#I couldn’t stop laughing over how accurate this is

[anisespice]

“ the fuck-it list ” || hq! pt. 5

one || two || three || four

synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list. 

pairing: various x gn!reader [ suna, aran, kita ]

warnings: mature content. MDI. cursing, suggestive language, mild objectification, atsumu slander/bulling (mostly from suna lol), mentions of soft dom/brat-taming, breeding-kink kita supremacy, not proofread so there may be some errors here and there, and I think that's it :]

notes: NO ONE LOOK AT ME THIS TOOK SO FREAKING LONG THAT WE'RE IN A WHOLE NEW YEAR SINCE THE LAST ONE WAS POSTED LOL But, I wanted to make sure I portrayed the characters as accurately as possible, and I've once again been hit with the burnout stick :'))) so thank you so so so so much for your patience, hope you enjoy!

tagged: @daedaep69 , @ahahadumbo , @viktoryn , @mdsb , @ourgoddessathena , @ushygushybaby , @hyori2 , @lumpywolf , @fantasycantasy, @captaincyberqueen, @tsukiran

SUNA's messy as hell, you bet your ass he knows about the list.

Most definitely clowned Atsumu when the whole mix-up between him and Osamu went down a couple weeks ago. He'd poke that dead horse out of pure boredom or just to document his reactions for a laugh later, resulting in some of the most unflattering, yet entertaining footage of your mutual friend that you were certain he'd keep for blackmail.

“You didn’t need the poor guy’s misery in every possible angle you could think of.” You shook your head at him, fighting the grin on your face. Sitting across from him at a booth in the canteen, you pass the time in between classes by letting him show you photo after photo, video after video of Atsumu’s latest performance.

How his storage managed to survive was beyond you.

Suna shrugged, taking a sip from his drink. “Sure I did. Need to have variety for when I make merch and sell it at his games. ‘m thinking tshirts, buttons, stickers, y’know. The whole nine yards.”

“You’re terrible.” You shook your head again as you sifted through blurry photo after blurry photo.

“Terribly smart.”

“Mm. Debatable.”

“Tsk,” he reached over to flick your forehead, “keep hating and you won’t get a cut of the profit.” Despite him softly glaring at you, he grinned at the giggle you graced him with in response, flicking his forehead back. “Anyway, wanna see the one of him throwing a chair at ‘samu for calling him the mid-twin?”

You paused, eyes widening. “He did not.” 

Suna lifted his arm to give you room to lean against his side. Despite your better judgment, and a smidge of pity for the blonde, you couldn’t deny he had some pretty priceless reactions that never failed to get a laugh out of you. Plus, it was all in good fun at the end of the day—No harm, no foul, right?

Immediately snuggling up to his side, he took the phone back to scroll right to said video, angling it so you could watch it together. You chortled at the sound of your boyfriend behind the camera, panting and laughing as he attempted to hold the camera steady while sprinting away from Atsumu before inevitably getting caught right before the recording abruptly stopped. You blinked in shock, mouth agape as you slowly connected the dots with the last few milliseconds you had. “Did he..Did he tackle you??” 

“Yep. Like a big, blonde buffalo. Life flashed before my eyes.”

“Oh my god,” you replied, hand coming over your mouth as you fought back your giggles. Suna squinted at you, arm that was curled over your shoulder coming down so he could lightly pinch your ear.

“You’re ‘posed to laugh at his expense, not mine.”

This only made giggling harder to contain, eventually morphing into cackles as the last few moments of the video replayed in your mind over and over. Suna pursed his lips, placing the phone on the table to free his other hand as it came to pinch your other ear. He tugged on them, not so hard to hurt but enough to get his point across as he pouted at you. “Quit it.”

More laughs bubbled out of you, now at his ridiculous retaliation as he pulled your ears far enough to resemble a monkey’s. You raised a brow, reaching up to grab at his wrists. ��You quit it.”

“No, you.”

You squinted. “No, you.”

“You.”

“Rin-Ow! Stop it, you ass!”

This little back and forth went on for a few minutes, up until it eventually ends with you in a small headlock, biting his forearm in retaliation. It didn’t hurt at all, except maybe your pride, especially when you heard the familiar sound of his phone snapping pictures—When did he even grab it? You pulled back in shock, looking up and meeting your own gaze on the screen as he rapidly snapped away, even having the nerve to give a peace sign in some of them with the very arm you were latched onto.

You gaped in horror, “No you didn't! Delete those!”

He hummed in feigned thought, keeping his phone just out of reach as you struggled to snatch it from him. Rin smirked, “No way, now we both can laugh, babe. We'll call it even.”

With a glare, you opened your mouth to retort but he immediately shut you up by leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, lazily so, and swallowing any protest you tried to voice until you eventually melted into it. You could just feel his smug grin, and you were tempted to bite his bottom lip, but he pulled away before you could commit. He snorted as you still glared at him, although it softened more and more with every kiss he placed on your face to placate your sourness toward him.

Gradually, the kisses started to grow wet, making you squirm away with an annoyed whine, but he merely tightened his hold on you keeping you from getting far. Despite your struggle you couldn't help but laugh, "Ew! Ugh! You're so fucking gross!"

"Mm, gross for you." He placed another to your lips before releasing you. You gently pinched him in retaliation, muttering a small threat to his kneecaps if those photos of you ever saw the light of day.

After the two of you settled back down in a comfortable silence, your mind started to wander back to the discussion from earlier. With the abundance of guys who've been placed on said list so far, Atsumu of all people one of them, you couldn't help but wonder... Looking over at him as he played with his straw, you asked, "Hey...do you think you're on the list?"

Rin paused, then gave a small shrug, "Dunno. Never checked."

You scoffed, "I find that hard to believe. You weren't ever curious?"

"Not really, always thought it was kinda dumb. I only grew mildly interested after 'tsumu threw a tantrum about it, saw it as another way to get on his nerves. Other than that, it's never crossed my mind. Besides, as if I'd give him the satisfaction of knowing I'm on it, too." He blinked, then looked at you. "On second thought, yeah, check and see so I can dox whoever posted it before that knucklehead catches wind."

"Rin." You slapped his arm, knowing he was half-serious. "We can just report it."

He merely shrugged again, internally debating, but didn't say anything as you did some digging on the account to see if anything came up. It helped that the admins of the account started alphabetizing after posting so many entries, it made it easier to navigate through the endless sea of thirst and shameless threads. When you finally made it to the 'R's and noticed how short the section was, you had high hopes. Until, right there plain on your screen, paired with an off-guard photo of him you posted once on your story in past, was his entry.

‘Rintarō Suna. 6’1ft of malicious intent. A straight up walking red flag, but it’s okay—Red’s a sexy color. Definitely the kind of guy who’d call you “Bro” as a term of endearment, then make out with you while using your ass as a stress ball. He can’t keep his hands to himself to save his LIFE yet swears on it that he’s not clingy lol. But don’t let the cuddly side of him distract from the fact that he can be such a little SHIT ♡. He’d edge you for hours, rearrange your insides like furniture, then have the NERVE to tease you for walking funny. You’ll let it slide though…his mouth’s good at other things than just being smart. MASTER at giving head, treats it like an art form, would rather eat a pair of jeans that ever go a day without you on his tongue. 8.5/10. And he for sure takes pictures/videos of you for his viewing pleasure later. Say cheese!’

As you both stared blankly at your screen, him with furrowed brows and you struggling to hold down a smile. Rin eventually kissed his teeth. "Can't even be mad, read me like a damn book. Was this weirdo in the room with us taking notes, or something?"

You chortled, "Don't even joke like that."

"I'm just saying, tweak a few things here and there, you'd think I ghost-wrote this."

"Sooo, I take it you're no longer worried about Atsumu seeing this?"

Suna smirked, "Hell no, at least mine's accurate. Send him the link."

“Your bitch-ass ex is about to piss me off, bro.”

Upon your unannounced arrival into his dorm, courteous of the spar key he gave you for emergencies, you figured now was a good time to exercise that privilege because this was a borderline catastrophe. Granted, you could’ve approached it more delicately, but you were already upset from the nonsense you witnessed on your timeline during your doom-scrolling session.

ARAN gave you a look of disapproval, but decided to address one issue at a time. “First of all, we’ve kissed. Many times. I am well aways from being a ‘bro’. Second, language. Thirdly, when ain’t they pissin’ ya off?”

“Whatever, you better get’em before I do. You know I’m not above drastic solutions, I’ll steal their dog and hold him for ransom, I’m being so forreal.”

He snorted, shaking his head. Closing his laptop to give you his full attention, nodding at the chair across from him for you to take. “How ‘bout we talk first before riskin’ jail.”

You sat down and handed him your phone, “Read that and I bet you’ll be on board in seconds.”

Aran squinted at the screen in confusion, scanning over the contents before his eyes widened to the size of volleyballs and jaw dropping to the table. You nodded in triumph having predicted this reaction, smugly crossing your arms as you said, “Uh-huh. Bet dog-napping sounds pretty good right about now.”

“No.” He deadpanned, but still overtly shook. “What even is this?”

“It’s called ‘The Fu—” a small glare from Aran. You rolled your eyes, correcting yourself, “The Eff-It List’.”

“Ok, I can see that. But, what is it?”

You scoffed, “Basically a perverted forum that talks about strangers and their kinks or whatever. Purely speculative for the most part, but recently they started letting people send in their own entries. And yours came straight from the horse’s mouth.” You reached over to point at an all too familiar username, well aware of it being his ex’s burner account in their hopes to remain anonymous.

'Aran Ojiro. 6’0ft of tall, dark, and handsome. If you’re searching for a Service Dom with a heart of gold, then you’ve come to the right man. When it comes down to the dirty and flirty, this hunk would be an Olympic level threat to the bums in your timeline. Not only plowing a hole straight into your vertebrae but cooking you a bomb-ass meal afterwards that will have you wanting his pants around his ankles for a round who-knows-what. Truly a gentleman, won’t finish until you do at least twice. And aftercare of a God, we’re talking rose petal baths, oil massages, honeyed affirmations, and finishing off with warm cuddles in those beefy arms of his. Yum. Aran’s big on communication; tell him what you like, what you don’t like, whatever you say, goes. Will make you feel like royalty but rearrange your insides like a common concubine. This absolute King gets a 100/10 from us.'

The way his face was scrunched up, you would think he ate something sour. You’ve only ever seen him make such a stank face at the twins whenever their bickering escalated to physical violence. He was silent for a long moment as he analyzed the post, re-reading it again and again only to grow more perturbed. He exhaled deeply through his nose before handing you back the phone, reaching into his pocket to grab his own. Aran began to type while you were in the midst of conjuring up your revenge plan.

“So, I was thinking, they normally walk their dog in the morning before class, like ass-crack of dawn early-“

“Language.”

“-and they’ll most likely have their guard down, right? So I’m thinking you’ll hide in the bushes, ready to release the squirrel we’ll use as bait, and while they’re distracted I’ll sneak from behind with a shovel and-“

“There. It’s been taken care of.”

The words died in your throat, stunned to silence. You blinked a few times in bewilderment, and watching as Aran set his phone down to open his laptop back up and resume working on his assignment. Mentally floundering, you leaned forward with raised eyebrows, “Come again?”

“They’re gonna get the post deleted.”

“Wha—Who?” You squawked.

“My ex. I sent a DM statin’ that we know they’re involved and that I’m not comfortable with this being spread, so unless they want student affairs involved for sexual harassment, they better work on gettin’ that post taken down. Give it a minute, bet it’ll be gone.”

You blinked once more. Then, after a few minutes later of more stunned silence, you refreshed the page. Sure enough…his post wasn’t there anymore. Not a trace of it anywhere, as if it never existed. With a disbelieved chortle, you dropped your phone on the table and slumped back in your chair, staring into space. Aran grinned, eyes trained on his laptop screen as he cheekily said, “Ya did say get’em before you do.”

With a playful huff, you crossed your arms. “Damn killjoy.”

“Language.”

You slowly grinned, mischievously. “…Shit.”

“Oi.”

You raised your hands in mock surrender, relenting as you giggled. Aran shook his head at your antics, resuming his work. However, you leaned forward to push his laptop screen down a little so that his attention was on you once more, pausing his typing fingers. He raised an expectant brow, waiting for you to speak. You gave him a pointed look, “You blocked them after sending that DM, right?”

