully aimed at various restaurant guests, who flinched when the barrel of her weapon came close to them. “We’re gonna play a little game, I'm sure you know it. It's called give me all your money. Oh, and don't forget your jewelry and other valuables! Polly, this is my lovely wife here, is gonna collect it. Stay calm and this will be over quickly, and we'll be on our way.”

“She's no Polly, she's not,” Buck muttered.

“Not the problem right now, Evan,” said Tommy.

Buck bent forward conspiratorially. “No, just think about it. Who robs a restaurant with machine guns just to steal jewelry and money?”

Buck watched a lot of crime shows. That and his friendship with Athena didn't necessarily qualify him to know a lot about robberies. But just like Tommy, he knew that people lied, all the time. Most fires were caused by carelessness, but no one wanted to admit to throwing away a cigarette. At almost every accident somebody said, “No, I don't take any medication,” when in truth beta blockers were the least harmful thing they’d taken. Lying, covering up, concealing—all of that was part of a first responder's life. And maybe Buck had a radar for it.

Tommy took a closer look at the two of them. The woman, who was definitely not named Polly, strolled between the rows of tables and motioned to the guests with a wave of her gun to pack their belongings into a duffel bag that had been slung over her shoulder. When she turned around, she pointed her submachine gun toward the entrance, where a restaurant employee nervously clutched the counter. 

“Now, now,” she said. “We're keeping our hands off the phones, or they'll be gone in a second. I was the 1999 sport shooting queen in Fremont, Nebraska.”

As if to demonstrate, she aimed her gun at the umbrella stand next to the entrance, where the coat rack was also located. The stand was empty, of course, a mere prop; it hadn't rained in two months. She still aimed at it as if it were a great feat to hit an object the size of a floor vase from a distance of less than 30 feet. And maybe it was.

“Oh, come on, we don't want to waste ammunition. Or draw attention to ourselves,” she  then said. “But I won't tell you again, waiter. Toss the phone across the counter.”

The man did as commanded; he frantically pulled the phone out of the charging station and threw it toward the pillar, where it fell to the wooden floor just before it could hit it. 

“Hey!” The surprised call came from an older man who appeared seemingly out of nowhere behind the pillar, from a corridor that led to the restrooms. Then, the chaos really began.

Polly fired a shot.

───── .:**:. ─────

“For once, it's not my fault,” says Buck, and for once, that’s actually the truth.

“We both have a hero complex,” Tommy mutters.

“Maybe. But we need to do something. You're losing a lot of blood.”

Tommy can't argue with that. Buck shuffles to the door and listens, “I think they're still negotiating,” he says. 

“Batshit crazy, those two. They'll never get out of here alive. All the shooting is bound to have brought the cops down. They'll be here soon.”

“I assume they've popped a few pills,” Buck agrees, “but I also think the original plan was different. I think they planned to make it look like a robbery, but then kidnap the district attorney or something like that. Then things went wrong because of the guy who was in the bathroom for so long. And now...”

“Now,” Tommy adds, “their only chance is to use the district attorney as both hostage and leverage, because the police are bound to be here soon.”

“And that plan is a lot worse for the rest of the guests in the restaurant.”

Tommy nods grimly. His face is pale—even for him, what's going on out there is anything but good. Buck grabs the mop and bangs it frantically against the door.

───── 1 hour earlier ─────

The sound of the gunshot echoed through the restaurant, following the bullet. It ripped open the left shoulder of the poor guy who’d not even noticed the commotion outside, just because he’d been in the bathroom for a bit longer. He screamed as he hit the floor, toppling over the carpet which soon turned red with his blood. 

Several more people in the restaurant let out screams. Tables shook and dishes crashed to the floor as some of them reacted in panic. Then, a second shot rang out, and Polly's husband—or whoever the guy was—yelled, “Shut up!”

The next moment, there was dead silence. Plaster crumbled from the ceiling onto him, and he angrily wiped his hair. The shot had gone upward, leaving a hole in the ceiling. 

“And you two sit back down,” he yelled, waving the rifle in Tommy and Buck's direction. 

The two exchanged a glance. Instinct and responsiveness, two qualities that make good firefighters, were probably why both of them had stood up immediately when the first shot rang out. 

“This man is injured,” Buck replied calmly. This wasn't exactly standard training at the LAFD, but the numerous advanced training courses they had to attend these days also included the possibility of being threatened with a weapon. “We're firefighters. We can help him.”

“Firefighters, huh,” said the guy, and Polly called out to him, “Finn, baby, what do we do now?”

“Quiet,” he yelled in her direction. “Let me think. I just need to think!”

Finn—if that was his name—scratched his head with his gun and looked around the room.

“I think the cops will be here soon,” Polly said.

“Let's just check on him,” said Buck, pointing to the injured man lying on the floor, his eyes wide open with shock and pain. The floor beneath him was already covered with an ugly red pool of blood. 

Tommy searched Buck's gaze. “We can end this in a flash,” he whispered. 

Buck frowned. “What are you thinking?” he muttered under his breath.

“I have an idea,” Tommy hushed. And really, this time, it was his fault. Loudly, in Finn's direction, he said, “Look, so far it's just robbery with assault. You don't want this to turn into murder.”

“What, you a lawyer or something?”

“I knew that was nonsense, firefighters, haha,” Polly sneered. Tommy glanced at her and shook his head.

“Nope, that’s true, we're firefighters.” 

He spread his arms, although he suspected that this gesture of harmlessness meant next to nothing to the two of them. Basically, they were predators, unimpressed by their prey. But he wasn't going to make it that easy for them. 

“We're trained in first aid,” he added. “If you let us help the man, you'll improve your own chances. You know very well that the shots will bring the police. Some resident, or maybe a passerby, is bound to have heard them.”

“I locked the door, baby,” Polly called out.

“That won't do much good,” Buck said, and he could see from their faces that they knew it. 

“I don't care about that guy,” Finn said. “We're not here for him.”

Buck and Tommy exchanged looks that definitely meant I told you so on Buck's part. Meanwhile, Finn strolled between the tables, his gun clutched tightly in his arms as if he were cradling a baby. When he stopped, he aimed the rifle at a dark-blonde woman in her mid-forties wearing an evening gown. She was sitting with a man in a suit who looked considerably more frightened than she did. It suited her that she was unimpressed—she presented herself in the same way in the public hearings that were broadcast on television. The woman was well known.

“Isn't that the district attorney? Valdez?” Tommy asked quietly.

“Told you this wasn't a simple robbery,” Buck muttered. 

“Do you want my necklace?” the woman asked calmly. She was indeed wearing a very pretty gold necklace with a small ruby. Finn shook his head. 

“This is getting a little out of hand,” he said. “I'll tell you what I want...”

Whatever he wanted was drowned out by a cry of surprise as Tommy suddenly lunged at him.

───── .:**:. ─────

“Hey,” Buck yells, continuing to bang the mop handle against the door. “Hey! Help! Hurry up!”

“What are you doing?” 

Buck turns his head briefly. “I'm getting us out of here,” he says grimly. 

“I've already ruined the element of surprise,” says Tommy with an embarrassed grin. 

“Hey,” Buck repeats with much more emphasis, “it's not your fault, okay?”

“Evan. We're lucky to be alive.”

“We're alive because Polly and Finn” — now he draws quotation marks in the air — “are one card shy of a full deck. They're stressed, so they overreacted. Your plan was good, this isn’t your fault. Tommy, you're bigger and heavier than that guy, and I know you don't take unnecessary risks. It was civil courage. They were threatening twenty or thirty people, and they shot one of them. You could have overpowered Finn. The fact that his gun went off was… a calculated risk, and bad luck. And if I hadn't been so stupid and thrown myself in the way, it might have worked.”

“It wasn't stupid. It was brave, Evan.”

“Oh, come on.” Buck digs his fingers into the handle of the mop, as if it was symbolizing Finn's neck. “I was scared shitless in that moment, Tommy. But I still don't think those two really wanted to kill anyone.”

“Well, except that Polly did shoot.”

The mere memory makes Buck wince. Being shot felt like slipping with a circular saw, well, sort of. Not a pleasant memory either. In any case, Polly hasn't exaggerated; she can shoot, and accurately. It's just a graze, but Buck's arm still burns. He'll survive. But nothing had gone according to plan for Polly and Finn – neither the injured man nor the fact that Finn's gun went off while he was wrestling with Tommy. Even the shot at Buck had been just pure reaction on Polly's part. And all of that was, in a way, luck. Because if the two of them had entered the restaurant with the firm intention of causing a massacre, well...

Buck turns around, hammers the mop against the door again, and starts screaming for help.

“Evan, what are you doing?”

“They're stressed, I told you. We just need to turn up the heat a little.”

Finn and Polly had quickly restored calm after the shooting. That hadn't been particularly difficult, as the remaining guests were completely terrified at that point. However, they had locked Buck and Tommy in the chamber because, in Polly's words, “Feels like out of the frying pan, into the fire with two firefighters, haha.” Of course, they also took their phones—the two of them are stressed, but unfortunately not completely stupid. Buck is still worried about the guy who was shot in the restaurant, although he suspects he's not too badly injured. Polly is truly an extremely good shot, even in a panic. Or she’s just lucky.

“What do you mean? Evan, the police will be here any minute.”

Buck continues to bang on the door with the mop handle. He would pound on it with his fists, but his shoulder would probably object. 

“Sure, the police will be here soon,” he says, “but this has escalated from a robbery to a hostage situation. That changes everything. It delays everything; negotiations could take hours. There are tons of people out there in danger, and there's this guy who's been shot, and then you need to get to the hospital, Tommy, and if I can knock one of them over the head with this mop, we can overpower the other one. I know you don't like to hear this, but you've lost a lot of blood, and I'm worried and... Tommy?”

It's just an impulse, instinct maybe. Or maybe Buck expects Tommy to interrupt his staccato babbling, like he always does when his thoughts start spiraling. But when he turns to look at him, Buck drops the mop. 

“Tommy!”

───── .:**:. ─────

Eyes shut, Tommy's head is slumped onto his shoulder.

“No, no, no, you won’t!”

Buck drops on the floor and gently pats Tommy's alarmingly pale cheeks. He carefully lifts the napkin, which has long since lost its pristine whiteness. It sticks to Tommy's clothes, and for the first time since they've been in here, Buck realizes that Tommy’s shirt is completely soaked. For a very long couple of seconds, he’s frozen. Then, as if the engine of an old, broken-down car suddenly starts again, a jolt goes through his body.

Two fingers on Tommy's carotid artery: there's a pulse. Maybe a little weak, but definitely there. Buck jumps up, almost knocking over the shelf in his attempt to get a fresh cloth to press it onto the wound. It really doesn't look good: while Buck was only grazed by Polly's shot, Finn's sudden gunfire hit Tommy squarely. Following an impulse, he carefully feels Tommy's back. He should have done that long ago, shouldn't he? Tommy's back is soaked with sweat, but there's no exit wound. 

This isn't good, none of this is good, and Buck's thoughts are racing. His own wound is burning; it's a bit like someone is holding a lighter to his skin, every movement making his nerves scream. Tommy, however, must have been in incredible pain, and he hardly let it show. Tommy just sat there, endured it, and still took care of Buck; and all that after trying to protect the restaurant guests. He's a real hero, and Buck feels damn useless. Guilt washes over him like an ice-cold rain shower. They just got back together. Is there really a curse on their relationship? After six months of happiness, is it all over again—this time for good?

What a stupid thought. Who is he, some uninvolved passerby? A defenseless spectator, like the people in the restaurant? The thought suddenly drives Buck forward; the old, broken-down car has fuel again. Bobby would have liked that comparison. But he mustn't think about Bobby now.

“I'll never listen to you again, Tommy,” he groans as he very carefully shifts the man into a lying position. “I mean, of course I'll listen to you, but I have to listen better, right? Haha. Earlier, I gave you a lecture on that, remember?”

Tommy doesn't respond. Buck stuffs a few of the napkins under his boyfriend’s head,  then pushes a box under his legs, frantically throwing out the cleaning supplies in it. At last, he checks the bleeding again and mutters, “You're stubborn, though. Would it be so bad to admit weakness once in a while?”

Fortunately, the brief period without firm pressure hasn't caused any further damage – the bleeding seems to have stopped. There's still shouting outside; it sounds like Polly. She seems to be the more dangerous of the two, and if she loses it now... Focus on Tommy, he thinks. Tommy is breathing, his pulse is steady, but he's lost a hell of a lot of blood. Buck crouches beside him, almost automatically pressing the cloth onto the wound, thinking that he was probably a little unfair. Tommy has admitted his weaknesses, he has opened up, and not just because they’d decided that this would be a prerequisite for both of them if they were to try again. It was a journey with heavy baggage on each part, and something neither of them had ever done before. Buck had always been abandoned, and Tommy had always left before things got serious. And they’d both always acted like this for the same reason: injuries, that weren't visible on the outside, but yet so deep that they still hurt years later, like scars when the weather changed.

“But still,” Buck says, as if Tommy can read his mind, even though the man isn't even conscious, “still, we make mistakes. We fall back into old patterns. I didn't pay enough attention to you, and you weren't honest. But you know what? I get it. And we can work on that, the two of us. Don't you think? I—”

A key turns in the lock, and then the door to the small chamber is thrown open with a jerk.

───── .:**:. ─────

“Get out,” Finn demands, pointing his gun at Buck. 

“What?”

“Come on, get out of there, both of you!”

Now that the door is open, the sounds which had been muffled just a moment ago rain down on Buck. Someone is sobbing. The injured man near the entrance is moaning. Polly seems nervous, wiping her hand over a few tables, deliberately knocking plates and glasses to the floor. Maybe she just wants to scare the guests, though Buck thinks they’re already completely panicked. And there’s yet another sound, still a little distant but getting louder. The reason for Polly's nervousness: sirens.

“W-we can't.” Buck gestures to Tommy, still lying motionless on the floor. 

“Shit,” says Polly, who suddenly appears behind Finn, glancing over his shoulder. She waves her gun at Buck. “You alone then.”

“What for?” 

“Shut up,” Finn scolds, waving his rifle. But Polly puts a hand on his shoulder, clicking her tongue.

“Look, fireman. Even with just one of you, our chances of getting out of here are increasing exponentially. The cops aren't going to endanger one of their own.”

Buck pinches his lips together. The two of them obviously want to use him as a human shield. And part of him wants to agree, just to protect the rest of the guests in the restaurant. To give all of them a chance to get out of this alive, especially Tommy. But...

“No,” Buck shakes his head. “I'm not leaving him alone.”

“Excuse me?” Polly pushes past Finn. Her voice has a surprisingly gentle undertone that sends a shiver down Buck's spine.

He straightens his back and stands up. Buck knows the effect his size and muscles have. It's not for nothing that he often walks hunched over, making himself small; but that's over now. Polly, however, doesn't look particularly impressed. Maybe she just has completely lost her mind.

Buck points to Tommy. “Maybe it would work, we'd go out, the cops would let you through. But then you'd have a man on your conscience. A firefighter. I need him in a hospital right now, or he'll die.”

He's exaggerating, at least he hopes so, but it's not hard to add a hint of desperation to his voice. That one spark of fear. Because it's there, deep inside Buck, turning his stomach. And it seems to be working. There's something in Finn's eyes, an uncertainty. He actually takes a step back, glancing nervously at the crowd of guests.

“Polly,” he says, his tone warning. But Polly shakes her head.

“This is bullshit.”

She drops the bag with the loot on the floor, raises her gun and points it at Buck, who raises his hands defensively. Then she pushes past him with a grin, stops next to Tommy and nudges his left leg with her foot.

“We've got a few injuries, sure, that's a bit unfortunate,” Polly says calmly. “But firefighters... Phew, I'm telling you, they’re tough.”

Her grin is smarmy now. Then, suddenly, she pulls her foot back and kicks Tommy in his injured side. Buck sees red.

───── .:**:. ─────

The anger that rises within him rarely surfaces, but it’s still familiar to him. Buck never really allows this searing, gnawing feeling to take hold; these destructive thoughts, this tingling sensation in his fingers that automatically clench into fists. It’s a feeling that erases thoughts, an instinct that drives him to act.

Danger is just a state, a situation to be analyzed, assessed, and overcome. Bobby's words. Buck has worked very, very hard to be the person he is today. Someone Bobby could be proud of, and he was. Even when he screwed up. Even when he acted impulsively. And if that's not impulsive...