He snorted, reaching over to gently pat your head. “And reported their account.”

You beamed with satisfaction, leaning back in your chair. “Good. Fuck ‘em—Oop!Waitwait, hang on, it was a slip of the tongue, I forgot, I’m sorry!”

Aran immediately closed his laptop and began to stand, rounding the table to approach you menacingly, although fear wouldn’t be the emotion you’d describe as he closed in on you like prey. You didn’t even attempt to make an escape as he scooped you up in his aforementioned beefy arms, squeals following after your giggles as he carried you into the next room, ready to give you what he deemed a suitable punishment for your potty-mouth.

The king hath spoken.

You fought to contain your laughter at the sight of your boyfriend’s gears visibly turning in his head as he stared at your phone screen, brows furrowed and hands on his hips like a dad judging someone’s front lawn. KITA was at a loss for words, to say the least. Like Aran, it merely confused him upon the first read, and re-reading it over and over aided nothing. You could no longer hold it in when Kita eventually looked at you with a blank face and said, “Not true.”

Tickled, you decided to tease him by feigning ignorance. “Hm? You think so? It sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Kita frowned, leaning over your shoulder to re-read it again, just in case he was missing something you were seeing.

'Shinsuke Kita. 5’9ft of calm before the storm. At first, we chalked Kita up as a boring vanilla, someone that doesn’t like to step outside of the norm, and blends in with the mundane. However, what would appear to be a dreary missionary nightmare can easily be disputed when you take a deeper look into those carmel hues of his. As we’ve mentioned in a previous post, it’s always the quiet ones you need to be cautious of. Sure, he’ll invite you over to show off his beautiful garden, innocent enough. Well…needless to say, his garden won’t be the only place he plants his seed. With the right person, and the right amount of pressure, we believe Kita to be a closeted pervert with a RAGING breeding kink. Whether you can or cannot conceive, it doesn’t matter to him–Mating press, full nelson, prone-bone, you name it, he’s doing it. Then, he’ll tell you about what produce is in season as if you aren’t fighting for your life right after, continuing his day like he didn’t take his time molding your insides to the shape of him. Scary. 10/10'

He shook his head, opinion standing firm. “’s too vulgar. Have I ever been vulgar to ya?”

You pursed your lips, shrugging coyly. “Well…there have been a couple times.”

Kita blinked, then took a minute to think about it. And he thought hard. Slowly, he started to become concerned, contemplating the last time you were intimate in case this were a possibility. Surely you would’ve told him if he was acting out of line…

The act doesn’t last long, especially when he looked back at you and plainly said, “Yer teasin’ me.”

With a small chuckle, you gave up. “Fine, you got me. You have been nothing but a gentleman during sex, I won’t argue that. But, you have to admit, there were a few things in here that were spot on.”

“Like what?” He crouched down, continuing his task.

You gestured around, “Well…you did invite me over to look at your garden.”

Kita paused his pruning, looking around at your pointed observation. He hummed, then gave a small shrug. “Not to jus’ sleep with ya afterward. My intentions were strictly pure.”

“Ok, fair. But, you do want a family.”

“‘s a normal goal to have, and in due time, we’ll accomplish it. Once I’ve married ya, of course. That don’t make me a ‘closeted pervert’.”

You grinned, crossing your arms. “You didn’t deny the ‘raging breeding kink’ part-”

“Look at how well yer favorite sprout’s doin’, love.” He was quick to change the subject, beckoning you to come see for yourself. You humored him, crouching down next to him in the dirt, and happily gazing over his shoulder to watch him delicately handle your leafy little guy.

But, if you squint, you could see a little tinge of pink in Kita’s ears.

© 2025-2026 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[cranberrydietcoke]

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 - 𝘭𝘶𝘪𝘨𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦

heavily inspired by this post by @subtlehums

content: 18+, lore accurate luigi, cigarettes, mentions of prescription drugs, guns, L word, established relationship, unprotected p in v, riding, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, kinda emo but fluffy but smutty, he’s so tragically beautiful idk i hope this does him justice

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i am a woman possessed. he is all i think about like its bad. shout out the girlies who found my blog thru tiktok comments lmaooo enjoy

psa: he is innocent until proven guilty! this is a fictional, hypothetical situation in which he did do it.

“𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗶 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁. 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗱, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘁𝗿𝘆, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗼𝗺, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘀𝗶𝗻. – 𝗯𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱.” - tweeted by @ pepmangione, may 1st, 2024.

you missed hawaii. that tiny apartment for just the two of you seemed impossibly big now, as you imagined the sunlight weaving in through the windows, casting shadows of waves onto the kitchen tile. you missed that kitchen, sharing coffee in the mornings before work, baking together. you missed the way the island held you both, lush and warm and predictable. the late nights, the conferences, the schedule – it’s funny how everything always seems so simple in hindsight. he had a way of making it clear he knew best, and you’d stopped arguing years ago. so, when he said to pack a bag for the mainland, you didn’t question it. you trusted him with a kind of faith that went deeper than any earthly explanation could offer.

the frosty breeze whips by you as you step out onto the fire escape of the hostel, headlights and billboards illuminating the city below. you could hear luigi’s furious typing from the chair inside over the sound of honking horns and screeching tires, occasionally pausing to reread it back to himself and flip through the starched pages of the book he’d been in for days. the eraser of the pencil he annotated with was gnawed to damn near nothing. the flick of your lighter shook him from his focus, snapping his head to watch as you wrapped yourself in your fur coat and brought a cigarette to your lips with deep red manicured nails.

“that’s gonna kill you, y’know that right?”

and he was right. not that it made a difference. six months ago, the thought of smoking a cigarette would’ve seemed absurd. now, it almost felt inevitable, like the distance between who you were and who you are had blurred and widened into a festering chasm.

 and yet, here he was – the one steady thing in your life, lounging in the peeling leather of the black desk chair, eyes meeting yours like nothing else mattered. the air inside was thick, saturated with things unsaid. tomorrow would inevitably come, but that seemed irrelevant compared to the man in front of you. you crouched with bent knees, weight balanced on the balls of your feet as you blew out thick spirals of smoke, teetering on the tip toes of your flats with each gust of wind.

“lu,” you strain through quick puffs, tapping a nail to the lit stick, causing ash to fall through the metal bars that held you up and onto the concrete of the new york sidewalk. “please.”  you scoff, lash-lidded gaze lingering over him through the open window, a look that he couldn’t bring himself to argue with. you were the fracture in the foundation of his carefully constructed logic, the one thing he couldn’t solve.

 the first time he saw you at some hazy phi psi social in undergrad, something in him just…stopped. a whirlwind of wild dark hair with an unapologetic laugh that was too loud for the space but too beautiful to be mad at. you spoke with precision, arguing like someone who had points to make, yet there was a strange charm about you, an effortless grace. he had to have you. he assumed that bringing you to maryland for holiday break would be overwhelming, that the sheer volume of his family would cause you to tone yourself down. instead, they welcomed you as one of their own, perhaps because your bold opinions and high standards mirrored theirs. but that was a lifetime ago – before the pandemic, the accident, the surgery. before everything splintered into what it is now.

his puffy, purple-ringed and exhausted eyes follow you as you climb back into the warmth, slamming the window shut and shedding your coat. resting his elbows on his knees, he brought his hands to drag down his face with a deep, weary sigh, letting them fall to his denim-clad thighs with a slap. motioning you over to him with a nod of the head.

brass casings littered the floor, the bed a mess of neon monopoly bills - scattered in the dingy sheets like confetti after some great gatsby party. you’d been holed up in that room for a week now, and his restless energy was palpable. it wasn’t like his stress was something you’d never seen before. in fact, it was normal after all these years. but this. this was a different level. completely enrapturing, not only mental, but physical.

 you slip off your shoes with a soft thud on the floor. your steps are slow, deliberate, as you meander toward him, eyes heavy with sympathy. three sleepless nights had made his face hollow, and he’d refused every pill you’d offered – hydros, oxys, anything to subside the pain. you stand in front of him, positioned between his spread legs. his hands reach to meet your plush hips, each digit pressing firmly into your skin, grounding himself in your presence.

when al pacino said the eyes never lie, he was completely correct. luigi’s were sullen, dark, angry. pleading for help, for recognition. you lift a hand to cradle his cheek, tracing over the stubble that wasn’t there when you left hawaii. wordlessly, you sink to your knees on the warped wood of the hotel floor, looking up into his big brown eyes. your fingers trace a slow path from the curve of his jaw to the firm plane of his chest, before settling your palm on the denim of his thigh, smoothing it up and down his leg. you tilt your head, letting your temple rest gently against his knee.

“i love you, lu,” you spoke in a near whisper against him, gaze fixed on nothing in particular, thoughts somewhere far away. “i just wish shit was different.”

“i know baby, i know,” he answered without hesitation, cooing down at you and bringing a meticulous hand to brush the mess of hair from your face. “we’ll be back home soon, i jus- i have some stuff to take care of, love, you know that.” his voice softened as he looked down at you, coaxing your glassy eyes up to his steady stare. with a subtle touch, he grabbed your chin between his thumb and index fingers, lifting your face to meet his. only inches way, you felt the heat of his breath on your lips, drinking it in.

“i know this isn’t who you fell in love with, n’ i’m sorry. i-i’m a fucking shell,” he rambled, bobbing his head with each word, eyes darting around each feature on your face.

“this world, me, everything, is a fucking lie.” he spat, “just t-touch me so i know that i’m real.”

his eyes were wide and manic, brow furrowing as if every thought, every word, was a battle being played out behind those unblinking, shifty eyes. your mouth hangs open, and every part of you seems to be falling into him, melting in his touch. your eyes are unfocused and glazed over as they follow his, drunk off the very essence of him.

“fuck me so i know that i’m real. i’ve been dying to know if i am.”

heady puffs of breath fell against your face with each word, his eyes drifting down to your glossy pout. he ran his tongue up the curve of your parted lips, a tiny gasp escaping them, your eyes never leaving his. it was perverted almost, urgent and depraved. without thinking, you curl your tongue out, meeting and circling his without your lips even touching, saliva dripping onto the floor below. his hands grasp at the sides of your head, pulling you in closer as his tongue forces its way past yours, lips crashing together in a heated kiss. he stands you both up with a swift movement, each kiss growing deeper, more consuming, as he guides you backward onto the bed.

you can’t help but whimper into his mouth through the soft, wet smack of your lips that fills the room as he lays you on your back, pinned by the wrist in a pool of pink and orange paper money. hot, hungry kisses trailed down your neck and across your chest, his hands firm as he peeled off your white tank top. your fingers roamed over every inch of him – gripping a handful of curls, your palm finding the small of his neck to pull him closer. softly, your hands slid over the hard lines of his shoulder blades, tracing the muscles beneath his skin. for a split second, it felt like undergrad again – fooling around on that tiny twin bed, stealing kisses between whispered laughs and desperately hoping that none of the boys in the chapter house heard you.

“baby, sit back,” you murmur, craning your neck and biting into your lower lip as he licks spirals into the sensitive skin, sending a chill down your spine. with a smirk, he flips over to settle onto the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the cold metal button of his levi’s and squirming out of them. the print of his length pressed through the thin fabric of his boxers as you hook your fingers in the waistband, tugging them to fall around his ankles. you shimmy out of your leggings and black lace panties, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the hardwood.

letting a stringy drop of spit fall from your lips, you work and twist your hands over him, whimpers and pants making his chest fall and rise, head lolling back as you plant tiny kisses on both thighs. turning around with bent knees, hips between his legs and feet flat on the floor, you sink down onto him inch by inch, whining incoherently as it stretches you out.

his hands on your sides, thumbs running down the valley of your spine, molding you like pottery as he guides you up and down. the tips of your fingers balance on the floor as you gently bounce and roll your hips, stuffing yourself over and over again on his cock.

“f-fuck – mine, all fuckin’ mine,” he spoke breathlessly, watching your drooly hole take him in with little plap plap plap’s, the fat of your ass recoiling as his length disappeared into you. his grip tightened on your sides, and you felt his legs getting wobbly under your stabilizing hand. “my girl, my good fucking girl…” he spoke absently, almost to himself, each syllable dripping with lust. appreciation. worship, even.

“god, fuck – please.” you babble, whipping your hair back to steal a glance at him from over your shoulder – all focused and blissed out, slack-jawed as he groped and pawed at the lower contour of your ass, spreading open the sticky mess and watching with wild, amazed eyes at the way you wet him up.

“what, baby? want it inside? yeah?” he panted out with squeaky desperation, lower stomach tensing and turning as you gripped and slid over him. “wanna get pregnant, huh, the way you’re takin’ it – fuck!”

his thrusts got sloppy, breath hitching in his throat and translating to desperate whines as he pumped you full. even if he didn’t come back tomorrow, if you never saw him alive again, he was determined to leave you with a little permanent piece of him. bringing a strong, warm palm to the small of your lower back to slow down your pace and push you off of him, he fell back onto the bed with a sigh, rattling the bed frame with the impact. ribbons of thick, opalescent seed seeped from your hole, all fucked open and raw.

laying together, swimming in those hotel sheets, the cold touch of fingerprints tracing numbers and letters into your thighs. truly believing you both had nothing to lose, even though that was far from the truth because you had each other. the shrill sound of wind against windows was stomach-churning compared to the familiar crash of the ocean, and you’ve accepted that you’ll probably never see that apartment again. even if you did, it wouldn’t be the same. but, you trusted him. believed in him, his capability, his intelligence. holding onto that tiny sliver of hope that told you everything would be okay, he would be careful, come home unseen and unscathed. those worries were reserved for the future version of you, one that could carry the weight of tomorrow in the daylight. all of it – the pain, the planning, the uncertainty – was beside the point now. all that mattered was the shelter of his lingering touch, quieting the rest of the world, only if for a few more hours.

[maddie0101]

𖤐 playing with fire (dean x fem!reader)

𖤐 summary: a house party, a few too many drinks, and a skirt that’s driving dean out of his mind. what starts as a harmless game of truth or dare quickly turns into something else, something that’s been building between him and the reader for way too long. one reckless decision later, and there’s no going back.

𖤐 warnings: smut (mdni), truth or dare, college!au, porn w plot, best friends to lovers, high sexual tension, teasing, reader's skirt almost sends dean into a coma, dirty talk, cussing, hair pulling, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, dean is a freak! (we love it though), p in v, mirror sex, skirt stays on!, lots more but I can't list everything off lmfao.

𖤐 word count: 7.5k (don’t ask me how I did this tbh. my fingers just kept moving)

𖤐 note: well…this was supposed to be maybe 2-3k words max, but I’ve done it again and I can’t help myself. i def couldn’t tag everything but enjoy! ❤︎

The house was packed with bodies moving together in the living room, red cups in hand, half-empty bottles of liquor cluttering every available surface. Someone had hooked up a speaker to blast a playlist that was way too bass-heavy, and the floor vibrated with every beat. The air smelled like cheap beer, sweat, and faint traces of perfume—an unmistakable blend of house party chaos.

Dean wasn’t even sure why he had come.

Well. That wasn’t entirely true.

Sam had dragged him here. Well, technically, Jess had dragged Sam here, and in turn, Sam had forced Dean out of the apartment under the guise of “having fun for once.” That was bullshit. Dean could have fun anywhere—a bar, a diner, sitting on the couch with a beer in hand, but instead, here he was, dodging some drunk dude waving his cup around like a damn sprinkler while scanning the room for a familiar face.

Or more accurately, your face.

Dean exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He hadn’t seen you all day, which was a little weird since the two of you talked constantly. You were his best friend, had been for years, and yet, when you’d mentioned earlier that you were coming to this party, Dean had found himself oddly… uneasy. Not that he was worried or anything. You could handle yourself just fine. But the thought of you here, surrounded by drunk, handsy assholes, looking hot as hell—not that he was picturing that—yeah, it had been enough to convince him to tag along.

But he still hadn’t spotted you, though.

Instead, his eyes landed on Sam and Jess standing near the staircase, laughing at something between them. Dean made his way over, shoving past a couple making out against the wall.

“Dean,” Jess greeted, lifting her drink in acknowledgment. “Took you long enough to show up.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Traffic.”

Sam snorted. “Traffic? Dean, you live ten minutes away.”

“Shut up.”

Jess grinned and leaned into Sam’s side. “You’re looking for her, aren’t you?”

Dean froze. “What?”

“You know,” she said, tilting her head slightly, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Her.”

Dean scowled. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “You are so obvious.”

Before Dean could argue, Jess nodded toward the kitchen. “She’s in there, last I saw. Taking shots.”

Dean’s stomach did something weird, something he would not acknowledge. Instead, he shrugged and muttered a casual, “Cool,” before turning in that direction. And then—

Oh. Oh, fuck.

There you were. Standing by the counter, tilting your head back as you downed a shot of something dark, your lips wrapping around the rim of the glass before you placed it back on the counter. Your tongue flicked out briefly, licking away any stray drops.

Dean’s brain completely short-circuited. He barely even registered the fact that he had stopped in his tracks, mouth slightly parted. Because—holy hell.

That skirt. That damn skirt.

It wasn’t like you never wore stuff like this. But this? This was different. The way it clung to your hips, stopping so high up your thighs—Dean swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. The black top you wore didn’t help either, hugging your curves just right, exposing just enough skin to make his head spin.

Dean wasn’t sure what the alcohol content of whatever you were drinking was, but he was pretty sure he needed one now. Badly.

His fingers twitched at his sides, and he shifted uncomfortably as a very inconvenient problem began to arise in his jeans. Shit. This was not the time to be getting a goddamn boner.

Dean clenched his jaw, inhaling through his nose.

Pull it together, Winchester. You are her best friend. You are—

And then you turned.

Like you felt him staring. Your eyes locked onto his, and for a split second, everything else—the music, the crowd, the heat of the room—just faded into the background. A slow smile curled at the corner of your lips, and that was when Dean knew he was really screwed.

You looked good. And not just in the casual oh yeah, she looks nice kind of way. No, this was dangerous. This was the kind of good that made his stomach twist, that made his heart slam against his ribs, that sent heat rushing to places he did not want to deal with right now.

And then, as if you hadn’t just ruined his entire ability to function, you grabbed another shot from the counter, tilting your head slightly. “Want one?”

Dean swallowed, forcing his brain to restart. He took a slow step forward, desperate to think of something normal to say. Except, the closer he got, the worse you got. Because now he could smell you, some sweet, intoxicating mix of vanilla and something else. And now he could see just how smooth your legs looked in that goddamn skirt. And now—

Well now you were struggling, too.

Because Dean Winchester in a fitted black T-shirt, dark jeans, and those stupidly broad shoulders? Yeah. Not fair. Your fingers tightened around the shot glass. The way the fabric of his shirt stretched across his arms was practically sinful. The way the dim lighting highlighted the sharp angles of his jaw was even worse. He looked good, in that effortlessly rugged kind of way, and the alcohol coursing through your veins was not helping you pretend otherwise.

You blinked up at him, trying to keep your expression neutral. “You okay there, Winchester?”

Dean exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Liar.

You raised a brow, smirking slightly. “You sure? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Dean let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Just—” He wet his lips. “You, uh. You look nice.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You knew you looked good tonight—you had dressed with a little extra effort, even though you’d never admit why—but hearing Dean say it? Yeah. That did something.

You tilted your head, amused. “Nice?”

Dean ran a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath before clearing his throat.

“Fine. Hot,” he admitted, voice lower now.

Your breath caught. The tension stretched thick between you. You should’ve said something. Something witty, something teasing, something to lighten whatever this was.

But then Dean reached out, grabbing the shot from your hand. His fingers brushed against yours, and that tiny touch sent a sharp jolt up your spine.

You both inhaled and Dean knocked the shot back, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time and when he lowered the glass, he licked his lips.

You almost groaned. Fuck.

This was not going to end well.

You were still trying to get your head straight when Jess walked into the kitchen. “There you two are!” she grinned, her voice a little louder than usual, clearly a few drinks in. “We’re starting a game in the living room. Get your asses in there.”

Dean blinked like he’d just snapped out of a trance. “Uh… what kind of game?”

Jess smirked. “The fun kind. Come on.”

Before either of you could argue, she grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward the living room. Dean trailed behind, his eyes flicking downward — yeah, that fucking skirt was still driving him insane.

The living room was packed, people sprawled across the couches and floor, drinks in hand. The bottle sitting in the middle of the coffee table made Dean’s stomach tighten.

“Spin the bottle?” He raised an eyebrow at Jess.

“Oh, no. We’re past that,” she grinned. “We’re playing Truth or Dare — but with a twist.”

Dean groaned under his breath. “Of course we are.”

“You scared, Winchester?” you teased, arching an eyebrow.

Dean shot you a look. “Of you? Never.”

Which was a goddamn lie. He was terrified —because this whole night had been a dangerous game of self-control, and right now, he was hanging on by a thread.

You both ended up sitting on the floor, way too close, your bare knee kept brushing against Dean’s thigh, and every time it happened, it felt like someone had dropped a match on gasoline.

The game started off easy, dumb dares, embarrassing questions, lots of laughter. But when it was your turn, things shifted. Jess grinned like she was about to start shit. “Alright, Y/N. Truth or dare?”

You barely hesitated. “Dare.”

Jess’s smile widened. “I dare you to sit in Dean’s lap for the rest of the game.”

The room erupted in laughter and catcalls, and your stomach dropped.

“Oh, come on,” you muttered.

“You picked dare,” Jess said sweetly. “Better get moving.”

Dean leaned back, running a hand down his face like he was mentally preparing himself. When he lowered it, he shot you a crooked smile — cocky as hell, but you didn’t miss the flicker of nerves in his eyes. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he drawled. “I won’t bite.”

God help you. You swallowed hard, stood up, and crossed the small space. Every eye in the room was on you as you slowly settled into Dean’s lap, his hands instinctively landing on your waist.

It should’ve been fine. Should’ve been funny. But fuck.

Dean’s thighs were solid under you, his broad chest warm against your back. His hands, rough and steady flexed just slightly, like he was fighting the urge to squeeze. “Comfortable?” Dean muttered near your ear, his voice lower than usual.

“Yeah,” you said, but it came out breathy.

The game moved on, but you barely heard a word. Dean’s hand slid down your waist, innocent enough, but his thumb brushed the bare skin just above your skirt. You nearly jolted at the contact.

You twisted your fingers in your lap, trying to focus. But then Dean shifted, just a little, and Jesus Christ, you felt everything — the strength of his legs beneath you, the heat of his body against yours.

“You good?” Dean murmured low in your ear.

“Peachy,” you lied.

“Bullshit,” he muttered back, his breath warm against your neck.

You sucked in a sharp breath, and Dean’s fingers flexed again — but this time, his grip lingering just a little longer.

“Alright, Dean,” someone called out, dragging both of you back into the moment. “Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?”

Dean smirked, but his fingers stayed on your waist, still toying with your skin. “Dare.”

“Let Y/N give you a hickey.”

The room howled.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dean muttered, running a hand down his face.

“Don’t chicken out,” Jess taunted, wiggling her eyebrows.

You turned your head slightly to look at Dean, your face way too close to his. “We can just fake it,” you offered, voice soft enough for only him to hear. “Play it off.”

But Dean’s eyes locked onto yours and something flickered behind them, something darker. “Yeah,” he said, low and rough. “Or we can’t.”

Your breath hitched. He was serious.

“You sure?” you murmured.

Dean’s gaze flicked to your lips, then back up.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m sure.”

The room had gotten quieter now, like people were actually waiting to see what would happen. Your pulse hammered in your ears as you turned in his lap, your legs sliding across his thighs, your chest brushing against his. Dean’s hand slid to your lower back, steadying you, his fingers splaying wide.

You leaned in, your lips brushing just below his jaw, and his breath hitched. You kissed his skin once, soft and slow before sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. His fingers dug into your waist, and you swore you felt his chest shudder against yours.

You were supposed to stop there, but you didnt. Something told you to kept going. Your mouth lingered, your lips just barely brushing over his skin again. His fingers trailed down your side, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your hip.

“You’re killing me,” Dean muttered, barely above a whisper.

“You started it,” you whispered back but you didn’t pull away and neither did he. The air felt thick and heavy. You could feel his pulse hammering under your lips, the tension in the air growing thicker by the second.

“Alright,” someone called, breaking the moment. “I think that counts.”