Buck's fist shoots forward. He’s never really done this, at least not to a woman, and normally, he wouldn’t. Polly, however, is dangerous, and Buck knows better than anyone that gender has nothing to do with it. His hand hits Polly in the stomach. She doubles over and groans, part out of pain, part out of astonishment. Buck grabs her, drags her by the arm, twists it around. Polly drops the gun, but then she wriggles in Buck's grip like a toddler covered in sunscreen. She screams and yells, Finn yells too, and for a terrible and surprisingly long moment, Buck thinks Finn is going to shoot. Or that he won't be able to hold Polly.

But Buck hasn't forgotten what he learned when he was eight, at summer sports camp with the wrestling class. Buck forgets very little, just like his muscles, and when he flexes them and wraps his arms around Polly, she can struggle all she wants.

“Now,” he gasps, “here's my advice: if you don't want to shoot your lovely wife—and boy, you know she can shoot better than you—then you give up. The police are almost at the door.”

Finn's face is red like a tomato; it wouldn't be surprising if he had a stroke right there and then. But it's anger, Buck knows that, and anger makes people do irrational things. Finn bites his lip until it bleeds.

“Shit. Shit, shit!” he repeats over and over again. 

“There's a back exit.”

Frantically waving his gun, Finn turns around. Behind him stands one of the restaurant’s employees, a waiter perhaps, or the manager, and he flinches. 

“What?”

“A back exit,” stammers the man, pointing to a window at the rear of the restaurant. “It's... it's actually an emergency exit.”

Finn stares at him, then back at Buck. No, actually, he's looking at Polly, who is standing stiff as a board in Buck’s iron grip. 

“Baby,” Polly whispers. Finn blinks. “No. No, no, no, you're not doing that.”

“I'm sorry,” Finn says without much regret. He picks up the bag, slings the strap over his shoulders, and adds, “It's not worth dying for. Not for anyone here.”

Without looking back, he runs off. Polly starts screaming, now wiggling again, but Buck holds her tight, even though the muscles in his arms feel like they’re about to tear.

“You stupid asshole, I'll find you,” Polly yells, but that doesn't stop Finn from opening the window and climbing out, just in time: the sirens are wailing right outside the restaurant.

From there, everything happens very quickly.

───── .:**:. ─────

It is, of course, Athena who’s among the first to secure the scene.

Buck loves the red string theory, much to Tommy's discomfort, but not just when it comes to his own relationship. Sure, Buck truly believes that everything in life has a meaning and that two people who belong together will find each other in the end. It's strange that Tommy, with his penchant for rom coms, doesn't share his belief, but Buck is sure he'll convince him eventually. In any case, Buck believes that he is connected to everyone in his life by an invisible red string, not just Tommy. Certainly Athena, who secretly adopted him, just as Bobby had done. And that's why it's no coincidence that it’s Athena who finds them both when the police storm the restaurant.

“Buck,” she says with not much surprise as she suddenly appears in the doorway, and he exhales a breath he thinks he must been holding for a very long time.

He barely notices how she reaches for Polly with raised brows, handcuffs the woman and hands her over to one of her officers to lead her away. Buck just breathes, “Tommy,” and then he's back on the floor next to him, holding his hand, stroking it, and murmuring something that is meant more to calm himself than Tommy, who’s unaware of anything anyway.

Athena glances at him, turns around and shouts, “EMT!” Hesitantly, she bends down and places two fingers on Tommy's carotid artery. Visibly calmer, she then asks, "What was going on here, Buck? No, wait. I don't really want to know, and you’re gonna make a statement anyway. Of course you're in the middle of this mess, what else would one expect... By the way, you belong in the hospital, too.”

Buck shrugs, ignoring his aching muscles, not to mention the ridiculous wound.

“I’ve to take care of the mess out there,” Athena says. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Fortunately, Buck has never before seen the paramedics who are now rushing into the small room. He has made progress with Tommy, oh yes, but there are conversations Buck has still avoided. Conversations he has still shied away from, and they’re gonna be with his friends and family. Well, that can't be put off any longer now, can it.

“Yes,” he says, and in that moment, it's true.

Athena lets out a sigh. “You're every inch Bobby’s boy,” she gently tells him, and the sparkle in her eyes could mean anything as she turns and walks away. 

Tommy's fingers twitch under Buck’s. He hasn't let go, and there isn't enough room in the small room anyway; the paramedics are calling for a stretcher. 

“Tommy,” he murmurs, gently stroking his cheek. 

“Hmm,” Tommy whispers, blinking. “'s wrong?”

Buck grins, feeling a lot lighter. “Oh, nothing much,” he replies. “Just a bit of chaos, nothing special.”

“I just want one date with you without anything happening,” Tommy mutters, the corners of his mouth turned up despite his obvious pain. 

The stretcher arrives, and Buck flinches sympathetically as Tommy is lifted onto it. He runs alongside, assuring him that everything will be all right, and in this moment he knows it's true. It's not the familiar surroundings of the ambulance soon after that make him realize this, but they certainly contribute to it. Of course, Buck going with him is against protocol, but who cares? Maybe this crew has heard of the 118’s motto, because they don’t object.

They drive off, and Tommy asks, “What was in it, anyway?”

“Hm, in what?” asks Buck, and he thinks one of the paramedics is mumbling that the dose would actually knock out an elephant, and he knows that Tommy is only keeping his eyes open with sheer willpower. But he doesn't tell him to relax or any of the other nonsense people usually say to hide their own restlessness. Because this is Tommy, and he deserves his attention.

“In the envelope.”

“The envelope, oh dear.” Buck knits his brows together. “I-I think it's still on the table. Maybe Polly took it because she thought there was money in it. Or a gift card. Do you think we'll get it back soon? It's evidence now...”

“So it's neither money nor a gift card,” Tommy mutters as one of the paramedics draws up a syringe. “Then what is it?”

“Oh. Tickets for your favorite band.”

“Tickets? Plural? You don't even like that band... I hope you weren't suggesting I go with Eddie.”

Buck can't help but burst out laughing. “Nah. Sure, they’re not really my thing, but you like them,” he finally says, “and that's why...”

“I like you,” Tommy interrupts him, slurring his words now. “I even love you.”

“Sweet,” says one of the paramedics, and then another dose goes into the IV, and Tommy closes his eyes. There’s the blissful smile of being high on his lips.

Buck feels like he's just been hit by a truck. Except it doesn't hurt, no, on the contrary. Something has hit him with full force, but it feels good. Damn good.

“It's just the painkillers,” he says, stroking Tommy's hand.

“No, honey, that was definitely real,” the paramedic interjects, smiling.

Buck looks at her, he looks at Tommy; Oh, he thinks. Oh.

[shadyfestivalperfection]

I loved your “Dating Loki” could you do one where him and the “reader” reunite during the Avengers? Nick Fury and the others won’t think he’ll talk until Thor brings the “reader” in. Loki thinks it’s Black Widow before he turns around, maybe he tries to keep his composure.

To Choose You Again~Oneshot

Summery: He let her go once in the name of power. Years later, broken and imprisoned, Loki sees her again—and this time, he’s the one who won’t walk away.

Characters: Loki x ex-girlfriend!reader

Note: Don’t worry, it has a happy ending 😉

||Main Masterlist|| ||Oneshot Masterlist||

Loki of Asgard sat on the floor with his knees drawn up, long fingers dangling loosely between them. His hair, longer now, curled slightly at the edges of his jaw, and the green in his eyes was dulled with something deeper than rage—fatigue. He stared at the far wall, unmoving. For hours, maybe longer.

He hadn’t spoken. Not to Fury. Not to Stark. Not even to Thor.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents watched him from behind mirrored glass, voices low and skeptical. Romanoff leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, her gaze cold.

“He’s not going to talk,” she said for the third time that day. “He’s waiting for something.”

“Or someone,” Banner murmured.

“Maybe a stage,” Stark quipped. “Guy always did love a dramatic entrance.”

Thor, standing slightly apart from them all, frowned in silence. His arms were crossed, and his brow furrowed with more worry than anyone present had seen since New York burned under the alien sky.

“He is… lost,” Thor said finally. “But not beyond reach.”

“Then who can reach him?” Steve asked, his tone calm but pressed. “Because we’re running out of time.”

Thor hesitated. “There was someone.”

Fury glanced over. “Someone?”

“She was once close to him. Before all of this. Before… everything fell apart.”

“Oh, here we go,” Tony muttered. “The ex-girlfriend bomb.”

“Her name is Y/N,” Thor said over the sarcasm. “An Asgardian by birth. Immortal. She left the realm generations ago. She chose Midgard—Earth. Lives in quiet. She is a researcher. A scholar. And she knew my brother better than any of us.”

Steve tilted his head. “Why haven’t we heard of her before?”

“She wanted peace,” Thor said simply. “And he let her go.”

“Wait,” Natasha cut in. “You’re saying Loki had someone he actually cared about? Enough to let her walk away?”

Thor’s eyes darkened. “Yes. And it nearly broke him.”

Silence followed. Only the faint sound of Loki’s breath through the speakers filled the stillness.

Fury crossed his arms. “You really think this woman—this Y/N—can get through to him?”

“I believe,” Thor said softly, “that if anyone can remind him he was once capable of love… it is her.”

—

The quinjet landed gently in a clearing surrounded by silver trees. Beyond them, nestled on the edge of a sheer cliff, was a small cottage with a moss-covered roof and a garden that bloomed wild and unbothered by human hands. It overlooked a stretch of sea so vast and calm it seemed the sky itself had poured into it.

Thor stood at the head of the team: Steve and Natasha behind him. No guards. No weapons drawn.

The moment they stepped through the trees, the front door opened.

Y/N stood in the threshold, still as the wind. Her long hair, loosely braided, hung over one shoulder, silver strands catching the fading light. She wore a simple sweater and linen pants—earthy, unassuming—but her eyes held a sharpness that hadn’t dulled since Asgard.

They were the eyes of a woman who’d seen empires fall and loved a man who helped break one.

“Thor,” she said evenly, voice like smooth stones in a stream.

He smiled, almost boyishly. “Y/N. You look well.”

“You didn’t come all this way just to flatter me,” she replied. Her gaze shifted to the two behind him. “Captain Rogers. Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Didn’t expect the welcome committee.”

“I’ve seen many things,” Y/N said. “But nothing surprises me anymore. Not even a god on my doorstep.”

She stepped aside. “Come in.”

—

Her home was filled with books. Stacks of them on tables, nestled beside vials of glowing plants and scrolls too old for even Steve to date. The air smelled of lavender and salt. It was peaceful. Still.

She poured tea without asking. The silence was comfortable… until it wasn’t.

“You’re here about Loki,” she said.

Thor lowered his cup. “Yes.”

“I figured.” She didn’t look at any of them directly. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Thor said quietly. “But perhaps worse.”

She didn’t speak.

“He’s in custody. After what he did in New York.”

“I heard.” Her voice tightened.

“He will not speak to any of us,” Thor continued. “Not even me.”

Y/N finally looked up. Her eyes had that familiar sheen to them—reflective, unreadable, and impossibly old. “And you think I can reach him?”

Steve answered this time, his tone careful. “He’s completely closed off. If there’s any chance someone from his past could draw him out—help us understand what he’s planning—it’s worth trying.”

“He’s always planning something,” she said softly. “That hasn’t changed.”

“But once,” Thor said, “he wasn’t only this. You saw that. You knew him before the fall.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

“I saw what you were to each other,” Thor added. “He loved you.”

She rose, walked to the window. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And still, he let me go.”

“Why?” Natasha asked quietly.

Y/N smiled faintly. “You’d have to ask him.”

Steve stepped forward. “We’re not asking you to forgive him. Just… speak with him. If you get through, we might be able to stop whatever’s coming.”

Y/N was silent for a long time.

Then: “When?”

Thor stood. “Tonight.”

—

The quinjet hummed softly as it rose into the clouds. Y/N sat across from Thor, her eyes on the horizon. The closer they flew to the helicarrier, the quieter she became.

Thor watched her with a heavy heart.

“You haven’t asked if he remembers you,” he said gently.

“I know he does.”

Thor nodded.

“And I know,” she added, voice barely audible, “that I never stopped remembering him.”

—

The S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier was cold and sterile, a place of harsh lights and harder edges. Y/N stepped out of the elevator, Thor just behind her, and immediately the chill of the place seeped into her bones. The smell of metal and ozone mixed with distant echoes of voices and footsteps.

They walked down the narrow corridors until they reached the observation deck, the glass cell standing silent and imposing.

Inside, Loki sat alone, his posture rigid, shoulders squared as if bracing against invisible storms. His back was to them, the dark hair falling messily over his shoulders.

“Are you sure he doesn’t know you’re here?” Y/N asked quietly.

Thor nodded. “He believes this is another attempt to interrogate him. He doesn’t expect you.”

They stepped closer, their footsteps muffled against the floor.

Y/N’s heart pounded, an old ache rising up—equal parts dread and longing.

“He’s not going to like this,” she murmured.

“I’m not here for his approval,” he said softly.

Loki shifted. “Another visitor,” he muttered, voice dry but edged with a trace of amusement.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Loki.”

He turned slowly. The moment their eyes met, the air shifted—charged with years of unspoken words.

His face was pale, a mask of cold composure. But his eyes betrayed him: wide, searching, almost disbelieving.

“…Y/N?”

She nodded, a faint, bittersweet smile curling her lips.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, stepping closer to the glass, his hand rising to meet hers.

The world between them felt fragile—time stretched thin.

“I came because there’s still a part of you I remember. The part I want to believe is still there.”

Loki’s gaze faltered. “I buried that part deep.”

“Maybe it’s time to dig it up.”

Silence hung heavy, then he whispered, “Tell me… why did you leave?”

Her mind flickered back to a night long ago—stars above, tears streaming.

“Because you wouldn’t let me stay.”

He closed his eyes, the weight of regret settling on his shoulders.

“Let me try,” he whispered.

For the first time since his capture, Loki spoke—not with malice or riddles, but with the rawness of a soul seeking redemption.

Loki’s breath hitched as he stepped back from the glass, pacing the small confines of his cell. The shadows seemed to cling tighter to him, but in his eyes, a flicker of something warmer, something more fragile, lingered.

Y/N’s heart clenched watching him—this god, so fierce and broken all at once.

“Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” she asked softly, leaning closer to the glass.

He stopped and stared at her, jaw clenched.

“I was afraid,” he confessed, voice cracking like thin ice. “Afraid that what I’d become was beyond repair. That the man you loved was gone forever.”

She swallowed hard, remembering the bitter nights she spent wondering if he even thought of her.

“I never stopped hoping you’d come back,” she said. “Even when it felt like you were slipping away.”

Loki’s fingers pressed against the glass, fingertips tracing where hers rested.

“I should have fought harder. For you. For us.”

“You did what you thought was right. But sometimes, doing right means letting go.”

His eyes darkened. “Letting go of you was the hardest thing I ever did.”

They stood, separated by the thin barrier, but their hearts stretched across the distance like a fragile thread.

“Maybe this is our second chance,” Y/N whispered.

Loki’s lips curled into a tentative smile.

“If you’ll have me,” he said.

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Always.”

The hours slipped by unnoticed, swallowed by the quiet hum of the helicarrier and the steady rhythm of their voices.

Y/N found herself sharing memories she thought she’d buried—moments of laughter under Asgard’s twin moons, stolen glances during palace festivities, whispered promises beneath endless starlit skies.

Loki listened, his expression unreadable at first, but gradually softening like ice thawing under spring’s gentle sun.

“You always had that stubborn streak,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“And you always knew how to challenge me,” he countered, eyes glinting with a rare warmth.

They spoke of things left unsaid—the fears, the regrets, the reasons that tore them apart.

“I thought I was protecting you,” Loki said, voice thick with pain. “But all I did was push you away.”

Y/N reached out, fingers brushing the glass between them. “You didn’t push me away. I walked because I had to survive. And because I believed there was still good in you.”

He closed his eyes, a single breath escaping him. “There is good. I buried it too deep, but it’s still there.”

She smiled through the tears threatening to spill. “Then let’s find it again. Together.”

Loki’s gaze locked onto hers, fierce and vulnerable. “I want to believe that. I want to try.”

Their hands pressed harder against the glass, desperate to erase the space between them.

“Soon,” Y/N promised. “Soon.”