You slowly eased back, your face still way too close to his. Dean’s gaze dropped to your lips, then flicked back up to your eyes.

Yeah. You were fucked.

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly, voice rough and strained. “That counts.”

The game moved on, but your body was still burning from the way Dean’s hands lingered on your waist, the feel of his breath against your skin. You hadn’t even fully processed what just happened when Jess turned toward Sam with a glint in her eye.

“Alright, babe,” she said sweetly. “Truth or dare?”

Sam chuckled. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have a choice, so let’s just get this over with.”

Jess smirked. “Dare.”

The room erupted into laughter, and Sam groaned, shaking his head.

“I dare you to…” Jess tapped her chin, drawing out the suspense. “Take off your shirt and let me write something on your chest in Sharpie.”

Sam rolled his eyes but reached behind his head, pulling off his shirt in one smooth motion. The sight of Sam Winchester, half-naked in the middle of the living room, earned a few whistles and teasing remarks. Jess grinned as she grabbed a marker, uncapped it with her teeth, and scribbled 'Property of Jess' across his chest.

Dean snorted. “Jesus, Sammy, you gonna let her brand you like that?”

Sam shot him a dry look. “Like you have room to talk.”

Dean’s smirk faltered just slightly—probably because his hands were still gripping your waist, and he hadn’t let go since you sat down. But the tension between you and Dean was a wildfire, growing hotter with every second. His hands still rested on your waist, his fingers burning through the thin fabric of your top. You were hyper-aware of every shift of his body beneath you, every breath he took, the way his thighs felt firm under you.

Sam and Jess had just finished their dare, leaving everyone laughing while Sam scowled, still sporting the ridiculous drawing Jess had sketched onto his bare chest.

The game carried on, but you barely heard a word of it.

Someone dared Mike to shotgun a beer, and the room erupted with cheers when he spilled half of it down his shirt. Someone else was dared to prank-call their ex. Everyone was laughing, talking too loud, caught up in their own chaos.

But you? You couldn’t focus on any of it—because Dean was still beneath you, solid and warm and way too much. His hands rested loosely on your waist, fingers occasionally flexing like he was trying to ground himself. He hadn’t said much since you’d settled on his lap, but you could feel him—every breath, every subtle shift. And every time you moved even slightly, his grip would tighten.

You were trying so damn hard to act normal, to focus on literally anything other than the heat radiating off his body or the way his chest felt beneath your hands. But then you shifted, just a tiny adjustment to get more comfortable—and that’s when you felt it.

Oh… shit. You went still. Heat rushed straight to your face as your brain struggled to catch up with what your body already knew. Dean was hard. Very hard.

His fingers flexed again, harder this time, like he knew exactly what you’d just realized. Your pulse hammered in your ears. For a second, you considered pretending you didn’t notice—just staying perfectly still and riding this out. But then Dean shifted beneath you, a quiet, strangled breath slipping out of him and something inside you twisted.

Fuck it.

You moved. Slowly and deliberately you shifted in his lap, rolling your hips just enough to feel the hard press of him against you. Dean’s fingers dug into your waist and his breath hitched, sharp and rough right against your ear. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

You bit your lip, heat pooling low in your stomach.

Everyone else in the room was still talking, still laughing—completely oblivious to the way Dean’s fingers were now gripping your waist like a lifeline, or the way your thighs clenched tighter.

And then you did it again, slow, teasing, shifting just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth.

His mouth dropped to your ear, his voice a low, strained whisper that shot straight down your spine “You’re fucking killing me.”

A shiver bolted through your body—sharp and electric, leaving your breath shaky and your heart racing. You didn’t dare look at him. If you turned your head, if you caught even a glimpse of his face, his flushed cheeks, his darkened green eyes, you knew you’d lose whatever thin grip you had on your self-control.

But his breath stayed hot against your ear, and his hands—fuck, his hands—were sliding down to your hips now, gripping you just a little tighter. “You wanna keep playing that game?” His voice was low, almost dangerous. “Because I promise you, sweetheart…” His fingers flexed, teasing at the curve of your hips. “I can play too.”

Your stomach flipped. Oh fuck.

The air between you was thick, almost too thick. You could barely breathe past it, past the heat curling low in your stomach, past the way Dean’s voice sent another sharp, aching shiver down your spine. His hands on your hips were heavy, warm, possessive, like he was seconds from losing whatever thread of control he was clinging to.

And fuck, you wanted that.

You swallowed hard, pulse thrumming in your throat. You should stop. You should...

But instead, you shifted again, just barely. Just enough to feel him twitch beneath you. And Dean exhaled through gritted teeth, his fingers tightening against your hips as his head dropped forward, forehead brushing your shoulder.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N,” he rasped.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. The way he said your name, low and wrecked made something hot coil tighter in your stomach. You were still frozen in place, thighs clenched, caught in the unbearable tension pulling both of you closer.

Then his fingers flexed, and his thumbs traced slow, firm circles against your hips. A barely-there touch, but it sent a bolt of heat straight through you.

Fuck. Fuck. Your breath stuttered.

And Dean—the asshole, he noticed. Because suddenly, his lips were right there, brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, dark whisper.“Tell me to stop.”

Your stomach flipped.

The teasing tone from earlier was gone. Now, he just sounded wrecked. If you told him to stop, he would. But you didn’t want him to and fuck, he knew it.

You turned your head, just barely, finally meeting his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, his jaw tight, his breath uneven.

Say something, your brain screamed. Say literally anything. But before you could, someone shouted—

“Alright, next dare!”

The world rushed back in all at once. Dean tensed beneath you, eyes snapping toward the others. Your head whipped around just in time to see Jess grinning, pointing at some poor guy across the circle.

The spell shattered but Dean’s hands were still on your hips and the heat curling between your legs? Still there.

Your throat felt dry as you tried to regulate your breathing, as you tried to not focus on the fact that Dean Winchester had just whispered in your ear like he was about to ruin you right in front of everyone.

And as the game dragged on, voices rising and falling, bursts of laughter breaking through the low thrum of music, it all felt distant, muffled like you were underwater. None of it mattered. Not when you were still perched in Dean’s lap, still feeling the weight of his hands resting heavy on your hips.

You knew you should move. You should get up, put some space between you, cool down before you did something reckless. But every time you shifted even a little, you could feel him, hard and pressed against your thigh and you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

At one point, you dared to steal a glance at him, only to find him already watching you. His eyes were darker than usual, pupils blown wide, and when your gaze met his, he looked away fast. But not before you caught it, that barely restrained tension, the kind that felt like a live wire stretched too tight.

Yeah, you weren’t the only one losing control.

“Alright, I think that’s it for me,” Jess announced with an exaggerated yawn. She stretched her arms over her head, clearly playing up the exhaustion. “I’m heading to home before this gets even messier.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, I think we’ve done enough damage for one night.”

Sam and Jess stood, gathering their jackets and drinks, muttering half-hearted goodnights to others. The noise dipped just enough for you to hear Dean let out a slow, steady breath, like he’d been holding it in all night.

You moved to stand, but Dean’s fingers flexed against your waist again, not quite holding you there, but not exactly letting you go either.

When you finally pushed yourself to your feet, your legs wobbled. The warmth of the alcohol was settling heavy in your limbs now, leaving you unsteady.

“You good?” Jess asked as she appeared at your side.

“Yeah,” you lied. “Just… need some water or something.”

Jess’s gaze flicked to Dean — still sprawled on the ground, his head tilted back, fingers gripping his knees like he was barely keeping himself together.

“You sure that’s all you need?” she asked, her voice dipped knowingly.

Heat prickled up your neck. “I’m fine,” you said too quickly. But you weren’t. The tension was still coiled tight inside you, winding hot and restless beneath your skin. You could still feel Dean’s touch like he’d burned it into you. And no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, it wouldn’t let go.

“Alright,” Jess said slowly, clearly unconvinced. “I'll see you tomorrow, love you.”

"Love you too." You gave her a smile and turned toward the kitchen, desperate for space, for something cold. But you didn’t get far because a warm hand curled around your wrist.

“C’mere.” Dean’s voice was low and rough.

Before you could respond, he stood towering over you, his fingers firm but careful as he tugged you away from the lingering party noise.

“Dean,” you muttered, voice tight. “What are you—”

But he didn’t answer. He just kept walking, guiding you down the dim hallway, past the closed doors and dark corners until his hand reached for a doorknob.

The bathroom. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the sounds of music and voices.

“Dean,” you started again, your back barely pressed to the door before his hands grabbed your waist, fingers digging in, and he pushed you back against the door — not hard, not rough, but enough to steal your breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean muttered, dropping his forehead against yours. His breath was warm, whiskey-sweet, ghosting over your lips. “I can’t— I can’t fucking think right now.” His thumbs swept under the hem of your shirt, dragging slow, burning circles against your skin. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling too fast, like he was barely keeping himself from snapping.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he rasped. “And if you keep looking at me like that…” He swallowed hard, his mouth brushing yours as he spoke. “I’m not gonna be able to stop myself.”

Your heart pounded so hard it shook your ribs.You didn't think. You only grabbed his shirt, fisting the fabric tight and yanked him in.

The kiss hit like a spark hot and fast and desperate. His mouth crashed against yours, teeth scraping, tongues tangling. His hands slid higher beneath your shirt, fingers splaying wide against your bare skin.

You gasped into his mouth as his hands roamed upward tracing the curve of your waist, your ribs and Dean groaned, low and wrecked, like you were killing him all over again. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered against your lips, voice gravelly and broken.

“Good,” you whispered back.

His mouth dragged lower, down your jaw, your neck, his stubble scraping your skin, leaving a hot, tingling path in its wake.

“Dean,” you breathed, voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah?” His lips were at your collarbone now, hot and wet and lingering.

“Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” His lips crashed back into yours with a hunger that sent your head spinning. His hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, fingers digging in like he couldn’t get enough. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like this was something he’d been holding back for far too long and now that he’d started, there was no way in hell he could stop. Dean's thigh slid between yours, and you gasped into his mouth at the pressure.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, his lips trailing down your neck again, his stubble dragging rough and perfect against your skin. He nipped at your pulse point, just enough to make you gasp again, before soothing the spot with his tongue.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked. His mouth brushed against your collarbone, hot and lingering. “No fucking clue what you do to me.”

“I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you teased, but your voice broke when his teeth grazed your skin.

“Yeah?” His breath fanned over the damp spot on your neck before his mouth found yours again — deeper this time, slower, like he wanted to savor it. His hands trailed down your sides, warm palms sliding under your shirt, fingers flexing against your ribs. His thumbs brushed just beneath your bra, teasing, testing.

“Dean,” you gasped against his mouth, arching into his touch.

He groaned, deep and rough, like he was barely holding himself together and grabbed your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist. The shift pressed you even harder against him, and you felt him, solid and straining beneath his jeans.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your lips. “You’re fucking killing me.”

His hips rolled, slow, deliberate, grinding into you just enough to leave you breathless. You gasped, your fingers curling tighter in his shirt, and you couldn’t help it as you rocked your hips against him, just a little, just enough to pull a ragged groan from his throat.

“Don’t,” Dean warned, his voice dark and rough. His forehead dropped to yours, his breathing uneven. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

But you wanted to finish it. You’d wanted this for so long — every stolen glance, every almost-touch building and building until it felt like you were going to burst. So you did it again, rolling your hips against his, slower this time, teasing him the way he’d been teasing you all night.

And Dean swore under his breath, fingers digging hard into your thigh. “You’re playing with fire,” he growled, but his voice was strained, almost desperate.

“Maybe I wanna get burned,” you shot back, dragging your teeth along his bottom lip.

That was it, that was what broke him. Dean grabbed your other thigh and lifted you fully off the floor, pinning you against the door like you weighed nothing. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist, and his mouth crashed into yours again, harder--hungrier. His hips rolled into you, slow but relentless, and you swore you saw stars.

“You like that?” he muttered, his lips barely leaving yours.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, I do.”

His teeth grazed your jaw as he moved to your ear. “Good,” he rasped. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Dean’s mouth crashed back onto yours, his kiss hot and desperate like he couldn’t get close enough, like he needed you more than his next breath. His fingers dug into your thighs as he held you against the door, his body pressing firm and solid between your legs. Every slow, deliberate roll of his hips had you biting back a gasp, heat curling low in your stomach.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered against your lips, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “You’ve been driving me insane all goddamn night.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, your voice breathless. Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low groan from his throat. “You’re lucky I didn’t lose it the second I saw you in that shirt.”