As the conversation lingered, Loki’s guarded demeanor began to peel away, revealing glimpses of the man she once knew—and the one she hoped might still be there.

“I’ve been alone,” he admitted quietly. “Not just in this cell, but inside myself. It’s a cold place.”

Y/N’s heart ached for him, the weight of his solitude almost unbearable.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” she said, voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. “Not while I’m here.”

He looked at her then, truly looked—as if seeing her for the first time in years.

“You never left my thoughts,” he whispered. “Even when I told myself you had.”

She reached out again, pressing her palm to the glass. “Neither did you leave mine.”

For a moment, time seemed to pause. The sterile hum of the helicarrier faded into the background, replaced by the quiet resonance of two souls tentatively reaching out.

“I don’t know what comes next,” Loki confessed, “but I want to find out—with you.”

Y/N smiled, hope blooming like dawn breaking through endless night.

Walking away from the cell, Y/N’s steps felt lighter than they had in years. The walls around her seemed less suffocating, the weight on her chest easing with each breath.

Thor met her at the hallway’s bend, a knowing smile on his face.

“She is the light in his darkness,” Thor said quietly. “You gave him something I could not.”

Y/N nodded, wiping a stray tear. “He’s still lost in parts. But he wants to be found.”

Natasha approached, folding her arms. “He talked?”

Y/N chuckled softly. “More than that. He remembered.”

Steve smiled warmly. “Then we have hope.”

The team gathered around her as they prepared to move forward, their mission now carrying a new purpose—not just to contain a god, but to heal him.

Later, as Y/N stood by her window, looking out over the night sky, a single moonflower bloomed on her windowsill—a reminder that even in the darkest places, hope could still take root.

And somewhere, far away but no longer unreachable, Loki was thinking the same.

“We’ll find the path. Together.”

Loki was taken back to Asgard in chains. Y/N watched from the shadows.

He didn’t look back.

Not then.

But a month later, a letter arrived — in ancient Asgardian script, with his seal.

I meant what I said. I remember everything.If I ever find a way back to the light… I hope you’ll be standing there.

—

Three months passed. Then four. Then five.

Y/N accepted a quiet research post in Norway, studying Earth’s auroras — a nod to the skies she once knew. Her days were quiet. Her nights lonelier.

Until one stormy evening… the wind shifted.

She turned from her telescope, heart pounding.

He was there.

Not armored. Not kingly. Just… Loki.

Hair longer. Eyes tired. But real.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she breathed.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me.”

She crossed the room and stopped inches from him. “Are you here to stay?”

“I don’t know what I am anymore,” he whispered. “But I know who I miss.”

He touched her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For all of it. I broke the only beautiful thing I ever had.”

“You didn’t break me,” she whispered. “Just my heart. But I kept the pieces. I was hoping you’d come back and help me put them together.”

He leaned in, slow, unsure.

She met him halfway.

Their kiss was not the burning heat of youth — it was slower. Wiser. Real.

They watched the auroras from the cliff, his hand wrapped around hers.

“Do you think they’ll ever let me live in peace here?” he asked.

Y/N smiled. “That depends. Do you plan to conquer anything else?”

“Only your attention.”

“That, you’ve already won.”

He looked at her, the glow of northern lights reflecting in his eyes.

And for the first time in years — he felt whole.

-the end

[brinasheqrt]

hi hope ur doing great!! i have a request, if u dont mind. i was thinking like reader is sabrinas gf and shes watching behind the scenes of the recording of sabrinas new single manchild, and at the end of the day sabrina is super tired and its basically reader comforting her and giving her princess treatment (preferably masc!reader)

My Princess

pairings - sabrina carpenter x masc!reader

warnings - none at all

wc - 2k

You leaned against the sound booth’s glass, arms crossed casually over your chest as you watched Sabrina through the thick pane. She was in her zone—headphones snug over her ears, one hand lifted as she worked through the chorus of her new single ‘Manchild’, voice clear and precise even after hours of takes.

The studio around you buzzed with low murmurs and clacking keyboards. The producers on the other side of the board exchanged quiet nods, impressed. You smirked to yourself, proud but not surprised. She’d been working on this song for months—her take-no-shit anthem wrapped in the kind of pop hook that would have everyone singing it for the next year.

But you could also see the exhaustion beginning to creep into her shoulders.

She pulled off the headphones after another take and dropped onto the couch in the booth, scrubbing her hands over her face. She looked like she was holding it together—just barely.

You straightened up.

“Sabrina,” her producer’s voice crackled through the intercom, “that was great. I think we’ve got the chorus locked in. You want to try that bridge again?”

There was a pause. You could tell she was biting her tongue before she responded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. One more time.”

You hated that tone. The one where she didn’t want to say no because she didn’t want to let anyone down, even when her voice had started to crack a little on the last take.

But she was Sabrina Carpenter—professional, powerhouse, perfectionist. And if she didn’t stop herself, she’d run herself right into the ground trying to make every note flawless.

Still, you waited. She adjusted her headphones again and went in for the bridge. You watched, not just as her girlfriend, but as someone who knew her better than most. The slight tremble in her hand when she reached for the mic again wasn’t lost on you. She powered through, but it was clear—she was nearly done.

The take ended, and her voice sounded more strained now. She blinked hard a few times, like she was trying to stay focused.

You tapped gently on the glass. She looked up and met your eyes through the booth, and you gave her a small smile, tilting your head with a subtle gesture that only meant one thing:

Enough, baby.

She sighed and turned back to the intercom. “I think that’s all I’ve got in me today,” she said, voice polite but final. “Can we pick up here tomorrow?”

The team agreed quickly—respectfully. No one wanted to push her too far. She thanked them all sweetly, even though you could hear the tired edge behind her voice.

When she stepped out of the booth, you were already waiting with a cold water bottle in one hand and your hoodie in the other. She looked small as she walked toward you—makeup smudged from the long hours, golden hair tied in a loose, messy bun, a hint of glitter still on her cheek from earlier content shooting. A popstar in the spotlight, sure—but right now, she was just your girl. And she looked exhausted.

You held the water out first. She took it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and downing half of it in one go.

“Jesus,” she exhaled after, “that bridge is going to kill me.”

“I’ll beat it up for you,” you said, slipping the hoodie over her shoulders. “Where is it? I’ll fight it. Genuinely. I don’t care that it’s just a melody. I have hands.”

That made her laugh, a tired but real sound. She leaned into you and rested her head on your chest as you wrapped your arms around her.

“I like when you threaten inanimate objects for me,” she mumbled into your shirt.

“I’m a romantic,” you replied.

She laughed again, but this time it broke a little, and she went quiet against you. You felt her weight shift as she sagged more into your chest. She was spent.

“Come on,” you said gently. “Let’s get you home.”

⸻

The car ride back was quiet. She leaned against the passenger door with her legs curled toward you, eyes fluttering shut every few seconds. You reached across at a red light and rested a hand on her knee. She placed her hand over yours instinctively, fingers squeezing lightly.

Once home, you carried her bag while she trailed behind you, slowly toeing off her boots at the door. She let out a long, aching sigh, then tilted her head to look at you with those soft, baby blue eyes.

“You’re giving me that look,” she said.

You raised an eyebrow. “What look?”

“The one that says, ‘You’re not allowed to do anything else tonight. You’re officially on pampering duty.’”

You grinned. “Correct.”

She smirked but didn’t argue, just lifted her arms dramatically. “Then carry me, peasant.”

You laughed and bent down to scoop her up bridal-style, making her squeal and wrap her arms around your neck.

“You better not drop me.”

“I’d never drop my princess,” you said, kissing the top of her head.

She hummed in approval and tucked her face into your shoulder.

⸻

You set her down on the couch and immediately went to work. First: fuzzy socks on her tired feet. Then: blanket wrapped tightly around her like a burrito and taking her makeup off. You handed her a warm lavender-scented neck pillow that you microwaved for a minute, which she sighed into like it was the greatest thing she’d ever touched.

“You want tea or cocoa?” you asked, already halfway to the kitchen.

“Cocoa,” she called back. “With oat milk. And those mini marshmallows you hide on the top shelf.”

You chuckled. “You mean the ones I hide from you because you snack on them at 2am?”

“Those are the ones.”

When you came back with a perfectly-prepared mug, she looked like a child in heaven—wrapped up, toasty, curled in the corner of the couch, cheeks flushed with warmth.

“You know,” she said as she took the mug from you, “you really didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know,” you said, kneeling beside her and brushing hair from her face. “But I wanted to.”

She leaned into your hand.

“I just…” She hesitated. “I hate how tired I get. I always feel like I should be stronger. More productive. Better.”

You frowned softly and leaned forward to press a kiss to her temple. “You were incredible today. Like, jaw-dropping. Everyone in that studio knew it.”

“But it doesn’t feel like enough,” she whispered, tears starting to rim her lashes. “I write these songs because I feel things, but when I’m drained like this, it makes me wonder if it’s worth it.”

You took the mug from her hands and set it on the table, then climbed onto the couch beside her and pulled her into your lap.

“It’s absolutely worth it, Brina,” you murmured, wrapping your arms tightly around her. “You’re making something beautiful out of your feelings. That’s art. That’s what people connect to. That’s why your music matters.”

She sniffled into your hoodie. “I just wanted ‘Manchild’ to be fun, you know? Like, powerful and cheeky and all those things. But I overthink it. I keep wondering if it’s too mean, or not mean enough, or if I sound annoying…”

“You sound like someone who knows her worth,” you said, stroking her back. “And if a man feels called out by it—maybe he should.”

That got a little giggle out of her. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” you teased, then softened. “But seriously? You can be tired. You are strong. Resting doesn’t take away from that.”

You kissed the corner of her mouth. “Let me take care of you tonight, okay?”

She nodded slowly, her lashes fluttering as she snuggled into you.

“Okay,” she whispered. “You win.”

You leaned back with her in your lap, one hand stroking her thigh through the soft cotton of her sweatpants while the other ran gentle circles over her back.

Eventually, she mumbled, “Can you play with my hair?”

You smiled and obliged, twisting a lock gently around your fingers and combing through it with your nails. Her whole body melted.

“You know what I’m calling this?” you said after a moment.

“What?”

“Princess Treatment Thursday.”

She cracked a sleepy grin. “It’s Saturday.”

“Doesn’t matter. You get princess treatment every day now.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. “I’m holding you to that.”

“I hope you do.”

⸻

A while later, you carried her to bed, changed her into her favorite oversized T-shirt, tucked her in, and climbed in beside her. She curled into your chest immediately, all soft breath and gratitude.

As you held her, she whispered, “Thank you… for seeing me even when I’m too tired to be ‘on.’”

You kissed her forehead, your voice low and sure.

“I always see you, baby. And I’ll always take care of you.”

And that night, as the stress and pressure melted off her body and the warmth of your love wrapped around her like a safety net, Sabrina Carpenter—pop icon, perfectionist, tired girl—finally fell asleep feeling like she didn’t have to be anything except exactly who she was.

Your princess.

[dearsubong]

su bong vs his younger self ☆ choi su bong

warnings ✧ fluff, comedy ig, crack, swearing, woa unexpected implied smut @ da end

summary ✧ you wake up to the sight of your boyfriend arguing with a younger boy who looks exactly like him.

authors note ✧ i just had to use a younger top photo 😭 sorry for being inactive—just a short oneshot i was working on previously.

yawning softly as your eyes fluttered open from the bright sun peeking through the curtains. you’re surprised that su bong woke up before you, those thoughts disappeared as your nose caught the smell of burnt toast. you sat up before your feet led you to the kitchen, meeting a rather… unusual sight.

there was, of course, your boyfriend but there was also a younger man that looked exactly like him. but there was no purple hair and his facial features looked smooth and soft, unlike su bong. the man— or boy— looked 19 or 20, just stepping into adult hood. your boyfriend was arguing with him.

“fuck off, i know what i’m doing.” su bong mutters, nudging his shoulder against his lookalike’s chest, pushing him away. “no you don’t.” the younger man comments, his voice was just a little higher than your boyfriends. after standing there for a couple seconds, you before speaking up with a cough. “babe?” su bongs head snaps to you, looking back and forth between you and the unknown man that looks like his identical twin. “good morning, babe…” he mumbled. “who is that?” “well… he’s my younger self. i have no idea how he got here, he said he went into the future or some stupid shit.” your mouth turns into an ‘o’ shape before you nod. “i noticed how similar he looks to you.”

his younger self gasped as he took in the sight of you. “y/n? i got with y/n?!” su bong groans and looks to the side, side eyeing him. “she’s even more beautiful than in my time… do you even know how obsessed i am with her? but she keeps pushing me away. i knew I’d get to her. nice, older me.“ the boy flashed your boyfriends distinct smirk. “piss off, i got her, not you.“ su bong’s expression switched to annoyance and possessiveness.

“seriously? you’re me, i’m you. we got her.“

“oh, fuck off.“

“calm it broski.“

su bong side eyed himself, his upper lip looking like it got pulled up by a string on the side. “damn, my vocabulary was cringe back then.“ you laughed softly as he admitted that. “babe, trust me, it still is. all that ’senorita’ shit has been staying with you since day one.“ your purple headed boyfriend pouted. “nah, thats your favourite nickname, senorita. you know it.“ his charming words always got the best of you. “its only because of the way you say it. don’t get too ahead of yourself.“ su bong then raises his a brow. “is that right?” he plants a firm hand on your hip before kissing you sensually, the grip tightening.

“holy fuck, get a room! im not watching my future self kiss my crush.”

“well, guess what?”

“what?”

“she’s my girlfriend, fuckwit.”

“she’s gonna be my girlfriend, assfuck.”

“she’s gonna be my wife, shitface!”

“now you two are just spitting cuss words out of your mouths.” you interrupt. “and i’m gonna be your wife, baby? is this you proposing? i say yes.” they both side eye you like they want to continue. “no.” you replied like you had a language you can understand just by how they look at you. the two of them both groan in synchronisation and you laugh at how it sounded so harmonised. “don’t groan at me. but the way you two did the exact same groan is hysterical.”

“you think im funny, babe?” younger su bong raises his brows up and down flirtatiously.

“she’s my babe.”

“she’s both our babes.”

“mine.” he put his hand around your waist, gripping tight in dominance.

“ours.” younger su bong puts his own hand on the other side of your waist.

“you son of a bitch—mine.”

“well guess what? im you, so you called your own mom a bitch.”

“nah, talking about dad. he’s a bitch. you’re a son of THAT bitch.”

“you’re not wrong, to be honest.”

“okay, okay! just STOP.”

—

scrap those boring paragraphs and boring plot. guess what happened next?

a freaky deaky, sloppy toppy, steamy, wet threesome. ^_^

[fandom-random-help]

Am I Okay?

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Simon wasn't one for bragging. He was humble in that sense. You, on the other hand, loved to brag. Especially when it came to your man. One day, you were hanging out with friends at a small cafe and they could tell something was up.

"Hey Y/N, you been acting different the last handful of times we've hung out. What's that about? Got a man?" One of your friends asked.

"Do I have a man? Damn right I do! He's the best one there is." You replied.

The whole table of friends began to laugh and then curiousity struck. The qusstions came rolling in like wildfire, and you were happy to answer every one.

"What's he like?" Another friend asked.

"Where do I start? Well, I'll get this out of the way. He's a six foot four dream, I can tell you that." You started your ramble.

The whole table began to pretend swoon.

"6'4! Where did you find this man? I might need to go there for research purposes." The whole table began laughing again at how wild your friend's response was.

"Well, we met at a bar. When he walked in I was in complete awe. But, oh my gosh is he dreamy on the inside too. He says what he means and actually means it. He's funny...ish, smart, not to mention good-looking. I could go on and on." Your ramble was coming to an end until your wildly endearing friend asked another question.

"That's really cute and all, but is he? You know? Keeping you satisfied in the bedroom?"

The whole table was a harmony of "oo's" looking in your direction.

"We're not going to talk about that here." You blushed as you went to take a drink from your water.

The whole table howled in laughter at your response or the one you didn't say in this case.

After the laughter had died down, one friend spoke, "Uh Y/N? There's guy that's been looking over at our table for the past twenty minutes. Do you think we're being too loud?"

You turned around to see the man she was referring to. He had light blonde hair trimmed to a buzzcut, a black surgical mask covering his face, and deep bown eye-oh my gosh it's Simon. You blushed even harder then. You thought Simon was still deployed. Not anymore apparently!

"Well this is awkward." You say.

"What do you mean? You know him?" One friend asked.

"That's the guy I've been talking about for the past twenty minutes." You whispered which soon turned to laughing.

The whole was in shock. Some were doing double-takes at you and your boyfriend. Others were laughing with you. It was a whole mess. After everything was regulated, you bid your friends goodbye so you could talk to Simon. You walk over to his table a smile.

"All done talking to your friends about me?" He asked.

"I guess you could say that. Want to go home?" You retorted.

Simon got up out of his seat and looked down at you. "Been waiting for you ever since I got back."

You smiled as you both walked to his truck. The drive home was full of carpool kareoke (mainly from you) with some questions sprinkled throughout. Once home, you had a game plan. A nice warm shower for the both of you, Chinese takeout, some comfy clothes and sleep. The shower was relaxing, the food was delicious, the clothes were comfortable, and the bed was nice and warm. As you drifted off to sleep Simon lay awake thinking about what you said about him. He couldn't believe he was all of those things to you. He never thought he would be described as a dream. He never thought anyone would speak that highly of him in a romantic sense. Hell, he didn't think he would ever get romantically involved with someone as much as he has with you. He checked his pulse to see if he still alive because it all felt like a dream. He took a deep breath and let it go. It reminded him that he was still human. He looked over at your sleeping form and smiled. He planted a kiss on top of your head and went to sleep himself. Simon was okay with being in love with you as much as you are with him.

[bisexualiteaa]

Undercover

Character list: Soap, Price, König, Gaz, and Ghost

CW: reader has hair, no use of y/n, military inaccuracies, slightly suggestive material, cursing, reader is AFAB, brief mention of weapons, canon typical violence, possible spelling or grammar errors, lightly proofread.

Hope you all enjoy!

John “Soap” MacTavish:

- He has so much fun with this that he almost forgets you’re here on the job.

- He goes out of his way to mention that you’re his “girlfriend” any chance he gets, actively making sure to take on “babe” or “baby” at the end of nearly every sentence.

- Strolling up to the hotel’s pool-side bar with his hand in yours, two towels under his other arm as you both walked out in swim wear.

- Has a hard time keeping his eyes off you when you’re in a bikini.

- Has an even harder time doing so when he’s a few drinks deep.

- He can’t help it, you just look damn good, and you look damn good when you’re doing your job too.

- Watching you sit back in one of those pool-side lounge chairs with a drink in hand, sunglasses on as you watched for your target really did something for him.

- Certainly didn’t help that you both had to share one bed in the hotel room.

You two didn’t have to stay the last night that the room was booked for, the mission was over, but it had run into the weekend. Something that Johnny held a strong grievance towards. So through some convincing you hadn’t known about, Johnny managed to con Price into allowing you both to stay the extra day to make up for the portion of the weekend you had both lost out on. “And how’d you sweet talk your way into that one?” You asked with a grin as he enlightened you with the news, making him give a playful scoff in fake offense as he sat in the lounge chair next to the bed. “Ye sayin’ I cannae sweet talk, bonnie?” He asked, making you laugh at the way he took everything like a challenge. “Mm, more surprised that they actually agreed to it more than anything, really” you replied bluntly, making him chuckle. “Why let I’ go ta waste? Another night of drinkin’ on Shepherd’s tab? Got ta be out yer mind if ya think I’d let tha’ opportunity go by” he reasoned, making you give a hum in response. “And here I thought it was ‘cause you liked being cuddle buddies so much that you’d die without going another night being the little spoon. Shame” you teased with a devilish grin, making him chuckle at your quip. “Aye, so what? Cannae fault a man for his comforts” he replied, making you shake your head and giggle at him. “‘sides, whose ta say it’s not ‘cause I sorta enjoy bein’ yer boyfriend? Maybe I’m tryin’ ta drag it out as long as I can” He added with a Cheshire grin, watching as you looked up at him at that admission, an eyebrow raised in surprise and question. “Really, now? That so?” You asked, making him chuckle. “Depends, how much ya like bein’ my hen?” He asked, making you bring a finger to your mouth, tapping against your lips as you pondered what to say. “Hmm…I’d give it like a five out of ten” you said nonchalantly, making him laugh as he gave you a slightly offended look. “A five? Damn. We go’ a whole day left bonnie, what can I do ta bring tha’ up t’ a ten?” He asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at you, his eyes dark with desire. You could only grin as you thought of your next words. “Well, you’d make it sky rocket to a solid eight by making me your girlfriend for real. From there…well, that depends on how well *you* perform” you answered, your eyes flickering up and down his body then back up to his face as you grinned at him.

- He made sure come morning that the only five you’d be leaving that hotel with was a five star review of the MacTavish experience.

“Captain” John Price:

- Now he’s no stranger to an odd mission or two, certainly not a stranger to undercover missions either.

- What he is a stranger to is working an undercover mission with someone he’s privy to.

- Working one with the boys was one thing, but with you? He feared it may be the only time he’d get a little too distracted from the task at hand.

- You two have been dancing around each other for years now, which is why everyone recommended the two of you for it because you would both seem the most natural when it came to compatibility and dynamic for a mission of this nature.

- He gave a kind smile to the front desk person as he enlightened them on the reason for your stay. “Business or leisure?” They asked kindly.

- “Leisure. Promised a nice honeymoon for the missus ‘ere, planned to stick by tha’ promise best I could. This seemed like a right little spot for it. Only the best for her” he’d say as he’d wrap a protective arm around you, looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes as an even bigger smile would stretch to his lips when he’d watch you excitedly show off the beautiful ring sat on your finger to the front desk people.

- How he dreamed of this being real, of one day having this very experience with you elsewhere once he could finally retire from the force.

- Not a day passed through this mission that you two don’t exchange playful flirtation, especially when it came to the dinner you two had to attend to see who your target was meeting with.

- When you walked out of the bathroom that was connected to your honeymoon suite’s lavish bedroom his eyes went wide for a moment, forgetting all about the tie he was currently tightening in the mirror across from the bed before letting out a chuckle. “Well aren’t you a right stunner?” He complimented, making you blush and smile.

- “Do a spin for me, yeah?” He said, grabbing your hand and looking you over as you spun in front of him with a beautiful smile and bubbly giggle.

- He certainly made you feel the part of his wife, it was effortless and riveting.

- And damn if you didn’t look good when you were focused. The gun sliding from your garter that sat strapped at your thigh beneath your dress now aimed at the target as you disarmed him and brought him down to be handcuffed and taken away. He couldn’t have been more proud and more attracted to you than in that very moment.

You were packing your things as you got ready to leave the lavish suite the both of you had been staying in the past few days. “Well, it was nice while it lasted” you commented, making him chuckle. “Liked this one?” He asked with a small smirk, making you laugh. “Duh! Only thing I was disappointed about was not getting to enjoy that really nice restaurant we went to. Got all dressed up for a hostage situation instead of a dinner date” you joked, making him laugh at your response. It was fair, he’d actually rather looked forward to the dinner that night too. He looked forward to enjoying a few glasses of champagne with you over some exquisite food and dessert as you’d gush to the waiter about how you’d just recently married and were on your honeymoon to celebrate. He loved listening to you refer to him as your husband, filling his hardened heart with so much joy and pride when you would. “Got any plans tomorrow night?” He asked, making you look up at him with much curiosity in your gaze. “Maybe, why?” You asked with a small grin hinting at the corner of your lips as you awaited his response. “Clear your schedule, let me take you to dinner and make up for it” he said boldly yet sternly, as if he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He most definitely would, but deep down you both knew that wasn’t going to be your response. “Not sure they’ll be open for customers after a hostage situation happened just two days prior” you joked, making him chuckle. “I know some place better” he insisted, making you curious but truth be told, you were already bursting at the seams that he’d finally made a move after all these years spent flirting with each other off and on. How could you say no to such an offer? “Oh, and be sure to wear that outfit again, yeah? Gun and all” he added with a smirk as he started to head out the door, making you grin as you trailed behind him.

- Needless to say, you certainly got your fantastic dinner date and an even better night afterwards when you went back to his place.

König:

- König wasn’t used to undercover missions, normally he’s never the first pick for them purely based off of his height alone.

- He’s so tall that it was almost hard to not recognize him, but he’s a sniper on top of that, one could argue his whole job was undercover considering he’s usually laying low from afar as he picked the enemy forces off one by one.

- So when the two of you were assigned an undercover mission together, it was definitely a bit of a struggle at first to figure out a cover for the both of you.

- That was, until they came to the conclusion that it would work if you pretended to be his mistress, meeting him on a “business trip” out of the country.

- Everything was going great, the room they had booked for him was amazing. It was spacious, had a kitchenette, massive bathroom, the only detriment was the bed being a little too small but he could make it work.

- You showed up in that skimpy little black dress you had on and suddenly his whole world flipped upside down. The fabric laying tight around your curves as it ended at just above your mid thigh, a pair of heels adorning your feet but only seemed to make your legs and ass pop even more than it already did. Your cleavage was visible from the low cut of the top of it, a deep red lipstick painting your lips and your hair free of its usual ties.

- You looked so stunning and he wasn’t prepared for it.

- He sat waiting on one of the lavish couches they had by the entrance to the hotel, donned in the business attire that he was briefed about.

- His once widely spread legs were now being brought inward a tad, his hand slipping into his pocket in the attempts to conceal the issue beginning to grow within his business slacks as you made your way over to him.

- “Oh look at you, gosh you are just handsome as ever” you complimented as he stood up, turning the charm up to eleven immediately and watching as he towered over you effortlessly, even in heels.

- He couldn’t help the slight flush that rose to his cheeks at the sight of you in anything different from your usual uniform, but he did his hardest to remain cool and collected.

- “A good thing the missus isn’t here, I get to have you all to myself” you added in a sultry tone, your much smaller hand smoothing down the lapel of his suit before resting against his broad chest as you looked up at him with the most beautiful set of bedroom eyes he’s ever seen.

- “I couldn’t come into town without seeing you, Schatz” he replied, making you smile up at him in a way he’s only ever dreamed you would. “Then how ‘bout you show me to your room, hmm? Maybe then you can show me just how…excited you are to see me” you responded, dragging your finger down the tie he was wearing with a wink and a bitten lip.

- He certainly didn’t need to be asked twice before ushering you to the elevator and down the hall to his room.

As you made it to his room, he quickly ushered you inside, closing the door behind you but not before you could place the do not disturb sign on the door knob with a giggle. You smiled up at him as you made it inside, his hands resting on your waist as he looked down at you. “Die schön” he complimented breathlessly as he looked at you, making you hum happily at his words. “Danke sehr” you replied, unaware of just how enthralled this man was by you in this very moment. “Bitte schön” he answered, making you giggle once more as a slight blush rose to your cheeks before focusing back in on the mission. “C’mon, I can hear them talking from the bedroom, they must be closest to the wall where the bed is at” you said, grabbing his much larger hand in yours as you led him to the bed. “If they’re as close as I think they are, we’ll have to be pretty convincing that we can’t hear them” you said, making him shake his head. “Here, climb on top of me. Maybe we can sell it by shaking the bed” he said, making you blush at the implications of his words, but you knew he hadn’t meant it like that. Though you weren’t opposed to the idea either. As he climbed onto the bed, you quickly understood why he recommended you be on top of him, the bed was far too small for the both of you to sit on normally, his hulking frame even managing to take up a queen sized bed with minimal effort. So you straddled his hips, the creak of the boxspring beneath the mattress already sounding beneath the weight of you both as your knees sat on either sides of his hips while you pressed a listening device to the wall to get a clearer sound of the conversation happening in the adjacent room.

You couldn’t help the soft gasp that left you as his hands rested on your waist, attempting to keep the hiking skirt of your dress to a concealing length out of respect for you. You looked down at him as he did so with a heat rising to your cheeks as you realized just how close your faces were from one another. Then you felt it, the tell-tale throb from between his legs that told you just how he was feeling in this situation. Seeing you straddling his hips, your tits not that far from his face as the scent of your shampoo and perfume came together, filling all of his senses with you. How else was he supposed to react? Especially after that flirty interaction in the entryway, how could he not be affected by you? Thankfully you’d collected enough intel to send back to base before their chatter subsided for the night it seemed. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean for that to happen I just…you look so beautiful I-“ he started to say, babbling apologies to you as you set your equipment to the side, his hands moving from your waist in an attempt to amend his error but you were quick to place them back on you as you shut him up with a kiss. Much to his pleasant surprise, you moved his hands to the hem of your dress, urging him to take it off. “Thank fuck I’m not the only one. You look too damn good in this suit” you admitted into the heated kiss, only spurring him on even further.

- By the time morning rolled around, the both of you definitely managed to make it convincing. Convincing enough to even earn a noise complaint from the enemy that shared a wall with you both, a story you’d both tell for years to come.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

- Kyle couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on an undercover mission

- He’d grown used to the stealth missions he’d been on with Captain price, what with the gillie suits and diving suits, but this? This was something he wasn’t entirely used to.

- If there was anyone he’d rather be on an undercover job with however, it’s definitely you.

- You two had been friends for a long time, separated only by entering the military, but as the fates would have it, you found yourselves reunited again.

- Maybe that’s what made it so easy to play off as long distant partners meeting back up again for this mission.

- He couldn’t help but light up with joy as he saw you exit your car in the parking lot, getting a good look at the target’s vehicle and who he was with before your attention came to Kyle.

- Seeing that beautiful smile spread to your face made him weak in the knees before he heard you gasp and run up to him.

- He was ready for the hug you practically tackled him with, but what he wasn’t ready for was you kissing him, leaving him pleasantly surprised as you did so.

- Naturally, he kissed you back of course.

- His hand rested softly at your hip as you did, using the proximity to pull away and tell him what you saw, using the kiss as a chance to whisper to him all the information you’d collected while trailing them on the way here.

- That and you were technically a couple at the moment, it only seemed right.

- “The kiss an’ tell type, are ya?” He joked, making you chuckle as he helped you with your bags. “Only if the tea’s hot enough to, and I assure you, this was steaming” you retaliated, making him chuckle as he shook his head at your bad pun. “Five years apart and your jokes still suck” he commented as you both made your way inside.

“Has it really been five years?” You asked as he threw a clean shirt on, getting ready for the day. “Give or take. Been a while for sure” he answered, never quite realizing just how long it had been since last he’d seen you. The both of you had been through so much in that span of time that it had hardly even felt like five years passed by that fast. “You started seeing anyone since last we talked?” You asked, curious of what he’s been up to and what big life changes have happened while you were apart. “Nah, been too busy” he answered as he got his things together. “You? Surely you must’ve settled down and found the right one by now?” He asked with a slight grin, making you laugh. “I haven’t actually. Been busy too” you answered, and somewhere deep down a wave of relief washed over him to hear those words leave you. To know you hadn’t found someone in his absence, just as he hadn’t in yours. “Kinda funny how we always find our way back to each other, eh?” He added with a grin, making you giggle. “You don’t say. It’s like we’re connected or some shit” you teased. “It’s okay, you can say you’re obsessed with me. It’s an acceptable reason to always be around” he joked with a devilish grin, making you laugh. “Yeah okay, you wish! If I’m obsessed with you, then you’ve got be down BAD for me” you answered, making him chuckle. “Maybe a little. A man can dream, can’t he?” He asked, making you hum with a sweet smile, pleasantly surprised by that answer. “Would you maybe want to grab a bite sometime? Or catch a movie?” He asked, making you giggle. “Only if it’s a date” you answered, and he chuckled softly. “I think that can be arranged. But under one condition” he stated, making you look at him with anticipation in your gaze, waiting to see what he had to say next. He came over to you, his hands resting gently on your hips as he looked down at you with a soft, loving look. “What’s that?” You asked, looking up at him with a very similar look in your eyes. “You kiss me like you did in the lot earlier” he requested, making you hum as you looped your arms around his neck, your lips mere inches from each other. “I think that can be arranged” you responded, a soft smile stretching to both of your lips before you kissed him.

- Perhaps you were right about fate playing a hand in this, because suddenly he understood exactly what they meant when people say that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

- Taking on an undercover mission with Simon was the last thing you’d ever wanted to do.

- You two couldn’t stand each other, with you being new to the fleet and him being a stubborn lieutenant that’s been with the Task Force for years now, you two tended to butt heads. *Often.*

- You could hardly even stand being in the same room together.

- So when the words left Price’s mouth, you couldn’t help but groan in aggravation, dreading it in its entirety.