Dean chuckled, low and rough, nipping at your bottom lip. “Yeah?” His voice dipped, gravelly and dark. “You like this shirt?”

“I like what’s under it,” you corrected, sliding your hands down his chest, tracing the firm lines of muscle beneath the fabric. Dean groaned again, the sound low and wrecked, and suddenly you were being lifted higher. Your back hit the door harder this time, and Dean’s mouth was on your throat, hot, open-mouthed kisses dragging down your skin like he wanted to leave a mark.

“Dean…” you gasped, arching into him. His name left your lips like a plea, like a prayer. Your head tipped back against the door as his mouth dragged lower, his stubble burning deliciously against your skin. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher, his fingers pressing into the bare skin of your hips.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your collarbone. “This little skirt — you know what you were doing when you put this on, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” you teased, your breath hitching when his fingers flexed again.

Dean let out a low laugh, dark and rough, before his mouth claimed yours once more. His kiss was hot and heady, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that left you lightheaded. His fingers dug deeper into your hips, rocking you against him, and heat bloomed low in your stomach, spreading like wildfire. “Shit,” Dean groaned. “You feel so fucking good.” His hips rolled again, harder this time, and you couldn’t hold back the soft moan that slipped from your lips.

“Yeah?” he muttered, his mouth brushing your ear now. “That good, sweetheart?” His voice was low and smug, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you, like he knew you were just as wrecked as he was.

“Shut up,” you shot back, but your voice broke on the words when he did it again, another slow, hard grind that had you clenching your thighs tighter around him.

“Make me,” Dean growled, his teeth catching your earlobe. Your head tipped back against the door, your breath coming fast and shallow. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but Dean — his hands, his mouth, the way he felt against you. The party outside had faded into nothing, the distant sound of voices and music nothing more than a dull hum.

Dean’s body was still pressed flush against yours, his hands gripping your thighs like he couldn’t bear to let go. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard, like you’d just run halfway across town.

Then, without warning, Dean’s hands flexed, his grip tightening as he adjusted his hold on you “C’mere,” he muttered, voice rough and strained.

Before you could react, he pushed off the door, lifting you with him like you weighed nothing. Your arms tightened around his neck as he carried you across the room.

The cool marble of the bathroom counter kissed the backs of your thighs as Dean set you down, his body still caging you in. His hands slid from your legs to your waist, fingers flexing like he couldn’t stop touching you. His gaze dragged over you, his eyes flicking down to where your skirt had ridden up your thighs, the hem dangerously high now.

“That fucking skirt,” Dean muttered, almost to himself.

You blinked at him, still trying to catch your breath. “What about it?”

Dean huffed a dark, breathless laugh. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, skimming featherlight along your skin, just enough to make you shiver.

“You know what about it,” he rasped. “I’ve been losing my goddamn mind since the second I saw you in this thing.” His thumb dragged higher, tracing a lazy circle on your inner thigh. “Spent all night trying to pretend I wasn’t staring.” His mouth tilted into a smirk, dark and lazy, as his hand drifted higher.

“Figured if I kept my distance, I wouldn’t end up…” He trailed off, eyes flicking up to yours. “Wouldn’t end up like this.”

Your breath caught. “And now?”

Dean grinned, slow and wicked. “Now?” His fingers slid higher, knuckles grazing the softest part of your thigh. “Now I’m not pretending anymore.”

He dipped his head, and his lips pressed to your skin warm, soft kisses that started just above your knee. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers twitching against his shoulders.

“Dean…” His name left you on a breathless exhale, but he didn’t stop. His lips moved higher, brushing featherlight over your skin. His stubble scraped just enough to make you squirm, your thighs instinctively starting to shift closer together.

Dean’s hand shot out, fingers curling around your thigh to hold you open. “Ah-ah,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “I’ve been thinking about this all night…” His lips ghosted higher, just barely brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “…You’re not getting out of it now.”

You let out an involuntary gasp as his open mouth kisses started to trail lower and lower down your soft thighs. You should’ve known better. The second your gaze dipped down to him, Dean’s eyes snapped to yours like a damn magnet, locking you in place. He didn’t just look at you while he presses kisses closer and closer to your heat-- he held you there, like he knew exactly what was running through your mind and wasn’t about to let you escape it.

And when his knees hit the cold tile beneath him, Dean didn’t break eye contact-- not right away. He held your gaze, his eyes dark and heavy, like he was drinking in every shaky breath, every tremor rolling through you. His fingers flexed against your thighs, strong and sure, as if he was grounding himself or maybe holding himself back.

Then, slowly his eyes dragged downward, tracing the curve of your body until his gaze landed between your legs. His breath hitched, chest rising and falling a little faster, and when his tongue flicked out to wet his lips, your stomach twisted into a knot so tight you thought you might snap.

You were exposed, open and vulnerable but the way Dean looked at you? Like you were something he was about to devour? It set your skin on fire.

“Baby,” he rasped, his voice low and rough. The word left his lips in a breathless exhale, thick with want. His hands slid around your hips, fingers curling into your skin like he couldn’t bear not to touch you. His thumbs found the hem of your skirt, teasing along the edge, slow, torturous drags that left goosebumps in their wake. He traced lazy circles there, fingertips brushing just beneath the fabric.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” His voice dropped even lower, the words barely more than a growl, like he was fighting to keep himself in check and was losing.

The sight of your wet cunt, soaking your red lace panties almost sent him over the edge right then and there. "So wet f'me already." A low, guttural groan rumbled from Dean’s chest as his hands slid up your thighs slowly, his calloused fingers dragging over your skin like he was memorizing every inch.

His touch lingered, teasing, before his fingers finally curled around the delicate lace at your hips. With one firm tug, he dragged your panties down your legs, his knuckles grazing your skin the entire way down.

"Dean, I-" you didn't even get to beg him for it because Dean already planted his mouth onto your pussy. A loan moan ripped through your throat as Dean started to swirl his tounge, hitting every spot that made you squirm above him. Large and warm hands quickly pressed down on your thighs to hold you in place as Dean groans at the taste of you. "S'even better than I imagined."

His piercing green eyes, dark and filled with lust locked back onto yours for a second, watching you writhe as his tounge circling around your clit. You panted and started to whimper Dean's name, feeling that coil within your stomach tighten.

The feeling of Dean's stubble against your heat, along with the wonders he's doing to you quickly sends you over the edge. You thread your fingers through Dean's hair, pulling him closer to you as he rides you through your high. Nothing but your moans and wet slurping noises fill the air as you cum so hard your vision goes blurry. His name slips past your lips like a prayer, repeating over and over again as your body starts to shake.

But Dean isn't nowhere near done with you because as soon as your hearing comes back he growls "Not done" and pushes your thighs back open, wider for him and continues to swirl his tounge around your clit and suck.

"Dean-- oh my god." You barely manage to let the words to fall from your lips as whimpers and moans escape from your throat.

"Taste so fuckin' good sweetheart." Dean breathes between licks before inserting two fingers into your slick folds. The sensation makes your eyes roll into the back of your head as Dean's mouth and fingers work together, ultimately sending you into another world. Dean's name falls from your lips over and over again as he works you through it, ignoring your pleas.

"Dean--S'too much." You squirm above him, "Fuck"

Dean doesn't answer, only continuing to work you through your earth shattering orgasm. Blood rushes to your ears, a rare sensation you've never felt before. And before you know it--your body trembles, shaking violently as you did something you've never done before. You were squirting. And Dean lets out something between a groan and a moan at you coming undone for him. The pleasure surging through your body was something you'd never felt before, completely different from other orgasms.

"God you're so hot." Dean finally spoke as he broke away from your cunt and almost came at the sight of you so wrecked. "C'mere." He barely gave you enough time before gripping your waist and tugging you off the counter. Your legs wobbled underneath you as you tried to gain control of your breathing again.

"You're gonna watch me fuck you." Dean growled before pushing your lower back so you bent a little. A sharp gasp escaped your throat as Dean kicked one of your feet, spreading your legs. "The skirt stays on." Dean said before fumbling with his belt.

Your mind reeled, you felt absolutely weightless as the buzz from the alcohol, earth shattering orgasms, and just the thought of Dean's cock inside of you danced around your mind. The quiet clink of Dean’s belt unfastening filled the air behind you, the sound sharp and deliberate. Your breath hitched, and instinctively, your eyes flicked up to the mirror in front of you.

You couldn't believe this was finally happening.

The feeling of Dean's tip against your folds quickly pulled you out of your throughts as your eyes met his darkened green. His gaze was almost predatory as he began teasing you, loving the way you bit your lip to keep from crying out.

"Tell me you want this baby, let me hear your pretty little voice."

"Want this..." you barely managed to get out, "quit teasing me, De."

And that was all it took for Dean to slip his cock inside of your insanely wet cunt. You didn't even get a chance to catch your breath before he started moving, snapping his hips. You moaned as your nails dug into the counter and his name slipped from your lips.

“So fucking perfect, so fucking mine,” Dean groans, his hips rocking into you without ceasing. His breathing becomes just as ragged as yours as he slams in and out of you. Moans and the sound of skin slapping fills the thick air around you as your head goes limp, not being able to keep it up from the insane pleasures wracking through your body.

Dean's hand quickly grabs onto your hair and tugs, causing your head to snap back and your eyes to go wide. "Want you looking at what I'm doing to you baby." Dean grunts in between his hips snapping, "watch me fuck you till you see stars."

You moan loudly as your eyes lock onto Dean's in the mirror. The way his mouth is slightly agape and the way his eyebrows are creased as he fucks you from behind. All of it mixed with the pleasure builds rapidly, the coil in your tummy tightening as you clench around him.

"Dean I can't take it anymore--" you whine, "I'm gonna--"

"This pussy was made f'me." Dean growls, "Cum for me sweetheart."

Your vision quickly blurs and your eyes roll back into your skull as you moan, not caring that someone might hear from the other side of the door. The only thing that matters right now is Deann pounding into you, riding you through your third orgasm.

Just the sight of you coming unglued for the third time sends Dean over the edge. His hips snapping and rolling sloppily as he paints your walls white. He groans as he cums and lets his sweaty forehead fall onto your shoulder.

Your breathing gradually steadied, each inhale a little less shaky than the last. With effort, you dragged your gaze back to the mirror in front of you. Your body still trembled, the aftermath of everything that had just unfolded leaving your limbs weak and your skin flushed. A warm blush crept up your cheeks as Dean slowly lifted his head, his eyes finding yours in the reflection.

His gaze changed. Before, his eyes were dark and intense, burning with pure, unfiltered want. But now? Now there was something else in them, something softer, deeper. His eyes were heavy-lidded, almost dazed, like he couldn’t pull himself out of whatever spell you’d put him under.

And yeah, you knew he wasn’t drunk, but the way he was looking at you? Like you were the only thing in the room that mattered? It was enough to make your breath catch. It wasn’t just lust anymore, it was something more, something raw and real and terrifying.

It was the way someone looks at you when they’re completely fucking gone for you-- when they’re in love and can’t hide it even if they wanted to.

“I love you.” Dean’s voice was low, rough like the words had been clawing at his throat, desperate to get out. Your breath hitched, heart stuttering in your chest. For a second, you thought maybe you’d imagined it, maybe the haze of everything that had just happened was messing with your head. But then he moved.

Dean slowly slid out of you, his hands still firm on your waist. You barely had time to catch your breath before he gripped your hips and turned you around to face him.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.” His eyes locked on yours with no hesitation, no doubt, just raw, honest truth. His face was still flushed, hair a mess, lips pink and kiss-swollen, but none of that mattered.

Because his gaze… fuck, his gaze had you pinned in place.

Like he’d just laid his heart out in front of you and was waiting to see if you’d crush it.

“I mean it,” he added, voice quieter now, like the words were something fragile. “I’ve been in love with you for… God, I don’t even know how long.”

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt. “Dean…” you started, but your voice came out shaky, breathless.

“I know,” he cut in softly, like he was sure you were about to turn him down. “I know this is probably—”

“Shut up.” You didn’t let him finish, you just grabbed his face and kissed him, hard. His sharp inhale turned into a low groan against your mouth, his hands sliding back to your waist like he couldn’t stand to let you go.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips. “I’ve always loved you.”