- “I can assure you the sentiment’s shared sweetheart” he said, making you glare daggers in his direction with a look of disgust written all over your face. “Don’t fucking call me that” you spat bitterly, rolling your eyes at him as you crossed your arms over your chest.

- The whole crew joked that you should be undercover as two people who divorced each other with how you two bicker and fight. Maybe they weren’t entirely far off on that statement.

You scoffed as you met Simon by the pool, seeing him there shirtless, wearing a pair of swim shorts but still keeping the mask on, even going as far as to wear sunglasses with it. You rolled your eyes before shooting him a look bordering on disgust. “You wear that stupid fucking mask everywhere?” You snapped, making him turn to you. “You bring that bratty fuckin’ attitude with you everywhere?” He clapped back, making you roll your eyes with a groan of disapproval. Yet your eyes couldn’t steer away from his shirtless figure, watching as the water rolled down his tattooed arms and trailed along his broad, built chest. As much as you resented the man, you had to admit, he looked good. Mentally at least, you wouldn’t dare tell him that to his face. “Whatever. You even remember what we’re here for, or have you been too busy catching the eyes of all the thirsty women here?” You asked, dipping your legs into the pool as you sat on the side of it with a drink in hand, watching as a few of the women across the way gawked at him. He gave a breathy chuckle. “Jealous, are ya? ‘mind you ‘f old times?” He asked, making your face burn hot at the implications and audacity of his words. “Jealous? Yeah fuckin’ right. Those days are long gone” you replied, rolling your eyes as you looked away from him, taking a sip of your drink as you did. “Three o’clock, blue shirt. Terrible taste in drinks, when I was up at the bar I watched him order a drink with malört in it” you added. “Not important” he chastised, making you give him a glare. “As I was saying, he’s supposed to meet with the target here in ten minutes. Has a girl hostage in his room as negotiation but he’s armed if that doesn’t work” you said. “Good eye” he said, taking you by surprise at the fact that he complimented you. It was weirdly thrilling, the surge of pride that came over you with his words. Maybe Simon was quick to judge you, quick to assume that your youth meant incompetence but it wasn’t the case. He hated to admit it but you’d done a lot through out this mission to really take him by surprise, spotting things he hadn’t even spotted, formulating well thought out plans that he considered to be above your abilities. Perhaps he was too quick in passing his judgements upon you. As you sat here before him in a very nice swimsuit, hair flowing in the wind, drink in hand with a determined look upon your face, he couldn’t help but admire you a little. “Enjoying the view?” You asked with a cocky grin, making him grumble as he looked away wondering how you knew. “Just keeping an eye on our chum over there” he said, making you chuckle. “Sure, whatever you say” you added before a few screams filled the otherwise peaceful air, making you turn to see he’d pulled out his weapon. You were quick to hop to your feet. “The fuck d’ you think you’re goin’? He’s armed” he barked at you as you rummaged through your beach bag. “Yeah, so am I” you answered, leaving him equally stunned and impressed before following close behind you.

It was when the both of you had returned to your room that night that he finally worked up the courage. “Did good back there. Maybe I was a little quick to assume you were incompetent but you did good work today” he admitted, stopping you in your tracks almost as you tried to register what he’d just said. “Did you just compliment me?” You asked with a snarky grin, making him turn from you. “Don’t get used to it” he said, making you chuckle as you thought of your next words. “You’re not so bad either, Simon. Made a good team, even if you’re stubborn as all hell” you added, making him scoff a laugh. “You just compliment me?” He asked, using your same words against you as he cocked his head over his shoulder to look at you when he did, making you playfully roll your eyes with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. “Don’t get used to it” you said, mocking his tone and his accent as he turned around, his arms crossed over his chest in an attempt to intimidate you. “You mockin’ me?” He asked, a sort of playfulness hinting in his usually gruff tone. “And if I am?” You asked brazenly, a wicked grin still stretched to your lips. “Spitfire” he responded, knowing there was never anything he could do to make you eat your words or change your attitude, he liked it too much anyway, but he’d never tell you that. His lack of a response made you laugh.

- The both of you seemed to grow a little closer after that night, the dynamic between you shifting to something a little more friendly from there on out. It took some time on his part, but eventually he’d come around to you enough to go on missions with you more often before finally working up the nerve to ask you out for a night of drinks.

- You two have been inseparable ever since.

[eunandonly]

ADMIT IT, YOU LIKE ME ⭑ ( 𝗁𝗍𝗌 )

parallel lines are not supposed to meet ─── but yet here we are, stolen glances and whispered flirtings we mask as tauntings

'𝐸 . han dongmin + fem. reader 925 · academic rivals to lovers fluff headcanons ୨୧ unestablished relationship, extreme passive aggressive behaviour archive

은혜 : a little fic before i disappear for a week bc of my school trip!! i've been wanting to develop the academic rival!taesan idea from this fic i wrote before for agessss and red hair taesan has done smth to me he is so fine like annyeong fine shyt ok i also want to write a cute fic for leehan maybe i'll work on that on the plane mmhmm

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACKS ARE APPRECIATED

academic rival taesan who you’ve shared the top two ranks with since freshman year, though neither of you are willing to admit that the competition has become personal. he always finishes one point ahead or one place below, never enough to settle the rivalry once and for all.

academic rival taesan who scoffs under his breath and starts flipping the pages of his chemistry textbook more aggressively when you shoot him a victorious smirk after answering a question faster than him. he hates you. you’re just so damn annoying.

“it’s just a calculus question,” he says, rolling his eyes when he sees the grin on your face. “calm down, it’s not that deep.” “you’re just mad you didn’t get it faster than me.” you reply with a shrug and a mocking smile that makes taesan’s blood boil.

academic rival taesan who claps sarcastically from the back of the room when you finish your presentation and makes sure to tell you that “your introduction was weak”

academic rival taesan who spends weeks preparing for a debate because he found out you’re on the opposing team. the trophy is one thing, but the way your eye twitches is another when he calls your argument “surface level at best” in front of everyone in the room.

“you sound like you spent hours preparing just for the opening line of your argument.” you say as you organise your colour coded flashcards during an interval. “i didn’t,” he lies. “yeah well,” you sigh, looking up to give him a mocking smile. “maybe you should’ve–a bit weak on your counter arguments, don't you think?”

academic rival taesan who constantly competes against you, even outside of academics because he just can’t seem to let the rivalry go. you call him petty. he calls himself determined. 

“were you purposefully only aiming at me during that round of dodgeball or am i hallucinating?” you ask during a water break in pe, out of breath after dodging twenty different throws from taesan. “i think you’re hallucinating as per usual.” “i think you should shut up.”

academic rival taesan who makes sure to pull you back by your backpack in the corridors when you shove past him, murmuring about how rude you are in a quiet voice so only you can hear before letting you go.

you and academic rival taesan who are always causing arguments during student council meetings but than end up teaming up when other members say something that pisses both of you off.

“that’s the most terrible idea i’ve ever heard. it'll go over budget, i've done all my calculations,” taesan grumbles, staring at your document with a scowl on his face. “well i don’t see you with any better ideas.” you retort, crossing your arms and shutting your laptop passive aggressively. taesan just shakes his head. “we might as well just put your pretty face to use and make you stand in the hallway to promote.” the student council treasurer cuts in, nudging the other members. “or you could just admit you’re both into each other and move on.” you and taesan both tell him to shut up in unintended unison.

academic rival taesan who doesn't know when his hatred for you starts slipping into something else that he can't describe. a strange, warm feeling in his chest whenever he talks to you. and he’s trying very, very hard to ignore it, but he can’t help but feel like he hates the fact that he might not actually hate you as much as he thinks he hates you.

academic rival taesan who stopped sitting next to you in class after your knee brushed his under the table and he forgot his six times tables for three seconds. but he’ll still lean over during class to whisper insults in your ear, his breath way too warm and way too close.

you and academic rival taesan who makes the school’s student body whisper about the strange tension between you two that both of you seem to be pointedly ignoring. someone in your class whispers about how they’re never sure whether you want to tear each other apart or make out during arguments.

“you lack the depth to understand nietzsche” “you read nietzsche for aesthetics” “says you. you’re just about as deep as a kiddy pool.”

academic rival taesan who’s the one that actually comforts you when he finds you crying in an empty classroom after school because your grades fell, rubbing your back and telling you in a gentle voice that “one stupid physics paper isn’t going to ruin your whole life” and that “there’s no reason for you to worry about unemployment in the future.”

academic rival taesan who’s possessive in a petty way. he mocks you 24/7, but he’s the only one who gets to call you a pretentious know-it-all. 

some guy snorts after you answer a question in class. “she acts like she’s the only one who knows anything.” taesan swivels in his seat. “you want to repeat that louder?” “relax, it’s just a joke.” “i don’t see anyone laughing.”

academic rival taesan who starts doodling snarky comments in the margins of your notebook or leaving you little notes on your desk with a snack he knows you like from the store. he swears it isn’t him, but you could recognise his handwriting anywhere–sharp, slanted, narrow.

academic rival taesan who’s cocky enough to lean towards you during study period to whisper in your ear, “admit it, you like me.” you smile and write on his notebook in red: “you wish.”

[marvelmaven]

Broken But Brave Pt. 9

This is my first attempt at a fic, so encouragement and kind advice are welcome. Let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes/Original Fem! Character

Set in an AU where Tony DOESN'T die after End Game and Steve is actually with Bucky till the end of the line.

Summary: Bucky is going through therapy, consulting with the Avengers, but not interested in living under Stark's roof, for reasons he thought should be obvious to everyone. On his way home to his Brooklyn apartment, he bumps into his new neighbor, a petite, self-proclaimed cat lady. But he notices something about her that will have him keeping his eye out.

Trigger warning: References to Domestic Abuse (Not Bucky)

This chapter is a bit heavier, but fluff and romance is on its way

Part 9/?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Bucky fell instantly into threat assessment, there was no way that he would allow her into that apartment, nevermind alone. It had been compromised, and he wanted to know just how the hell this creep had been able to get in twice. 

A chirping noise down the hall made Lori turn her head, Marvin was trotting up from the opposite stairwell, tail sticking straight up in the air and doing what she had once referred to as his “fat boy hustle”, not quite a run, but not his usual lazy pace either. 

“Thank god,” Lori crumpled onto the ground, scooping the cat into her arms. Bucky bent down, picking up both of them easily, earning a small cry of surprise from her, but moving quickly down the hallway, unlocking his front door with one hand, and depositing her inside, deadbolting the door behind them. He moved quickly through his own apartment, scanning for anything out of place, but everything looked as it had when he had returned from his therapy session earlier that day. He grabbed his gun from where it sat in its safe in his bedroom, tucking it into the back of his jeans so he wouldn’t scare Lori even further. When he got back into the living room, Bucky found her sitting next to the front door, head in her hands, Marvin booping her with one paw for attention. 

“Lori,” he crouched down next to her, pulling his phone out of his pocket, “you’re okay, sweetheart, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” 

He flipped his phone open dialing Steve, one hand reassuringly on her knee. 

“Hey, Buck.” Steve answered, “what’s–” 

“Hey, I need you here. Now.” Bucky had his eyes fixed on the brunette, whose whole body was shivering, “creep broke into Lori’s apartment.” 

“Shit. I’m on my way.” He could hear Steve call for Sam and Nat. “Don’t do anything stupid, Buck…” 

Bucky was silent for a beat too long before responding, unable to respond with their usual line, “Fine, just get here as fast as you can.” 

Lori looked up, tears streaming silently down her face, scooting her knees forward so Marvin could crawl onto her lap. The cat headbutted her cheek which only made the tears fall faster, now mixing with cat fur. He leaned forward, brushing away the fur and tears with one thumb, but not moving his hand away from her cheek. “Steve’s on his way. There’s no way you’re staying here tonight, not with that asshole breaking in twice. We can all go to the tower, no one is getting in there without biometric scans approved by Stark. Sound good?” She nodded mutely, “Once he’s here, Sam can stay with you while we pack up some of your things okay?” Bucky continued wiping her tears again with one thumb. She put a hand up and placed it over his, leaning her face into his palm, so tenderly it made his heart squeeze tightly in his chest. 

After what felt like an eternity of silence, silence that scared Bucky more than anything so far tonight, Lori finally spoke. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was choked and hoarse from holding back tears. 

“You don’t have to be sorry for a damned thing, doll,” Bucky replied in a low, gentle voice. It was killing him that he couldn’t do anything, that this asshole, Daniel, had taken away the small bit of peace she had built up for herself, and destroyed it. He bent down, carefully picking her up, Marvin jumping off her lap, and placed her down on his couch, like she was the most priceless and valuable thing in the world. He crouched in front of her, and she reached a hand out grabbing his own, squeezing it gently. They stayed like that for a long time, his thumb rubbing backward and forward, wracking his brain for something to say, something to do. 

Suddenly, there was a banging on his door that had Bucky straightening up, pulling the gun from the back of his jeans. 

“Buck?!” Steve’s voice sounded from the hallway. 

“Goddamnit, Steve.” He moved, quickly and unbolting the door. “What’re you bangin’ on the door like that for?” 

“Sorry, I got worried, the lights are off and–” Steve was standing in his regular clothes, but had his shield in his hand, “Lori here?” 

“Course,” He stood back, letting Sam and Steve in, mildly surprised when Nat sashayed in behind the other two, “Nat.” 

“Hey there Sargeant,” Nat’s eyes landed on Lori who was staring straight ahead blankly. Marvin screamed in welcome to the newcomers, trotting over from Bucky’s bedroom where the cat had supposedly bolted when Steve had “knocked” on the door. Sam turned the lights on his gaze on Lori who looked pale as a ghost, clearly in shock. 

“Uh, Nat, this is Lori,” Bucky felt awkward, “Lori this is Natasha.” 

Lori tried to give her a smile, but it looked more like a grimace, tears still flowing down her cheeks. 

“Hey,” Nat’s voice was softer and devoid of any of its usual sass, “do you mind if Sam and I stay here with you, while these two” she nodded her head at Bucky and Steve, “go grab a few of your things?” 

Lori nodded, her face flush with embarrassment. 

“I’ll be right back, doll.” Bucky told her, before motioning to Steve. They both slipped down the hallway, Bucky undoing the safety on his gun. Steve moved in first, shield raised, Bucky following him like they were raiding a Hydra base, not going into Lori’s apartment. He swore under his breath when he saw the inside of her apartment. The couch had been slashed, it’s stuffing slipping from cushions thrown haphazardly around the room; the tv they’d watched movies on had been kicked, screen cracked and glass on the ground; spray paint coated her irreplaceable family photos, some of the frames broken and others on the floor. Her dishes lay shattered on the floor of the kitchen, Marvin’s fountain kicked on its side, leaking a puddle of water on the ground, and a cabinet door ripped off its hinges. In the bathroom, Marvin’s litter box lay upside down and Lori’s toiletries were dumped out or sat in the toilet, more slurs spray painted on the mirror. Her bedroom was freezing, spray paint all over her sheets, her dresser drawers pulled out and clothes strewn across the floor. Bucky’s first thought after assessing that the guy had bolted through the window leading to the fire escape was that this was not how he’d wanted to first see her room. 

“Buck, we gotta call the police.” Steve said after looking around for a moment in the bedroom, “he’s escalating.” 

“I know,” Bucky bent and picked up a smashed picture frame of Lori and her brother, grinning at her graduation, arms around each other’s shoulders. 

He picked up Lori’s gym bag from where it lay, thankfully untouched by spray paint, and began carefully folding and piling clothes into it for her. There was no use in trying to pack up her toiletries, they were all destroyed anyways, but on their way back to his place he grabbed the bag that held her latest knitting project and the book she’d been working on, slipping the photo of Lori and her brother inside of it where she’d dogeared her current page. 

Steve went to meet the police out front and Bucky walked back to his apartment, opening the door to find Sam and Nat talking softly together while Lori sat staring at her phone. Her eyes were wild when he entered, more tears spilling from them. He sat beside her and took the phone from her hand, gently, frowning down at the screen. 

Subject: BiTHC

The body was just a photo of the two of them from dinner, Lori laughing while he had his face screwed up from a bite of too much wasabi. 

“It’s my fault.” Her voice was still hoarse, and from how fast Nat and Sam turned to look, probably the first time she’d spoken since they’d arrived. 