Dean let out this soft, broken laugh, one that shook a little, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Yeah?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yeah,” you breathed, smiling against his mouth.

And then he kissed you again, deeper this time, like he was pouring every ounce of love and want and relief into it. His fingers dug into your waist, holding you close like he was terrified you might slip away.

“You’re mine now,” Dean murmured against your lips, voice low and sure. “And I’m never letting you go.”

author’s note:

yeahhh, that was pure filth…hope you guys enjoyed! wrote this in public bc I’m a freak like that, LMFAOOO. lmk if you want more smut! :)

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

also, special thank you to @bejeweledinterludes for helping me develop this fic! luh you pookie 🫶🏼

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @imsiriuslyreal

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[pretentious-blonde]

discovery

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: both you and steve discover some information that really should have remained buried

warnings: therapy, canon stranger things lore, so violence and death, lowkey blackmail???

a/n: i got a distinction on my essay so gets go!! here we are into the story's real drama, where i wanted this to go from the start so sorry if it's a little shorter, but it's only the beginning.

series masterlist

Steve quickly slammed his car door behind him, his nikes hitting the tarmac floor. He was five minutes late and knew his therapist wouldn’t really chastise him—still, the knot in his stomach refused to unravel as he rushed toward the entrance.

He blamed you, in the best possible way, for those extra minutes he’d spent tangled in bed. Your pout had always been impossible to resist.

He’d claimed that he had to see Robin for breakfast the following morning, and he was grateful you never questioned the odd shiftiness in his tone. You had to work the next day, making it the perfect excuse. But the second you looked so disappointed that you couldn’t come along, wanting to pick up the conversations from the other night at the bar, he caved and stayed the night. 

Those big, pleading eyes of yours were gonna be the death of him.

That turned into sharing coffee over the covers, lingering kisses that inched from sweet to teasing, and hush-hush morning bliss under rumpled sheets. Next thing he knew, he was barreling across the car park, hair still mussed from where your fingers had combed through it not even an hour prior.

And now here he was—running past the receptionist without so much as a nod, abandoning their usual routine of morning pleasantries.

He pushed open the familiar door with more force than intended, breath hitching from the sudden stop. Dr Avery was already on his feet, adjusting the sleeves of that soft wool cardigan, the kind that looked completely at odds with the decor. Beneath the bright overhead lighting, the doctor’s polite smile glowed.

“Steve,” he greeted, pleasantly unruffled. “Good to see you.”

He bent forward, hands on his knees like he’d just run a sprint.

“Hey—Hi. Sorry I’m—uh—late. I got… tied up.”

He cringed internally the moment he said it, cheeks colouring at the memory of exactly how he’d been tied up—not literally, but definitely preoccupied. He cleared his throat, straightening up in a way that hopefully didn’t look too sheepish.

“No worries,” the doctor assured him, ushering him inside. “Come on in.”

The door clicked shut behind them, the sound sounding in the empty hallway. The room itself was the same as always: soft yellow lamp in the corner, plush chair facing Dr Avery’s own seat. A bookshelf lined one wall, books stacked neatly with spines that looked barely touched, and not a single family photo anywhere. 

He always found that strange—like it was a stage set rather than a personal space.

He collapsed into the chair, sinking deeper than expected, exhaling a bit too loudly. In the reprieve, he could hear the dull hum of the building’s ventilation.

“Feels like it’s been longer than a month,” he remarked to break the silence, raking a hand through his messy hair. He had made a mental note to smooth it down in the car ride over—though it was probably too late for that.

“That tends to happen when things are changing,” Dr Avery responded smoothly. 

They both knew the significance of the last few sessions. Steve had been talking about you—gushing, would be the more accurate term—and the doctor seemed more than happy to help him navigate this new chapter.

“Yeah, they are—changing, I mean,” his voice trailed off. He felt a small smile growing on his face at the idea of talking about you—like he hasn't done enough of that already. 

“Tell me,” the psychiatrist pressed gently.

He let out a short laugh, rubbing his palms on his thighs. He felt fidgety, like a teenager about to confess a crush. Maybe because that’s exactly what this was—he was still completely infatuated with you. The emotions he felt at the start were almost identical. 

In fact, he would bet now they were even stronger. 

“It’s official now,” he started. “Like, we’re together. We had that talk.”

He tried not to let his mind stray to how that conversation had truly started—hot breath on his neck, you on your knees, the laugh you’d made when he blushed deeper than you’d ever seen. Absolutely not something he needed to share right now. 

Some details were private, no matter how relevant the story may be. 

“That’s great to hear.” Dr Avery’s eyebrows rose fractionally, a small, pleased smile touching his face. “You’ve been hoping for that, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted, his grin turning almost bashful. “I mean—I didn’t expect it to actually work out, but… here we are.”

Here he was. 

His heart thumped harder, excitement and nerves all tangled into one bigger emotion. He laughed awkwardly, brushing at his hair again—a gesture Dr Avery probably recognised as his default anxious habit.

“She’s just… she’s so good,” he went on, losing himself in the new memories. “Like—I just like being around her, which is what it’s supposed to be, right? I dunno. Probably start making her sick of me soon.”

He was practically glued to your hip these days.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Dr Avery said, always encouraging.

“Yeah.” He ducked his head, trying and failing to hide the ghost of a smile. “Hope you’re right on that one.”

The two men paused, letting that optimism breathe. Then Dr Avery clicked his pen, the soft snick loud in the stillness.

“So… how’s the actual relationship going so far?” 

Steve felt his chest tighten as he recalled your shop—cinnamon and old books—and the sparks that flew every time you looked at him. How you still were looking at him. 

“Also good,” he said, automatically grinning. “It’s still early days, but… I introduced her to Rob, which was kind of a big deal.”

He also decided to leave out the rest of the details from that night—once again, that part was just for him. Besides, he didn’t even want to imagine the doctor’s reaction to the way he’d acted. Probably would’ve been thrilled. 

That was some real fucking progress.

“I’m also trying to get better at—y’know—explaining how I’m feeling. I still suck at that sometimes.”

“What makes you say that?” Dr Avery tilted his head, pen hovering over the notebook but not yet touching paper. 

“I mean—it’s not like I’m not trying, which I think she gets.” He takes a moment to figure out the correct way to phrase it. “She’s been really… patient. Wants me to open up more—and, like—I’m getting there? Well, at least I think I’m getting there.”

He felt a flicker of pride in himself. He really was making progress—less flighty, more honest about his struggles, more willing to trust someone with the darker parts. Hell, he was actually sleeping through the night now.

Still had nightmares—sure—but he hadn't felt one coming on in a while. Not one that had him half-cognisant, clutching at whatever was closest to him, not one that made him terrified to open his eyes.

That was when the pen finally met paper. The faint scratch of it felt louder than it should.

“That’s promising, Steve. Really promising.” The elderly man nodded, not looking up from his notes. “So tell me, what else have you two talked about?”

Steve blinked, rummaging mentally through the many conversations you’d shared—movie nights, your favorite authors, those silly debates over what to have for dinner.

“Uh… just stuff. Life stuff. Movies. Books—obviously. I try to keep up, but she’s pretty damn smart—feels like I learn something new every time she opens her mouth.”

The positives of dating a bookworm.

“Anything deeper?” Dr Avery pressed, that same mild tone in place.

Steve felt a sudden unease at the question. 

“I mean—not really.” Self-consciousness twisted in his stomach. “Not like… real real talk. She knows I don’t like to get into it. She’s cool about that.”

For the most part. 

He could practically see Dr Avery’s ears perk. The man never pounced, he just… waited. The pen still hovered. The blank page, waiting to be filled. His throat felt dry.

“Uh…” he continued, shifting in his seat, the silence drawing the words out of him. “I told her a little bit. About my old job, at the mall…”

“Starcourt,” the man clarified, writing something down.

“Yeah. Just that it, you know… burned down.”

“And what else did you share?”

A prickle of defensiveness rose along his spine. The memory of it all—Starcourt, Russians, the Mind Flayer—flashed through his head, but of course he’d never told you the real story.

“That’s it,” he said firmly, crossing his arms slowly. “Just that it happened. She doesn’t know the weird parts.”

He also neglected to mention you’d teased him about the sailor uniform he used to wear, but that was hardly the point. He definitely hadn’t told you about vent-crawling with Dustin and Erica, about the secret lab beneath the food court. 

Those secrets he’d rather bury if he had to.

“Alright.” The pen kept scratching. 

His gaze lingered on the ballpoint gliding across the paper. He felt a creep of discomfort—the same sensation as finding out you were being watched through a camera lens.

“What are you writing?” he asked, voice tighter than he’d intended.

“Just keeping track of progress,” Dr Avery answered lightly, not looking up. “It’s a good sign that you’re opening up.”

“…Yeah, but it feels like I’m being graded or something.”

The man paused, lifted his eyes. He kept that soft, almost paternal smile. 

“I assure you, Steve, there’s no grade. Just documentation.”

Documentation. 

The air felt heavier at the word, a thump of anxiety in Steve’s stomach. He shifted again, foot tapping on the waxy floor.

“You don’t usually write stuff down,” he insisted, voice nearly catching. 

Not like this. 

“This is a new development,” he explained, placid calm in every syllable. “A relationship is a significant emotional step.”

There was no warmth in his voice, no congratulatory tone—just an observation that felt clinical. His palms started to sweat and he curled his hands into fists, pressing them into his knees.

This was strange. 

“She doesn’t know anything,” he said, jaw clenching. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t put her in danger.”

Dr Avery blinked, pen tapping quietly against the pad. 

“Danger?” He repeated, mild as a summer breeze. “Who said anything about danger?”

Steve’s mouth went dry.

“You’re right, of course,” Dr Avery continued, setting the pad aside. “But you see why it’s something we have to monitor. These things, they could have consequences.”

“What do you mean?” he managed, voice rasping.

Dr Avery finally met his eyes, no trace of the earlier, kinder smile. 

“Relationships end. Sometimes amicably. Sometimes not.”

A sharp sensation punched through Steve’s chest. He thought of you, how you were the last person on earth to betray him. His therapist wasn’t entirely wrong about people—he had lost friends and lovers in messy, painful ways before. Though that was years ago, and surely something this big wouldn’t be twisted into a form of vengeance. 

That would be downright cruel.

“You think she’d talk?” he asked, though he already knew the answer in his heart. 

You wouldn’t. You weren’t like that. 

But fear is a nasty thing, and it bloomed in him anyway.

“I think people say things they don’t mean when they’re hurt,” Dr Avery said, leaning back. “And if someone were to repeat details about certain… incidents, we’d have to intervene.”

That word—intervene—landed in his chest like a weight. Vague, but heavy as lead. He clenched his hands tighter, nails biting into his palms.

“I didn’t tell her anything,” he repeated, half to reassure himself. “Not really. Just that there was a fire.”

“Good,” Dr Avery replied calmly. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Silence stretched, thick and charged. Steve could feel his pulse throbbing in his ears. The golden light in the corner lamp seemed too harsh all of a sudden.

“You’ve come a long way,” the doctor added, posture relaxing—almost like he was switching back to his normal, friendly mode of business. “You’re building something here. Stability. A job you care about. A life.”

Steve’s throat constricted. He thought about the second graders who always drew him stick-figure pictures with hearts around them. He thought about the paycheck he needed to keep up his home. He thought about how nice it felt to have you in that space now, in his bed, in his arms.

“I’d hate to see you lose that progress,” Dr Avery said lightly. Almost as if he were discussing the weather.

It took him a moment to register the subtext.

Lose that progress. 

Lose that job. 

Is this a threat?

A chill went up his spine, memories of government men in uniforms from years ago stirring in the back of his mind.

“Yeah.” He swallowed, forcing a tight nod. “No—of course.”

He didn’t stand up. He stayed planted in his seat, but it felt like the floor was tilting beneath him. He dropped his attention to his jeans and started picking at a loose thread, anything to occupy his trembling fingers. 

He knew the session wasn’t over. He couldn’t exactly bolt. He was too polite, and he had to keep going. 

This was supposed to help him. He’d made so much progress. He needed the psychiatrist to sign off on it.

“So,” the older man said with an air of near nonchalance, “is there anything you want to work on with this session?”