“No, sweetheart, it’s not.” Bucky put the phone face down on his coffee table and pulled her into his chest while her petite body shook with sobs, “This is him, all him.” He noticed Natasha pick up the phone frowning while Sam looked over her shoulder. Nat’s gaze met Bucky’s and understanding passed between them, spy to spy. Lori was being followed, and the next incident would be worse, if they weren’t able to intervene. 

The noise of approaching sirens meant that the police would be here soon, though Bucky doubted they would be able to offer any assurances or help.

He glanced at Lori, nestled against his chest, and knew that he'd do anything to protect her, despite any rules laid out by this therapist. How had the girl next door become the most precious person to him in so short a time?

[theladysherlock]

Goliath Liveblog Wrap-Up

Holy shit you guys we did it

I'm gonna get a little sentimental under the cut, but TL;DR: Thank you all so much for having fun with me during the liveblog, I had a fantastic time.

I'm a little surprised it only took me six-ish months, considering how much I have to say about everything. If you'd asked me, I would have assumed it would take eight-ish months, due to my well-established pattern of yapping about everything.

My dad tells a story about how when he was a kid and he finished reading The Return of the King by J. R. R. Tolkien, he was so excited and amped up by the end that he had to start jumping on his bed to get some of the energy out. My version of this story is that when I finished reading Goliath at the age of 13, I was so full of adrenaline that I had to walk laps around my empty house and yell for a bit. Goliath was the very first book to do that to me, and I have been chasing that high ever since. (It's MY turn to have my brain chemistry altered by a book inspired by the horrors of WWI)

Goliath is maybe my favorite book ever (definitely the book that has the biggest impact on me) and I loved getting to pick it apart and see the stuff that makes it work. I love the character work, I love the themes, I love the New York City era so much that it makes me look stupid.

I cannot fully express how much fun I had doing this. Getting to revisit these books with a fine tooth comb and dig into all my favorite stuff, looking at themes and symbolism and characterization, was such a blast. And I loved making stupid jokes along the way too. I love a stupid joke.

Another thing that's genuinely meant a lot to me is everyone's interactions with the posts. I got at least one friend to read the series by talking about it so much, and a bunch more people reread the books because I was talking about them so much. (Y'all were MUCH faster than me, though, I was on a slow drip listening while I got ready for work most mornings.) Every time I got a reply in the comments or someone reblogged something and put their own ideas in the tags, it made me so happy. It's like we have a little book club here and I'm just leading discussion. I tried to get to most of the comments and have a conversation but I'm sure I missed a few.

Not to sound like I'm fishing for notes, because I'm not, but I wanna hear what everyone's favorite topic of discussion was. If you are so inclined, go ahead and drop that in the replies of this post so we can talk about it some more! Or make your own discussion post-- despite the fact that I've fucking flooded the tags at this point, I don't have a monopoly on Leviathan analysis.

And for everyone who follows me who doesn't read these books (especially those of you I know IRL who I will see face-to-face): Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. Thank you for coming along on this incredibly close look into my psyche. I genuinely think a lot of things about the way that I am as a person will fall into place if you know these books and what they mean to me.

This is a little personal, but the response to the liveblog has genuinely helped me with the fact that I am worried all the time that I'm annoying the people I'm spending time with and they all secretly want me to go away and shut the fuck up forever. With very few exceptions (people who have known me for decades, friends who have assured me over and over and over and over again), this happens with every single person I talk to, despite any and all evidence to the contrary. This feeling is significantly more prevalent whenever I talk about stuff I like, but can and will show up at any time. I often have to remind myself that my friends do actually want to spend time with me and they want to listen to what I have to say.

So the fact that I talked a lot about the thing that I like the most, and the response was overwhelmingly positive? Even from people who haven't read the books? That really helped me combat the feeling that nobody actually wants me around, knowing that people want to hear more of what I have to say. I cannot thank you enough for this gift.

I'm probably going to do another liveblog series on a different book series in the future, because I had so much fun with this one, but I'm not going to start that for a while. The anime comes out in a month, after all, and I'm sure I'm going to have a LOT to say about it, so we'll wait until that hype has died down before I jump into something new.

Again, thank you all for coming along for the ride while I went off on a posting adventure. This has been an absolute blast and I have thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

[kyehwas]

eenie meenie miny mo ft. kim hongjoong

-> or, hongjoong decides he wants someone and chooses you to be totally real s/o.

|| wc + warnings || 0.87k / gn!reader, fake dating, old man joong is real y/n keeps getting interrupted sorry queen

“Are you dating anyone yet?” Kim Hongjoong dreaded that question. He had no one, unlike all his friends. He didn't want that anymore.

“No, I actually found someone quite recently!” He shouldn't have lied. But at the same time, maybe it took him to the best road at the end.

“Oh, that's great! Could I meet them next month? That's when my wedding will be, as you know, and I'd love to see your plus one!” Shit.

“Yeah.. of course.” Hongjoong forced a smile, and that's when he knew he was screwed. He needed to find someone to cover for him, and fast.

Like any other person, to Facebook he went. It would seem odd, he knew, but he had no better idea. He found people near his area, and moved his finger around until it was held on some random person's profile.

“Y/n L/n,” He began to read the description, and once he finished, he knew exactly who his partner would truly be.

♡ — — — — ♡ — — — — ♡

“Did your phone just buzz?” Your friend asked. 

“Yeah, think it did,” You replied, checking the notification. “Y/n L/n is now in a relationship with Kim Hongjoong… I am?”

“You are?” You had no idea who Hongjoong is, nor why he set his status as dating you.

“Yeah Hwa, I just hope it works, y'know? I'll dm them later and see,” A man said to his friend, who nodded. Just a moment earlier, in the restaurant parking lot, Hongjoong forced his best friend Seonghwa to hype him up so he could actually set his status.

“Hey, isn't that them?” The friend said, gesturing towards you.

Both yours and Hongjoong's eyes widen. In a moment of courage, Hongjoong stole a seat right next to you, and his friend sats down after.

“So, y/n,” He took your hand, and you don't remove it. You have really nice hands, he notices, but doesnt dare to utter out loud. “I have a wedding I need to go to next month, you wanna be my plus one?”

“He was too pussy to tell his cousin that he had no plus one so he chose someone random off of Facebook,” Seonghwa translated, and you had to stifle a laugh.

“That makes so much more sense,” You and your friend grinned at each other, “So, Hongjoong, tell me a little more about yourself?”

And so he did. You and him talked for the entire time, and you were starting to think that this entire fake dating thing wouldn't be all too bad.

♡ — — — — ♡ — — — — ♡

“So, who are they?” One of Hongjoong's cousins points to the person whose waist he's holding. Aka, yours.

“This is y/n,” He says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. He had warned you earlier that he would be physically affectionate with you to convince his relatives, but it still took you off-guard.

“Yeah, nice to meet you! Hongjoong is a great guy, I'm happy to finally meet his family!” You smile at them, and they all smile back at you.

“Can we talk for a second, y/n?” Hongjoong drags you to a secluded area of the venue. “Are you… really okay with this?”

Though you didn't want to admit it, you maybe, just maybe had a crush on the man. “Yeah, I am! Hongjoong, I-”

“Joong, dude, come here! The food here's great!” His brother calls, and interrupts your little confession.

“Fuck, I'll tell you later,” You mutter, semi-disappointed.

Throughout the ceremony, Hongjoong can't rid his mind of what happened. What were you going to tell him? God, he was such a loser.

“Y/n.” Hongjoong grabs your hand firmly, trying his best to keep his voice from trembling.“Hm..?”

“What were you going to say? Y'know, earlier?” He feels his hands starting to sweat. 

“Well,” You dart your eyes away from him, “So, I don't think this is fa-”

“We're doing the bouquet catch, you should come, y/n!”

You sigh loudly again. One time wasn't that bad, but a second one? “Sorry, I'll tell you later, dear.”

Hongjoong's heart skips a beat at the pet name. He’s down bad. Him and his heart watch as you catch the bouquet, and he feels it stop as you run straight to him, bouquet at all.

“I did it! I did i-!” Hongjoong grabs your face and slams his lips against yours. It's clumsy and unorganized, but you could tell he meant every feeling that went into it.

“I need you,” His words are swallowed by your lips, but he doesn't mind. Not when it's you. 

“Need you too,” You exhale, discarding the bouquet to hug him, “That's what I've been trying to tell you. That I love you. I don't want this relationship to be fake.”

“Then let's make it real. Can I be your boyfriend?” His gaze is soft as he awaits your response.

“Yes,” You finally answer, kissing him once more, “But Hongjoong? Why did you use Facebook in the first place? I have it to talk to my grandparents, but what about you?”

“Heh,” Hongjoong shrugged, “I just have it downloaded.”

“Old man.”

“I'm your old man though.” He laughs, squeezing you in an embrace. Who knew the best matchmaker site was actually some random old person website?

[loumauve]

I snapped today at work, and by snapped I mean I politely commented on a help desk ticket by summing up an mess of an (type of) issue that's come up for at least the fourth time in the 2+ months I've been managing user accounts, and asked the person responsible to fix it (himself for once) because last time I fixed his mess-up it took me two whole days to work out the details with at least four other colleagues from different departments and I really don't want to do it again. there's other shit that needs doing, I've been working 10+ hour days for most of this week already, so I need to cut down not add on more.

(good thing tho - at least we managed to fix the issue where the dataset of a newer employee got mixed up with another one of the same name and therefore wasn't able to apply for any of the access/accounts she needed. technically not entirely my area but it does impact us not being allowed to create an account for her so I figured I might as well track that issue down. took three days and at least three other people, but hey - it should all work out now. yay for that)

[knifearo]

I've been enjoying all your posts lately, especially all the community engagement. It makes me think about posting more personal aroace content instead of just reblogging.

I'm full of feelings but not sure what I really have to contribute to the conversation. Aro-identified people skew young and I feel like nobody's going to care what a middle aged aroace has to say but now I'm like hang on, maybe all aro content is good content, I don't know, I'm thinking about it.

i am absolutely of the opinion that all aro content is good content! especially because a lot of us skew young, i think it's so important to have (first of all just aro content in General. there's always a lack of that. but especially) aro content from people who don't usually have their perspectives talked about. if you've got nothing to contribute to the conversation that's fine :) more than half the time i do not either, i just make a silly happy little lah di dah i love aromanticism post and chit chat with all the little aromantic people who live on my laptop. if you're aromantic and you're engaging with the community then everybody should be more than happy to have you there :) just like you said. all aro content is good content. your opinion is valuable and your presence is treasured <2

[paramoira]

@godofcourage gets a random starter

it's one of those bitterly chilly nights where the moon is high in the sky and a soon approaching rainfall clings in the air. nightlife seems prevalent, at least if the street she's walked down was anything to judge from. one of the bars' had one of those folding doors which allowed them to form an open patio, live music drifting out and people of various levels of intoxication braving the chill. another, the one on the corner, had a line of the typical college looking sort waiting to get in with a few scattered older adults. she ignores them, dodging a larger group of friends in the line and stepping into the street to get around them. maybe ariadne shouldn't have parked her car so far away yet she hadn't exactly wanted it seen or anyone taking down her license plate when she held no business getting involved in what she was doing in the first place. ariadne held enough issues with certain detectives even if most had seemed to form a kind of acceptance that her dedication to her work proved family members held no baring on her commitment to solving the deaths which crossed her table at the morgue.

except, all of those detectives had seemed ready to accept the current case (or lack thereof) as presently in review as 'accidents'.

it was true the evidence hadn't been as strong as other cases, however, ariadne steadfastly disagreed with the pathologist in a jurisdiction over, the two cases she believed were linked having transpired in different areas yet not over state lines. there hadn't been any outright preternatural elements though a few things had made her question; even so, finding evidence the victims had once been to a blood den did not equate to proof anything paranormal had caused their deaths. as such there had not been enough to require the bprd's involvement and certainly nothing to have warranted fbi involvement even had she attempted a favor.

perhaps this was all one enormous hunch of a bad feeling ariadne shouldn't be following. certainly, one would think that as intelligent a woman as doctor kalkan clamed to be, she would have learned her lesson by now in respect to getting too involved with her cases. if nothing else what had happened in london should have taught her that. and yet, here she was, walking down a dimly lit street and jogging up the six steps of the apartment building once she finds the address she'd been looking for. how she'd got that, perhaps, wasn't completely in-line with the fact she was supposed to be on the side of law enforcement (sometimes it helped that one's familial ties were tied up in much less legally acceptable things and held no issues in utilizing those means if she asked). it was a very blurred line at times, though ariadne was willing to justify it as a fairly minor deviation and for a greater good. when someone comes out in hurry, she grabs the door before it closes, looking back a moment as the person moves down the street and rain begins prompting her to move inside, distracted.

somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd gotten a strange sense off the hooded man, something dark and the scent of smoke... however, ariadne chalked it up to her own minor paranoia about her covert actions and her anxieties about things in the past. closing the door, ariadne wonders if this was how private detectives operated, waiting for doors to be opened or did they just pick locks? she supposes they weren't held to the same rules as the police and as long as they weren't caught. on that same thought train, she wouldn't have put it passed the one girl's only living relative, a brother, to have hired one to look into things after the police findings. regardless, she has to speak with the girl that lives here and so ariadne makes her way up the steps. there's a weight to the moment, a sudden increasing worry. she has theories, even if ariadne's not sold on them yet but she'd seen the same item on this girl's person as had been found at two previous scenes, a match box from a location she knew was a blood den. again, it didn't mean the girls were even connected to the place, for all she knew it could be the killer-- if there really was one. finally, she reaches the top where the girl's apartment was, seeking to knock only to find the door slightly ajar.

there, a few steps inside, she finds a female down-- the girl, a friend of one of the victims who she'd spoken to briefly when on scene with one of the detectives, laying on the floor among a smashed glass table. she moves to take a pulse, render aid if possible, however the girl was deceased, having begun to bleed out and another set of matches on the floor. was it a coincidence? or was someone trying to draw attention? the easy answer would be to think it was a vampire killer or more likely a ripper if one went down that route yet there was too much blood left at the scenes and no bite wounds. was it a human who knew about vampires? and it always looked like an accident-- a fall or a something of the sort. ariadne wondered if this girl also had a strange puncture mark as that had been present at the other scenes too except there wasn't an easy method to check and the glass made things precarious as it was. she needed to call this in though how she was going to explain her presence or that she'd taken it upon herself to want to ask the girl questions she held no idea how to explain. she's pulling out her phone when she senses someone else at the door.

"i'm with the m.e.'s office.. i just found her like this. i'm about to call it i--" ariadne pauses in confusion when she looks over as she stands upright. "o--" no, no. it wasn't, she's not entirely sure how she knows, perhaps it's the difference in his aura if that was what that strange sense she was only starting to become aware she had was and perhaps it's a trick of the low-light, but he looks so similar to... well, she supposed everyone had a doppelganger of sorts. "oh shit--" she realizes it too late. "--that guy with the hood downstairs! i think he's the one that did this." she's not really talking to the strange man though she should be much more concerned about his presence than she is. granted, this man wasn't dressed like the other guy that'd smelled like smoke, nor did he have the same... he didn't seem the same and she was surrounded by glass pieces if she had to defend herself. "who are you?"

*(see the novel i wrote in tags)

[screampied]

#WANNA PLAY PSYCHO KILLER? t. fushiguro

☆ sum. you know girl, usually when someone’s about to get stabbed, they scream—not moan. ghostface is supposed to be scary, intimidating, terrifying. but what happens when he’s tall, hot, and has a scar that runs down the right side of his lip? maybe his motive this time was to make you scream out his name in another way. welcome to act three.

wc. 7.0k

warnings. fem! reader, ghostface!toji, pwp, roleplay, unprotected, slight dacryphīlia, glove / mask kink, scream spoilers + references, dumbification, knīfe play, biting, he's crazy but your pússy's crazier, fīngering, riding his face mask, hair pulling, first time squīrt, cunnīlingus, pússy drunk toji, spīt, praise, dirty talk, petnames.

➤ kinktober mlist.

“now girl, what the fuck was that,” a husky voice that sounds a bit muffled murmurs out to you. you’re laid on the ground, quite literally seeing the life flash before your eyes as the edge of his jagged knife glimmers against the ceiling light. peeking one open, you’re met with the covered soulless eyes of an infamous ghostface mask, and he’s tilting his head at you. “did i hear ya right?”

as he hovers over you, you speak in a breathy voice. growing sheepish, you glance away. “um, hear what?”

“you moaned, doll,” he replies, and the cottony flaps of his costume brush against your skin the closer he gets. as the coolly aerating air turns dead silent for a few moments, you could hear the sounds of his irregular breaths – deep sinister breaths . . and for some reason, it makes your thighs clench, and not in fear. “right as i said i was gonna gut ya like a fish,” and your own breathing hitched once his gloved finger strokes down your lip. “and i put the knife riiiiiight down here,” he slowly drags the prop down your nearly torn top, “you moaned right as i was about to strike. why?”

“i think . . you’re hearing things,” you rub the back of your neck, but you left off yet another moan the second he slides a knee between your legs.

“nah,” the masked man jibes, and it’s as if he’s staring right through your clothes. with a gloved hand he pulls up his mask, only showing part of his face. he pulls it down inches below his nose as you glance at his scarred lips that show. “think i heard quite well, princess,” and he slowly grazes the soft end of the knife further and further down your skin. “besides, like i said earlier. . i wanna play a game—and we can start with me asking,” and he pauses, leaning up close to your shell of your ear, warm breath tickling against your lobe. “you’re not wearing panties right now, are ya, princess?”

right at his words—your thighs stuck together and you felt a shiver run down your spine. it’s cold, and it made your eyebrow twitch at how insanely turned on you were.

usually, most people would scream or run—hell, even fight back. but it’s different when it’s you.

as he continued to straddle over you, you could have sworn you saw this movie before. .

and now, here you were—helpless indeed and on the floor as he hovers his weight over you, waving a his knife—(a knife that looks like a sort of cheap knockoff version of the one michael myers walks around with) in your face while his other hand mockingly cups your cheek.

“and if i’m not?” you mumble, fixating your eyes solely on the hole parts that shield his eyes.

it’s like you were staring at empty black voids, and no matter how hard you squinted – you just couldn’t see him at all. all you could make out was white and black plastic mask, and as he tilts his head again, he’s returning the gaze. fuck, each time he head tilts and cocks his head to a certain degree—it’s like he’s challenging you, taunting you even, and you’d constantly feel your thighs squeeze together tighter and tighter.

“ah, well,” he thinks for a moment, feeling his covered eyes bore at your body. in his mind, you looked so pretty sprawled all out and underneath him. with your chest heaving in and out as he continues to strum his gloved fingers down your exposed skin, he hums.

“maybe i’d just have ‘ta take a look for myself,” and your breath hitches again once he slowly drags the whetted edge of the knife down your polka dot blouse. with a loud tearing ‘shiiiiek’, a few of your buttons go loose as he’s easily dividing through the fabric with the blade. “cute, i’m assuming you’re not wearin’ a bra either,” and you felt yourself throb the moment he pauses his hands, staring at your perked tits. “phew,” he whistles, giving your pretty physique a nice three second stare. “nice rack.”

“you . . aren’t gonna—”

“—what, kill ya? oh, no doll. now that wouldn’t be fun,” he purrs, finishing your sentence.

it was almost embarrassing at how your body responded to him. you didn’t just wanted more, you craved it. staring right back at you were those same dark holes of a mask that you desperately wanted to see his true identity.

just who was he?

but judging from his voice though, it was a raspy low. . somewhat sounding of a way of smoker would speak. the voice sounded a bit older and of course—he had the body shape of a fucking tank.

as he lets off a low sigh, he shrugs his broad shoulders. “you’re too pretty for that. besides, i’m hard ‘n that little moan you did nearly ruined me if i’m bein’ honest.”

as a small impish smile forms against your glossed pursed lips, your nerves lessen. you stare up at the man before exhaling slight sudden relief. so you were gonna be in the sequel, score.

“so . . . what, is this the part where i’m supposed to beg for my life, mr. ghostface?” you had nothing really to lose, so why not play around with him for a bit – reverse psychology.

“actually,” he clicks his tongue, swiping a thumb down the keen edge of his dagger. it’s an eerie dead pause that whistles in the air once his gloved hands brush against your skin before he continues.

“this would be the part where you scream,” and as he presses his mask all the way against face, he’s so close that you get a glimpse of his scarred lips that poke underneath the cover. “but fuck it. since y’er not scared yet, guess i’ll have ‘ta get that heart racin’ one way or another.”

and toji—who was apparently his name, does this in no other way but propping himself right between your legs.

long story short, everything escalated quickly. so quickly that one minute you were on the floor quote and quote “fearing” for your life and the next . . ? you find yourself being tossed on your velveteen cushioned sofa, voluntarily spreading your legs out for him like some slut out of a cheesy predictable horror movie.

if you were being completely honest, the real killer was his tongue . . because for the life of you, you just couldn’t get over how sloppy he moved it in different directions.

toji kept his mask on the entire time, but it’s pulled up just a tad bit to where you’re only getting a tiny glimpse of the lower part of his face. the fabric just barely shields the bottom part of his nose as his scarred thin lips press their way against your sopping folds.

“fuuuck,” you’d whimper, preferring this over death any day.

right away, you spot the scar that slashes straight down the right side of his lip and it’s a small but attractive feature. every few seconds, he’d purposely smear that part of his mouth against your cunt, earning out a candied ‘ooh!’ from you. within seconds, your numbed thighs were already starting to stick together – like glue.

letting off a sharp drawn out gasp, you glance near your nightstand and the alarm that sits above it. the time was a quarter past two . . and well, some would ask how you’d even get yourself in this situation.

truth is, you didn’t really know either but you damn sure weren’t exactly complaining either. toji found you a bit strange though.

usually people would run from him but you . . you moaned right as you were about to meet your maker. weird, and he’s heard countless screams but never once like yours. that’s kind of because yours wasn’t even a scream, it was a literal moan.

and he wanted to hear more and more of it.

it intrigued him – you intrigued him, and he sort of wants to make you scream in a whole other way though, especially since he’s got you right where he wants. sprawled all out, legs fucking spread . .

“do you . . have to keep this stupid thing on?” you breathlessly grouse, a cute pout curling against your lips as your hands grab the top of his head.

it sort of irked you how he kept his ghostface mask on the entire duration he’s positioned between your legs. with a tight grip, you yank him forward and he groans against your cunt. toji peppers sloppy kisses against your pudgy folds before staring up at you, a faint smirk twisting against his own lips. huffing out an annoyed exhale, you grump. “ ‘s not like ‘m gonna turn you in or anything. i never even found ghostface scary anywa—”

toji snickers. “yeahhh, right,” and you shiver, watching with low hooded eyes as he gathers a glossy string of spit in his mouth.

as your legs quivered from the single grip of one of his hands, he spits right on your teary pussy, watching the lustrous trail of slime drag down his chin. “i’ll think about it,” and he laps his own mess right up, dexterously creating nasty slosh sounds with his exaggerated smacking lips.

with a teasing pat of his gloved hand, he smears the slick puddle that rests on your entrance before humming. “cute, seems like y’er pussy’s tryna seduce me though.”

you let off a whimper, not knowing how long your legs could remain open as he’s toying with your clit. fat clothed fingers drag their way down your slobbering cunt, drawing various circles and shapes around your knobbling nub as a breath snatches from your full lungs. “s- shit, spit on it ‘s more,” you’d weep, feeling your own lips part into a curling ‘o’ shape as you’re in carnal awe.

“now, doll,” he’d whisper against your folds, slurping you clean and savoring the taste of your bittersweet fervor on his tongue.

toji brings two thick fingers toward the outer part of your clit before it slowly starts to disappear inside. it’s like a magic trick — you watch them slowly disintegrate inside of your sopping cunt and you whimper, feeling them curl their ways inside.

as he’s preparing to pump both digits inside, your tummy caves in and you let off a sweet moan the second his long digits start to scissor inside of you. “since ‘m gonna spare ya, i think it’s time we set some ground rules,” and as his hot breath continues to fan against your twitching sex—your grip tightens near the top part of his mask. “don’t tell me how to eat, yeah?”

a timid whimper was your response and you watch how his lips carve into a haughty smile. with a second thought, toji spanks your cunt and he hums, hearing the wet back-talking chatter of squelches leave from your pussy.

as you’re twitching and pulsating from the tender stimulation—you feel him starting to lay his long tongue flat. starting from bottom to top, he eats out your cunt as if it was served to him on a silver fucking platter. “afraid ‘m gonna need an answer, little girl.”

“y- yes,” you let off a soft shrilling gasp, feeling his callused fingertips prod deep inside your gummy clenching walls. toji’s gloved digits felt scorchingly warm inside you, and with just a swift motion, he twirls them ‘round and ‘round, barreling each long inch inside of your pretty pussy.

god, if his fingers were this long, you only imagined imagined what his dick would feel like. the feeling alone made your stomach flutter uncontrollably as your teeth sink into the skin coating your bottom lip.

this was bad, this was really really bad . .

you were probably breaking every cliche horror movie rule in the book . . or in this case, the script. you were supposed to run, not open your legs. but, what’s the saying? you only live once, and that’s if you survive his tongue.

toji was ruthless.

his head moves back and forth as he munched on your pussy, playfully nipping the pearly edges teeth against your clit. each time he does that, you’re sensitive and you whine out a sweet battle cry, rutting your hips further into his greedy slick mouth. your legs nearly suffocated him but he didn’t care, and each long stripe that he creates with his sticky tongue earns out a bundle of whiny whimpers from you.

you had no panties on, and he was basically eating you out with nothing but a skirt that’s pulled up toward your waist—clinging against your jerking, active hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you abruptly gasp, feeling your legs already starting to weaken.

by this point, he’s not even eating your pussy anymore, he’s damn near making out with it. toji’s making out with your pussy – with tongue, and lots lots of it.

he’s creating darting motions with the pointed tip of his tongue, barely batting a single lash of an eye that his chin’s starting to glimmer with sheeny slick. your sheeny slick. as you occasionally look down, you only see that same part of his face that’s shown—but it makes you throb regardless, just imagining just what he really looked like.

you knew he was tall—that much was apparent, a strong burly build and a cocky persona to match.

“yeah? give it to me then,” he interrupts your thoughts as a wolffish grin spreads across his lips like butter.

toji’s thick fingers resume to mercilessly plummet in and out of you and he feels his jaw locking. your taste—he couldn’t get enough of it, and pretty soon he’s the epitome of pussy drunk.

you tasted so sweet, and you let off a whimper once he pulls up his mask just a little bit further. “heh,” he huffs out, and he stops it just at the hem of his button shaped nose. as that same wry smirk compresses against his lips, you spot his dimples stretching out near the corners. leaning all the way in, toji gives your cunt a three second sniff before cupping his lips over your pulsating cunt. “mmph—actually, hold on doll.”

as you’re panting heavily, a look of confusion marinates against your features once you watch him prepare to take off his mask. with a bubbly ‘pop’, toji slowly slides his fingers out of you before glancing at your impatient face.

“ah ah, close ‘em,” he clicks his tongue, watching your pretty clit twitch at his demand.

you pout, feeling a brief sting as you’re being delayed of your long awaited release. with a cute sigh, you place a hand over eyes, your vision turning completely dark. “good girl . . now,” he huffs lowly, and you hear a bit of shuffling. toji sits you up and you feel something place underneath your legs. his voice was close, and it sounds like he’s near the side of you. “cum on my mask, pretty girl. can ya do that for me?”

“uh, okay,” you shakily reply, feeling him prop up your hips to sit right up against the ghostly mouth part. it’s eerily carved into a long hanging oval shape and you moan—feeling how warm it was from the front. it makes you pulse, knowing that his mouth was just behind that exact spot a few seconds ago.

even though your eyes were still covered with your own hand, you feel a daunting chill run down your spine yet again, sensing his cold haunting presence.

whoever he was, he was watching you right now, get off . . on his mask.

you let off a quiet moan as your hips started to rut against the propped plastic. you were drenched, and a bit of slick sticks down against your thighs.

toji feels his dick strain in his ripped jeans as he openly stares like a stalker — pretty, you looked so pretty like this. grinding your sweet cunt against the mask he wears on a daily. now that he thinks about it, it’d be a pretty good souvenir.

“touch yourself too,” he’d rasp, kneeling down closer to you. toji gets behind you, and you whimper once you feel the frigid edge of his knife slowly drag down your skin. he starts a trail, and he’s safe surprisingly—making sure to not nip your skin, but it’s close enough to where you feel the coldness of the steel.

as your needy whines pitch louder, you find yourself now guiding a hand near your bouncing breasts. a bit of the ripped fabric of your blouse runs against your fingertips and toji feels himself getting more hard just watching you. “yeah, baby. that’s it. get my fuckin’ mask wet so i can taste it after.”

“tojiiii, ‘m cumming—fuck,” and as he’s got one of his own hands grabbing onto your left tit, you end up finishing.

you’re cutely hysterical, creaming all on the mouth part of his mask as shame swells in your chest. “ngh, fuck fuck.” you babble, your thighs submitting defeat as he pulls you back against his chest. it felt hard, and you couldn’t help but imagine how built he probably was.

toji presses a cold kiss near the left side of your neck. his frigid lips makes you whimper as your head tilts to the left.

his touch . . you only wanted more, and he could tell from the way that the hand that was at first cupping your breast now starts to reach toward his wrist. “atta girl,” he whispers, and right as you were about to remove your other hand off your eyes, he places his own back over your face. “nice try, sweetheart. gotta be patient.”

you continue to pout, and toji slides the drenched front part of his mask from underneath your legs and brings it up to his lips. “mhm, would ya look at that,” and as you’re panting on his chest, still frantic from your recent orgasm, you hear him cleaning it off with his tongue.

he trails his tongue to where your cunt sat against the mouth part, lapping it up and relishes in your sweet taste entirely. “fuck, sweetest thing i’ve had in a while.”

you dig your nails into his thigh as you’re trying to get over your high, speaking in a needy voice.

“t.. toji,” and he finds it cute how you’re speaking through gritted teeth. he could tell you were annoyed with him, how you weren’t fond of his teasing at all.

“hm, what is it?” he replies, giving his mask a satisfied glance once he finishes. it shines in the dim light—and he licks his lips as the right side of his mouth twitches into a devious simper.

“can . . can i have a kiss?” and the words came out of your mouth oh so sweetly.

you don’t know what came over you, but your body was just fed up. something was screaming at you, hollering at you to get a taste. you throbbed, secretly yearning to feel his lips crash on yours. the entire time he was buried between your legs, it was all you thought about, constantly.

toji hums, tilting his head as he faces you. “a kiss, huh?” and he’s still got a hand covering your eyes.

he ponders about it for a while before a low guffaw leaves from his thin lips. “aw, you want a taste of yourself too, don’t you dirty girl?” and once you shamelessly nod in response, toji’s shoulders drop. “fine, you’ll get that kiss. c’mere,”

and you could feel him inching closer and closer closer. toji’s cologne was loud—it’s a manly musk of what you think was rosemary and cedarwood.

it practically blinds the insides of your flared nostrils the more he closes the awkward distance between you both. your cunt’s pulses start to quicken before he’s merely just inches away from your lips now. “stupid, stupid girl,” he pulls your bottom lip down with a gloved finger, and that’s when he stares at your pretty plump lips before whispering. “beg me.”

“i’m not gonna—”

“no beg, no fuckin’ kiss,” he cuts you off, and you grumble. it was almost embarrassing at how your pussy gave away your true dirty feelings. you continued to twitch, and you let off a defeated sigh once his smears a thumb over your wet lips.

“please . . please, kiss me,” and as you speak, he continues to softly caress the curvature of your mouth. you could hear him breathing from behind the mask. it was short raspy breaths and what would usually frighten most people, turned you on.

toji runs a hand through his jet black tresses before a cunning smirk pierces the corners of his lips. “that’s more like it,” and his lips were almost touching yours – almost, a mere breath away.

you could never get over how deep his voice. it’s as if he didn’t need a voice changer like the ones they’d always use in the movies. his was naturally just as gritty, just as husky.