He blinked, staring at the pen still perched in the desk. He felt like a turtle retreating into its shell. Something in him just… closed off. Suddenly reluctant to let anybody into his head. 

Outwardly, he only gave a stiff shrug, forcing his knee to stop bouncing. The tension hung in the air, so heavy it nearly choked him, but he managed to keep his face carefully composed. Even if his insides were twisting in knots, he’d learned over time how to mask it—how to fight through the fear.

He cleared his throat, voice coming out quieter than before.

“I—uh… yeah, I guess we could… talk about my… coping strategies.”

As he said it, the spark in his eyes had dimmed, the floodgates of honesty closed a fraction. Right now, the only thing he could focus on was that single, ominous word echoing in his mind.

Intervene.

You push open the heavy wooden doors of the Hawkins Public Library, letting a small gust of morning wind in behind you.

Your scarf feels a little too warm in the heated interior, so you tug it loose as you take a few steps forward. You clutch the strap of your tote, you’d told yourself you’d come just for research, but it’s not exactly your standard brand of casual reading. 

No, you’re here for answers.

Tunnels, national labs, and the unsettling stack of government letters you found tucked away in Steve’s hallway table. Maybe you’re prying, but you can’t let it go. He’s been so cagey, and you care about him too much to ignore the little hints.

Archives first. Some old newspapers, maybe some town records from the 80s, see if there’s anything about that fire at Starcourt Mall. That would be the starting point. 

You mentally rehearse your polite request, even It still sounds weird in your head. You imagine the librarian’s puzzled expression and you debate claiming you’re writing a paper for a local history class. It would make your story more believable than the reality, the one in which you are purposefully going behind your boyfriend's back, digging up his traumatic past in order to settle your own mind…

The more you think about it, the worse it sounds. 

Your steps slow as you notice a flicker of movement in your peripheral vision. Someone stands between two towering shelves in the fiction section. At first, you can’t make out their face—just a short, choppy bob, flannel tied around the waist, black combat boots squeaking softly on the shiny floor. 

You squint. Then it clicks.

Robin?

You halt, your eyebrows arching in surprise. Robin, who was supposed to be at breakfast in the diner across town. Yet here she is, half-hidden behind the 800 Dewey Decimal section, looking anywhere but at you. She’s clutching a book to her chest like she’s trying not to be seen.

Suspicion runs through you, but you brush it aside. This might be nothing. Maybe they had breakfast before, and now she’s just here on her own. Either way, you’re intrigued enough to veer away from the front desk and head in her direction.

The silence of the library only amplifies your footsteps, and you try to be gentle. You don’t want to startle her—but it's too late. She’s already glancing up and sees you approaching. There’s a flash of panic in her eyes as if she’s been caught in the act of something scandalous.

“Hi, stranger,” you say softly, letting a little amused lilt into your voice.

“Oh—hey!” She fails to act surprised, leaning on the shelf feigning nonchalance. “Sorry. You scared me.”

You doubt it. 

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” you say, a friendly smile tugging at your lips. You feel a pang of sympathy for spooking her—she seems wound tight, as though she’s mid-espionage.

She exhales and recovers, offering a slightly awkward hug. You catch the faint scent of peppermint gum and laundry soap clinging to her form. It's oddly comforting.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, pulling away and brushing the hem of her shirt as though trying to smooth her nerves too.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Your tone remains playful. 

You don’t want her to suspect you know about the alleged breakfast meeting with Steve—not yet. Nor your true reasoning for your outing when you're supposed to be at work yourself. 

“Oh, just… browsing,” she says quickly, glancing at the row of books as though they might offer backup for her story. “For books. Y’know—in the library.”

Hmm.

“You do know I sell books for a living, right?”

She flushes, a wash of pink creeping up her neck. 

“Yeah—yeah, I do—sorry.” She clears her throat. “Traitorous impulse.”

“Unforgivable,” you tease, rolling your eyes in mock indignation. 

She laughs, the tension in her posture easing a fraction. But then, almost on reflex, she shifts the book in her hand to her side, like she’s trying to hide the title from view. You notice immediately—part of your job is noticing what titles people pick up or avoid.

“What you got there?” you ask, nodding at the paperback pressed against her thigh.

“What—this? Nothing, really.” Her voice is quick, a little defensive. “Just looking.”

You tilt your head, taking a small step to see the cover. It’s a stylised image with a bold title you recognise. 

“Is that Written on the Body?”

He eyes flick from you to the book. She hesitates, clearly torn between doubling down on her lie or coming clean. 

“...It is.”

Interesting. 

“Jeanette Winterson, right?” You smile, careful to keep your tone nonjudgmental. “That one’s… intense.”

She studies your face, as if checking for any sign of disapproval. 

“You’ve… read it?” She ventures.

“A couple years ago,” you say with a slight shrug. “Borrowed it from a girl I was trying to impress.”

You hope she is catching on to the insinuation. Her guarded posture softens marginally. Eyes sparking with interest, maybe a little relief. 

“Did it work?”

“Nope,” you reply, a wry grin curving your lips. “But I kept the book.”

Her laughter comes easier this time, a huff of amusement that leaves her shoulders looking looser. 

“Steve didn’t tell you?” she asks, the question surprisingly gentle.

“Tell me what?” You tilt your head, though you have a vague idea. 

Robin shifts her weight from foot to foot, hugging the paperback closer to her chest. Her voice drops a notch, tinged with vulnerability. 

“That me and Vic… we… y’know.” She swallows, waiting for your reaction.

You’d had your suspicions—maybe even put two and two together when you noticed how often Robin’s name was tied to this mysterious Vicky in Steve’s stories. So you’re not exactly shocked. More like pleased you were right, and also that she trusts you enough to say it out loud.

“No.” You give her a warm smile. “Guess he figured you’d tell me yourself.”

Her relief is palpable, like someone unclenching a fist around her throat. 

“I do trust him. It’s just—” She glances away, exhaling. “He has this thing where he blurts stuff out and then immediately regrets it.” There’s a real fondness in her tone, but also exasperation. “He’s great for the most part—don’t get me wrong—but I’ve learned half of the town’s gossip from what he lets slip after parent-teacher night.”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. You picture Steve in a little second-grade classroom, animatedly chatting with parents. You can just hear him reciting what their kid had been up to in his company. All big gestures and wide smiles, maybe an occasional detail about other students because he’s that excited to share. 

There’s something endearing in that mental image—Steve with a heart so big it can’t contain all the stories.

You feel guilty for being here in the first place.

“I can so see that,” you say, shrugging off your apprehension. “Does he also keep you up to date on the politics of second grade?”

“Ugh, yes.” She groans good-naturedly. “Who knew eight-year-olds could be such a soap opera? It’s like a never-ending stream of who’s got a crush on who, who fell off the monkey bars and demanded a duel… It’s concerning.”

You chuckle at the idea. It’s a perfect fit for him, actually. Caring for a bunch of hyper little ones, returning home with comedic tales of playground drama. You can practically feel your chest tightening at how well he’s found his calling. 

Peace after a life of trauma. 

Peace that you’re threatening to disrupt.

“Thanks for telling me, though,” you say, gently drawing the conversation back to the reason she’s been acting so secretive in the first place. “Next time, if you want any more queer fiction, you know where to go. Friends and family discount applies.”

Robin brightens, her grip on the book relaxing a little. 

“I might take you up on that,” she says. “I’ve been trying to be… less cagey. It’s easier with people who don’t make it weird.”

You can only imagine what that’s like.

“I’m not going to make it weird,” you promise.

“No, I know.” She nods, glancing at the cover like it’s become a security blanket. “I just—sometimes I still brace for it. Old habits.”

A sympathetic understanding settles over you. You reach out and give her forearm a gentle squeeze. 

“Makes sense.”

She shrugs, but there’s no dismissiveness in it—just acceptance that this is part of her journey.

“For what it’s worth, I think you have great taste in books…” You glance up at her, gauging her reaction. “...And friends.”

Your eyes lock. She knows you’re referencing both Steve and maybe yourself. 

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “You too.”

You let her words settle, you feel safe with the validation she’s offering. She’s someone you always sensed was a fiercely loyal friend. She’s been a rock for Steve—maybe she’ll be one for you, too. If the need arises. 

You could see yourself growing to care for her the way your boyfriend does, and with that comes a deeper respect for him too. For her to entrust him with something so personal, she must think extremely highly of him.

A thought nudges at you. The reason you first approached, the clearly false breakfast date. You decide to test the waters, keep it casual in your questioning.

“So… any other plans for the rest of the day?” Your tone is light, only the faintest undercurrent of curiosity so as to not give away your true motive for asking.

She pauses, then lifts the book slightly, as if that explains everything. 

“Nope. Just me and my… well, my lesbian trauma reading.” She flushes faintly, but there’s a playful glint in her eye as she says it.

You both burst into laughter, the sound of which draws a disapproving glance from someone behind the next aisle. You muffle your giggles, pressing your lips together, and she does the same. 

The moment is human—two people letting their guard down. Though this interaction has only left you with more questions. As you calm, you file that little discrepancy away. Robin isn’t meeting Steve. She’s definitely not at any diner right now.

So why would Steve say so?

And if he’s not with Robin…

Where is he actually? 

You watch her leave and force a casual smile as you step up to the librarian’s desk, heart pounding. The woman was in her fifties with neat grey hair and glasses on a chain, she glanced up. Her eyes flick over you, polite but probing.

“Hi,” you say, keeping your voice light. “I was wondering if you have any public records or newspaper archives from the eighties? I’m doing a little personal research on the Starcourt Mall fire. Just local history stuff.”

That sounded believable enough. 

She tilts her head, a hint of wariness in the lines around her mouth. 

“That’s not a very cheerful topic.”

“No, but kind of fascinating, right?” A half-laugh slips out, and you shrug. “My boyfriend mentioned it, and I realised I don’t actually know anything about it. Figured it was a pretty big deal.”

At the mention of the fire, the librarian’s gaze switches—like maybe she remembers that day, or at least remembers the number rumours that once engulfed the town. Her expression softens a fraction. 

“You’re looking for newspapers, or…?”

“Newspapers mostly,” you say, pushing your shoulders back in a show of confidence. “But if there’s anything about building permits or public works around the mall site, that’d be amazing. I’m… kind of a nerd for this stuff.”

She studies you, then gives a short nod. Opening a drawer beneath the counter, she removes a heavy iron key and places it in your outstretched hand. Cool metal presses into your palm, and you realise your fingers are a bit sweaty from the tension rising under your skin.

“Archives are down in the basement,” she says. “Back left corner. Bring the key up when you’re done.”

That was easy. 

Relief edges into your chest. 

“Thank you. Really.”

She just nods, returning her attention to something on her computer screen, as though she’s already dismissed you. You turn away and slip the key into your jacket pocket, hyperaware of its weight. A guilty thrill shoots in your stomach—like you’re about to dig up something you absolutely shouldn’t.

The stairs leading down are narrow and creaky, each step sounding with a groan. The air grows noticeably cooler the farther you descend, the scent of cardboard and dust wraps around you. It reminds you of the back corner of your own bookshop—where neglected boxes sometimes wait for sorting, usually with the help of your boyfriend nowadays…

A row of lights hang overhead with a low electric whine. In the gloomy space, time feels distorted, like the clock upstairs doesn’t quite apply here. The silence is thicker than the quiet you’re used to in libraries, completely devoid of another person's presence. You catch your reflection in a dulled metal panel—your eyes look sharp, and there’s a trace of apprehension there too.

You already feel like you don’t belong here. 

You pass rows of metal filing cabinets, their labels faded at the edges. Oversized newspaper folders line one wall, stacked so tall you’d need a stepladder to reach the top. There’s an ancient-looking microfilm reader in the corner, the plastic shell yellowed with age. 

You set your bag down on a rickety wooden table and carefully pull out one of the large bound volumes:

Hawkins Post — 1985.

Seems like a decent enough place to start. 

The cover is cloth, frayed slightly. It’s heavy, so you ease it open, scanning the dates on the top of each page until you land on July of that year.

A headline you have been searching for leaps out on the front page:

“Gas Leak Causes Deadly Explosion at Starcourt Mall — Four Confirmed Dead.”

Your eyes skim the blocky print. The paper is slightly brittle; you take care not to tear it as you turn the pages.