“obedient . . good,” and as he playfully licks near your bottom lip, toji grunts, “mouth, open.”

you moan, feeling his hand reach between your legs, squeezing your pussy. once your lips part and your mouth opens, toji spits right inside, staring as your cute tongue tries to catch it all.

it’s quick, and before you knew it – his lips hurriedly crash onto yours. within seconds, teeth starts to clash amongst each other and you helplessly whine in his mouth. this, this was what you wanted. a kiss.

one gloved hand of his remains covered over your eyes whilst another snakes its way between your legs. toji’s rubbing against your cunt, feeling your cute hips grind against him as you try to squirm and writhe. you were still so tender. his mouth was cold, and you can’t help but moan at the literal taste of yourself washing back against your tongue.

you feel his scar that slants down the right side of his lip rub off against your lips and his lips curve into a sly smirk. “nasty girl,” he murmurs between hot kisses, and you gasp once he starts to maneuver quicker circles against your cunt.

you were soaked already, still sensitive from your recent release but that’s when he lies you back down. as you fall down on the sofa, toji deepens the kiss for a few extra seconds, abruptly pulling away. a pretty decorated string of glittery saliva tugs away from both lips and he wipes your wet mouth, snickering. “such a damn baby. got me spoilin’ you already, tch.”

he’s still got your eyes covered, but that’s right when you reach out . . not expecting your hand to grab near his hardened bulge that hides underneath his cloak.

toji pauses, staring at you before you squeeze it and he groans. “what now, doll? still not satisfied?”

“fuck me,” you murmur, but it’s more of a pathetic whine.

you didn’t care anymore—you were at your wits ends. the erotic two words and six letters easily flowed past your lips as if you were dying to say it for the longest, and in this case – you were.

toji’s amused more than anything, and he’s well aware that you’re far not like the others.

this wasn’t just a usual psycho killer versus helpless victim, this was something more . .

“strong words, baby,” he purrs against your ear, licking a stripe down your neck. toji holds your weak rickety hips in place, still shielding your eyes with his palm before showering a good part of your collarbone with a plethora of sloppy kisses.

uh oh, he was starting to get attached. already, he could feel it . . and he knew you were gonna be nothing but a fucking problem in the long run.

a problem he didn’t mind tampering with for a bit.

“say it again,” he whispers, and this time he picks up his knife once more.

it gradually tears down your blouse all the way from the center, openly staring your tits spring open. “tell me what you want me ‘ta do to you again,” and as his husky voice lowers a single octave within each coarse sentence, you squeeze your thighs together.

toji focuses the edge of his knife against your skin and you shiver, feeling it softly brush against the bristles of hair that coat your skin.

the thing that pissed him off though was that you weren’t even scared of him . . no, far from it actually.

you were aroused—hell, maybe even just as crazy as him.

“fuck me, toji.” you repeat, taking it upon yourself to grab the handle of the knife. he raises a brow as he watches, and you bring the wooden end up to your lips, deciding to be a tease and lowering your mouth down it. toji huffs, growing annoyed at your audacity — but fuck, he’s into it.

and all he’s imagining at the moment is your pretty lips that’s wrapped around the handle of his knife being wrapped around his dick instead. you start sucking on it until it taps near the scaled back of your throat, reaching past the roof of your mouth and he scoffs.

brat.

“got some nerve, suckin’ on my damn knife, girl,” and he snatches it away, softly turning you around, pushing you near the right arm of the couch.

you gasp, feeling him swat a hand against your bare ass before he grabs your hips. his movements were so fast that you could barely keep up let alone react. “fine, i’ll fuck you,” and he’s not covering your eyes anymore.

right as you were about to turn around, toji grabs the back of your neck with a gloved hand, tittering. “don’t try me. eyes forward, head down,” and you moan, feeling him pick your hips up—making your rear grind and jostle against his hardening bulge. “ass. fuckin’. up.”

you kiss your teeth, feeling another breath of air leave out your lungs before you whine. toji’s rough, and he’s got a firm grip against your waist before springing out his dick. he grunts, rolling his eyes as he watches you impatiently wriggle your ass, hoping he’d hurry up already.

“can’t wait, can ya baby?” he utters, stroking his length.

as a thumb of his nearly grazes his throbbing vein, his eyes gaze toward your sopping creamy pussy. all wet, and just for him. the antagonizing wait for him to just fuck you like you wanted became almost unbearable, and the second you feel his tip side-swipe against the entrance of your cunt it was over.

a swollen fat tip smacks vigorously against your pussy, and one smack turns into two, then three, then four. .

as he’s slapping his mushroomy cockhead against your drooling pool of heat, you hear a low chortle from behind you. “god, she’s a fuckin’ wet one, ain’t she?” and you whine, hearing yourself squelch each time his angry tip whacks against your poor soddened flaps. ‘whack’ after ‘whack’ and the sounds of his dick slapping against your pussy slowly started to clank through one ear of yours and out the other.

but doing so—the pulsing sensation between your legs only increased, and by now, you were starting to chew on your tongue.

anticipation was eating away at you as you let off a moan, cutely grumbling. “just fuck me already.”

“how ‘bout i leave you ‘n let you fuck yourself,” he snaps back, matching your sass.

oh. you weren’t really used to someone matching your energy—especially a masked man walking around in a ghostface mask but well, that’s besides the point.

toji’s still got a gloved hand wrapped around his hefty length that’s covered in lighting-like twitching veins before he groans.

he’s so fucking hard . . and the more he stares at your pretty sobbing cunt, the more he understands why. “don’t think you’d like that now though, would ya?”

“n- no,” you reply truthfully, letting off a pornographic moan once he starts to align himself between your gaping slit.

it’s fat, and you could tell from the feeling of the size of his monstrous tip alone. you sort of wished you were facing him but alas, you’d just have to use your imagination for now. “fuckk,” you breathe, already starting to feel your eyes rolling back.

the stretch, god the stretch. you thought his fingers was something but it’s nothing compared to his cock. your toes were already curling up, and oh, you knew you were fucked.

toji’s got a few curly black specks of hair that resides near his base—and as he’s slowly easing himself inside, he feels you tightening. right as you do, you feel a vein that runs down his shaft prod.

he feels it – you feel it, and you both hiss in unison. “goddamn,” he grumbles, staring as your own sappy slick starts to glue against his sculptured pelvis. tiny glimmering strands stick and tape against his skin all because of you and it’s just messy. toji smacks your ass one more time before lightly pushing your head into the satiny covered pillow. “move, move those hips or ‘m gonna pull out, doll.”

“mmph—s- so fuckin’ big,” you babble, bringing a bawled up fist into your mouth.

your sweet moans become muffled as his dick’s gradually expanding through your gummy walls, leaving his very mark with his tip. he’s rummaging through every part of you and you gasp—feeling your cunt welcome him wholly, your squelches becoming louder and louder. your tummy starts to churn the more he sinks in deeper and your lips form into a cute gasping shape. “oh, fuck. ‘s gonna break me, toji.”

“pft. don’t be dramatic doll,” he purrs, swatting another smack against your ass. the shape brief sting that only lasts for about five seconds makes you moan once your hips finally starts to move.

it takes a few lengthy seconds before with a wet ‘pop’, he bottoms out. so . . much . . girth, your empty brain was spinning cogwheels, trying to process just how could a guy be this fucking big.

your reaction to how well he stretched you of course, fueled a good portion of his highly cocky ego.

toji’s got a hooked curve too—and you feel it all. toji teasingly gives you one thrust, just one single thrust and you felt like you were gonna snap in half. it was that much power of his hips—you felt the wind get snatched out of you and the prettiest moan left from your lips.

biting down on your lip again, you’re feeling all of his hefty length massage the insides of your cunt. milliseconds shortly past before you then start to feel yourself shamelessly drooling on your split knuckles.

“fuck, fuck,” you chant in a quiet mumble, seeing nothing but inky black as your eyelids continue to flutter open and close.

toji had the kind of size that left butterflies in your tummy – a school of them to be specific, and you felt every single inch of him plummet its way inside. as you’re still babbling incoherent whimpers and whines at how snug he’s buried in you—toji starts to move faster with you.

with two hands, he holds you in place. darkened brows of his crease into a furrow as he sighs. “mhm, atta girl. see, look at you,” and you could hear the playful sarcasm seeping off his tone.

“takin’ it like a fuckin’—champ,” and right at that last word of his sentence, he starts to roll his hips just a bit quicker.

toji tries to match your berserk movement with his own hips, but he ends up beating your pace entirely. you’re trying to keep up but failing miserably and it’s just so cute. . but your face probably wasn’t as cute.

you probably looked a sight—mouth all open, jaw dropped and dangling, eyes bulging, pathetically drooling for more and more and . . you get it.

“hng, harder. fuck me,” you whine, the sound of skin and hips clashing repeating in your ears.

your sloppy cunt’s soaking him from the back, and his backshots were just brutal – killer.

each thrust serves its purpose every time and you’re left speechless. after a while, both bodies start to move rhythmically as your jaw’s just dangling.

damn, randy meeks would be shaking his head, tossing ‘n turning in his grave if he saw this.

under no circumstances . . never ever fuck the masked killer, and yet here you were.

but, who gives a fuck about movies?

you didn’t—not really, and when he had a mean stroke game like toji, you weren’t the type to complain. he’s hitting you deep with his fat splitting tip, filthily cruising his hips into you at such precise vigor until you’re just spouting a whole load of nothin’.

“ugh, right there. right fuckin’ there, fuck,” and you let off a cooing mewl once toji’s hand wraps around your throat.

with a few fingers, he gives you a safe squeeze that earns out a faint gasping croak from the back of your throat. toji uses your neck as leverage as he’s pounding into you rawly, ravaging your insides and all. your pearled clit’s repeatedly getting hit with his plump crown and you gasp, squeaking loudly once he taps against your precious g-spot.

all of a sudden, your brain’s fuzzy and you’re seeing stars—somewhat like a cartoon character. you were silly, literally being fucked silly. “fuuuck!” and it catches you by surprise.

once he reaches past that cute ‘lil spongey barrier of yours, it was over.

you were pronounced dead—dead from cock, and pretty soon you were starting to feel yourself go into a lewd white fantasm for a few seconds.

you’re dumb, dumbly fucked stupid from his sloppy enticing hits that you could barely speak coherently. it felt good, it felt so fucking good, and as you feel his heavy base slam back into you again and again, you start to moan. “yeah, i know, i know, baby,” toji huffs, and your cunt’s just addictive. your walls cling onto him tightly, hugging around him like a vice—threatening to never let go.

your sheer sweltering warmth from the inside makes his head slightly toss back to a certain degree and it’s sexy. if only you were to see it. “god, clampin’ down on me so good. work those hips baby, yeah. give me a fuckin’ show.”

as you try to match his crazed tempo. . eventually, you start to feel a tender feeling arise in the lower part of your tummy.

its familiar, and you can recognize that hot brewing sensation from anywhere. you’re close, and as wanton shrilling whines continue to drag away from your lips you start to spasm.

“fuuucck, toji something’s coming,” you whimper, dragging out your words, and you don’t think it was a regular orgasm.

it was far different . . the feeling was equivalent to someone harshly pressing a palm down on your stomach. your eyes squeeze shut before you repeat yourself through quivering glossed lips. “toji, ‘m gonna—”

“yeah yeah, i heard ya,” he maunders, and he’s feeling himself reaching his inevitable peak too.

it doesn’t take long before he feels the undersides of his meaty thighs starting to burn with hot intensity. toji’s fat cock continues to drag in and out of your goopy walls, hearing you squelch over and over him and he snarls. “fuck,” and he punctuates his thrusts, watching as your ass swiftly slams back into him at such speed. his abs that hide underneath his dark cloak tensing. “same time, baby. finish with me.”

“o.. okay,” you moan, and he’s still got a gloved hand wrapped around your throat the entire time. a thumb of his caresses down your nape, humming at your pretty twitching body underneath him.

it’s a sight he’d love to get used to.

as you’re both chasing your delirious orgasmic peaks—toji presents to your cunt one final thrust that sends your entire body into a crazed stupefied state. your plush cheek near the left side of your face smushes against the pillow before you whimper, starting to feel yourself spritz on him.

your eyes widen as it happens. a spraying geyser shoots out you as you let go—and oh, you’re soaking toji right with you, glossing his entire cock from the base down.

“oh my god, fuck, fuh—fuck!” you sob in craving pleasure, flapping eyelids sticking together from the pretty glassy tears that start to form. so good, it’s a feeling you’ve never felt before and you felt like a weight was gradually being lifted off your shoulders . . including your sweet pussy.

toji finishes seconds later and he groans, stilling his hips against you. creamy velvety bundles of ribbons pours into your cunt and he lets off a low growl. “fuck,” and his hand smacks against your ass again for the nth time.

you felt warm as he’s continuing to spill such a mass amount whilst at the exact same time, you’re drenching his cock – putting faucets to shame at just how damn wet you were.

toji’s cock eventually turns flaccid and soft as his tip and peeled frenulum spits a good amount, watching your body limp underneath him.

with a sly exhausted grin stretching across his scarred lips, he traces his fingers down your spine. “my, oh my,” and you whine, finally finishing. toji stares at your body, feeling you weakly writhe your hips before finally submitting defeat. “did you jus . . fuckin’ squirt on me, pretty girl?”

you did,

and you end up dampening up the cushions of your burgundy colored sofa in the process. you felt like you were floating, panting and heaving ridiculously like a dog. toji brings his hips to a sudden stop, gazing at the ivory wads and ropes of cum that fill inside of your cunt.

slowly but surely . . it starts to race down the crevices of your thighs, splotches of white splattering against your skin. in a dirty, filthy way, it’s pretty – in toji’s mind at least.

he luxuriated at the sight of you all fucked out and speechless. not a word came from your lips except for the occasional whimpers and moaning sobs that would tear out your throat. you were still arched over, moaning once you feel him slowly starting to pull out. “ain’t that a pretty sight,” he rasps, hearing his cock sweetly ‘pop’ out of your creamy fat folds.

you’re oozing out with so so much of his gooey lush cum and it makes him licks his lips. you looked delicious, and he couldn’t help but swipe a finger down your runny cunt, bringing his eager digit up to his lips just to get a taste for himself.

toji was a nasty man—but with the way you tasted, he was even nastier.

as he licks his gloved finger that contains the concoction mess of both sappy liquids, he hums in amusement. “mhm,” and as his leafy viridescent colored eyes linger down towards your cunt, he smears his leaky tip over your pussy.

toji grunts, making sure to paint the entirety of your entrance with his pasty cum that sobs down parched folds. “good girl, good . . fuckin’ girl.”

toji stays like that for a while, and it’s only after an abrupt pausing moment that he makes you turn around to face him. he makes you lie flat on your back, and there, you’re met with the eyes of a handsome smug man. his features were as sly as his attitude, and his ruffled black hair was naturally messy.

“surprise,” he mutters, and you intake a breath once he gets on top of you again. toji doesn’t have the mask on anymore—but he still has on the costume part, a ghoulish black cloak that had slits near the edges of his sleeves. “scared yet?”

“not . . really,” you sheepishly say, slowly trailing your eyes down his body.

squinting just enough, you saw right through the outline of his muscular frame. he was fucking ripped, and you felt yourself throb the moment you started to imagine him wrapping those big burly arms around your—

“figures,” he scoffs, though his tone’s a bit more playful than annoyed. toji runs a big veiny hand through his hair before bringing his watch up to his face. wrinkling his nose, he hums. “gotta run, doll. ‘s been fun.”

a pout pulls against both sides of your lips as he says he has to depart. sure, you didn’t exactly expect him to stay . . well who were you kidding, you sort of did. but you knew he had to go.

your thighs stick together as he remains on top of you, watching him pull his mask back on. with a slightly worn out voice, you murmur. “you can’t stay?”

“no, i can’t stay,” he snickers, knowing you wanted more. toji’s head friskily tilts as you stare at him with a cute doe-eyed expression, still pouting and he rolls his eyes behind the mask. “god, fine. greedy little thing aren’t ‘cha?”

and you hear a bit of shuffling, watching him fish a hand in his pocket as his jeans were now pulled up and made presentable again. toji grabs a sharpie out of his pocket before pulling your waist closer toward him. “tsk. stay still,” and you’re curious to what he was about to do, not daring to move an inch.

you’re all bare and exposed, and you let off a soft exhale once he starts to write something right below your belly button. just a few more inches down and he’d be writing on your pussy.

it lasts for about seven seconds before he stops, adding a heart near the end of what was a ten digit phone number.

“alright, princess. here’s my number. whenever you’re feelin’ horny, just give me a call, yeah?”

and before you could even reply, he leans up to you—pulling up his ghostface mask over his lips, giving you a long teasing kiss. you moan into his mouth, smelling a scent of his cologne before he leisurely pulls away. toji whispers against your lips for one final time before pressing a thumb toward your throat.

“i’ll always come back.”