“A faulty gas line and electrical overload are believed to have triggered the explosion…”

“Authorities are urging citizens to remain calm. There is no long-term danger to public safety…”

“We are working closely with federal partners to determine the exact cause…”

You notice the name Police Chief Calvin Powell quoted beneath a photograph of the rubble. The corners of your mouth tighten. 

Federal partners? 

Since when would a run-of-the-mill mall fire require federal aid? Even as an outsider, that strikes you as odd, it’s too formal.

Orchestrated.

The article feels sanitised—curated words like “gas leak,” “electrical overload,” “containment.” No real emotion from the reporter, no heartfelt quotes from eyewitnesses—just a neat, glossy narrative. It sounds almost robotic. 

You lift the edges of the page and shift them gently, scanning for more details or follow-ups. Another small piece catches your eye. In the same volume, just a few pages later, tucked away in a smaller column of the community news section, you see a brief update. It’s dated five days after the initial report.

“Further Details on Mall Fire Unavailable”

Your pulse quickens as you read.

“At the request of federal authorities, the Hawkins Fire Department has declined to comment further on the incident at Starcourt Mall.”

“Residents are advised not to speculate or spread misinformation while the investigation is ongoing.”

The room around you seems to close in, pressing against your ears. The basement feels darker, though the lights haven’t changed.

Well, that just makes no sense. 

The complete lack of information about a fire that massive is absurd. Wouldn’t their first priority be putting the town at ease? There’s a clear warning not to spread details—a red flag if there ever was one. What could possibly be so out of the ordinary here?

No official story, no explanations. Just silence. 

The whole thing reeks of something being buried.

Fuck, Steve. What are you hiding?

Setting the newspaper volume aside, you hunt for anything labeled “Starcourt” among the older building permits and public records, there had to be something more at play here. Eventually, you come across a thick, dust-streaked folder.

“Starcourt Development / Expansion Plans.” 

You tug it free from the shelf, coughing as a small cloud of dust billows around you.

You find folded-up blueprints. The paper is stiff and smudged with dark grease marks at the corners. A quick scan of the top page shows the mall’s recognisable layout—wide corridors for shops, a large food court, loading docks. 

As you peel back the layers, you spot something more:

“STARCOURT COMPLEX — Site Development Plans, 1984”

Arrows and lines scrawl below the main building. Your mouth goes dry. There’s a sub-level beneath the mall. Narrow corridors designated as “ACCESS ROUTES” and “UTILITY” passages. 

Then, In red ink:

"RESTRICTED: NO DIG ZONE — PERMIT WITHHELD (INTL.)"

The corridor extends off the edge of the blueprint, vanishing into a blank expanse of white. Not just under the food court, either—farther, reaching what looks like the edge of the property line, maybe even toward the woods. There’s no note explaining the restriction, just that cryptic note. 

Permit Withheld (INTL.)

International?

Your stomach twists. The rest of the plans look standard—retail square footage, ventilation routes, plumbing grids—but this corridor is… different. 

No dimensions. No annotations. 

Just a thick red stroke and that vague, bureaucratic warning.

The idea that a foreign entity might’ve had pull in the construction of a Midwest shopping mall is equally absurd. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. 

Whatever this place was built over, someone didn’t want it disturbed. 

Not the city. Not the state. 

Someone else.

The realisation sends your stomach twisting.

Should you even be looking at this?

Your eyes return to that bold, red-ink “NO DIG ZONE.” You can’t help imagining men in suits telling construction crews to skip certain areas, never explaining why.

These pieces of information didn’t explain anything—not even close. If anything, they only raised more questions.

Steve had made it all sound so cryptic, but the papertrail matched his version of the story perfectly. He said he’d stuck his head where it didn’t belong, found something he was never meant to see. 

But how old had he been when it happened? He couldn’t have been more than twenty…

That was young. 

Too young. 

Barely out of high school, probably still figuring out how to do his own laundry—and already carrying something like this.

What had they done to him?

The uneasy feeling inside you still felt unsatisfied, it was clear there is more to this story. If it was this censored, it meant that something big had occurred. Something you were even more desperate to understand. 

You find yourself flipping through folder spines again, now looking for any mention of the next year—1986—scanning for local headlines. Maybe there would be some new information a little further down the line, perhaps a rogue reporter uncovering something new. 

Your fingers land on a battered red folder. Hawkins Post  — 1986. 

What else happened?

You open it up. The first few pages are mundane—ads for local car dealerships, a brief mention of a new pharmacy. You���re about to give up when you catch a bold black headline stamped across a newspaper clipping.

Earthquake Rocks Hawkins: Dozens Missing, Entire Town Evacuated. 

Earthquake? 

Nobody ever mentioned a natural disaster before, something the town was clearly not interested in bringing up if the title is anything to go by. You run your fingertips across the grainy newsprint, reading each line slowly.

“Officials confirmed a natural fault line ruptured beneath Sattler Quarry, leveling several blocks of East Hawkins.”

“Emergency services have reported over 50 injured and multiple fatalities. Residents are advised not to return to the fracture zone.”

A pang tightens in your chest. 

Why did Steve never mention how devastating this was? Or Robin for that matter, she would have been a resident here too. 

“One local student, Edward ‘Eddie’ Munson, identified as prime murder suspect...”

That name. Eddie Munson. Something about seeing it spelled out in official print makes your gut lurch. It’s a snippet, a half-buried footnote. You have no idea how murder tied to this event, but the language feels similar to the Starcourt articles, aimed at stifling real questions. Another big tragedy in Hawkins, another clipped explanation that doesn’t quite add up.

Why was Hawkins the site of so many horrors in such a short span of time?

Your eyes scan the rest of the article. There’s no mention of secret labs or mysterious tunnels—just damage, rescue teams. You see a pattern in the phrasing, residents advised not to speculate. 

Sound familiar? 

You swallow, a metallic taste on your tongue. 

This reads like another cover-up. 

You decide to make a snap decision, folding the clipping into your notebook. This is technically theft—yes—but what choice did you have? 

You didn’t have a camera, nor the time it would take to write out every sentence piece by piece. You also didn’t know if you could access these archives with as much ease next time. This felt like a justified crime considering the circumstances. 

It’s not like anyone’s going to notice.

The next pages in the folder are mostly more coverage—pictures of shattered streets, interviews with sobbing residents. But something near the back catches your eye. 

You find a single, highly redacted document. The black bars are fresh and bold, blocking out entire paragraphs and lines of text. A small logo near the top—smudged and half torn—looks like it might belong to the Department of Energy, or perhaps some other federal agency. 

You gently flatten the page beneath your palm, trying to read what remains.

At first glance, you see only scattered fragments:

“…seismic event registering 7.4… multiple fractures… pattern incongruent with standard tectonic profiles…”

Your breath catches. You skim deeper, eyes darting across the page.

 “…unconfirmed sightings of anomalous flora, potential contamination risk…”

A knot forms in your stomach. 

Anomalous flora? 

What the hell did that even mean?

The silence around you felt suffocating but you couldn’t look away. Your eyes raced across the barely legible text, the dim lighting doing nothing to ease the mental strain as you tried to make sense of it all.

Every fragmented detail added another twist to an already labyrinthine mystery. You pushed on, desperation motivating you as every new discovery felt like another obstacle. 

You see a name repeated in the tiny corner of a clipped paragraph:

“…missing individual: Edward ‘Eddie’ Munson (status: presumed fatality). Further details withheld at request of…”

That name appears again—Munson. 

You glimpse it, a jolt firing through your nerves. He was plastered over that old newspaper article you found not ten minutes ago—the local student turned murderer. The next lines are almost completely blacked out, except for a single snippet:

“…survivors displayed acute stress responses, some presenting with inexplicable wounds or testimony.”

Your temples throb with an uneasy question. 

What happened to these survivors? 

Another black bar covers the rest. Carefully, you tilt the paper toward the meager light, hoping to glean even a faint silhouette of text beneath. 

Nothing.

You flip to the back, where you find a small note pinned with a rusted staple. It’s typed, minimal, and partially redacted, but at least you can make out a few more lines:

“…secondary injuries observed among multiple local residents… site infiltration suspected…”

You feel sweat bead on your temple. 

Site infiltration? 

By who? 

Your gaze drifts down to the final paragraph. Half of it is still blacked out, whole lines swallowed by darkness. You’d just been trying to make sense of it—events, scattered names, pieces of something bigger, something twisted you thought you could piece together into a puzzle with edges.

But then you see it.

Three fragments, set apart by a bullet point, still visible in the wreckage of the page. A name.

And not just any name.

A name you’ve whispered in half-sleep, murmured with laughter through the phone, gasped in the dark like a prayer. A name that’s fallen from your lips with care, with tenderness, with certainty.

And now it’s here. Cold. Formal. 

Clinical.

Filed and formatted between voids of black ink—the same blackness that clouds his mind, the same blank spaces he’s tried so desperately to protect you from.

SUBJECT: HARRINGTON, S.

Status: [REDACTED]

Observed: [REDACTED]

A tremor tears through you. Your eyes snap back to the text. 

Harrington, S.

Steve Harrington.

Steve.

You blink, but it doesn’t change. No matter how much you stare at the page.  

His name. 

Your Steve. 

Buried in more secrets than when you first entered the basement.

taglist: @daisy-is-a-writer @chiliwhore @kvroomi @just-lilita @negomi123 @catluver02 @tinythebunni @everythinghasafacee @irrelevantbutembarrassing @almostfullstarfish @aurora-austen

[cxtori]

Satoru Gojo ✭ Kiss Me Back

wc: basically 5k… it wasn’t meant to be lmao

summary: based off of this thought i posted a while ago

genre: angst, fluff, drunk “confession” but it gets misunderstood, friends to lovers, silly drunk Gojo

warnings: n/a

tori’s note: I finished this fic after having it in my drafts for almost a year. I kinda strayed from how my original prompt went lol. Idk how I feel about the second half of this, I’m not a huge fan of it but y’know, it be what it be. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Gojo doesn’t drink often. In fact, it’s more accurate to say he never drinks. He hates alcohol. The way it tastes, the way it burns, and especially how quickly it affects his system.

He’s always been a lightweight, it only taking a few shots before he was intoxicated. But for some reason, Shoko’s teasing pressure to get him to drink got to him a lot more tonight than usual. 

It was supposed to be only one shot, then just one more. But now, here he is, a couple hours later and 6 shots down, drunk and stumbling, leaning against you for support.

You grunt as you struggle to keep the tall man vertical and walk him down the street to your car. 

“You are amazing, Y/n,” Gojo slurs, wrapping his arm tighter around your neck. You huff and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve said that 3 times already,” you laugh lightly. Gojo trips over his own foot, causing you to stumble and almost fall. Thankfully, you catch yourself and keep the two of you from crashing into the concrete. 

“Jeez, Toru! Are you serious?” You ask, unbelieving that he was so intoxicated that he really couldn’t walk straight. Gojo only moans miserably in response. “We’re almost there,” you sigh.

You knew how much he hated the repercussions of drinking and tried to stop him before it was too late. But he seemed to be feeling a little self-destructive tonight, so your warnings fell on deaf ears, much to your annoyance. Even so, you still felt empathetic enough to take him home yourself, turning down Nanami’s kind offer to do so.

After another block of walking and stumbling, you finally make it to your car, opening the passenger side and awkwardly shuffling around as you try to help Gojo into the seat. It felt like he was purposefully doing everything he could to make this simple task as complicated as possible. Which, honestly, you wouldn’t put past him. 

You eventually get him and his lanky limbs into the vehicle and hold back a laugh when he groans and dramatically drapes himself over your center console, arms spilling into the driver’s seat. You walk around to the other side of the car, moving his arms carefully before sitting down and pushing him to lean against the window. 

“Okay, tough guy. You still have the water Nanami gave you?” You ask. Gojo clumsily reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the water bottle he somehow managed to fit in there. Damn men’s pocket sizes.

“Good, I want it empty by the time I make it to your place,” you state, turning on the car and pulling into the street.

“The whole thing?” Gojo whines. You laugh breathily, finding amusement in his drunk demeanor.

“Yes, the whole thing. Gotta stay hydrated so drink up!” You encourage. 

The white-haired man mutters a complaint as he cracks open the bottle, and you watch dumbfounded as he drains it in seconds. 

“I didn’t mean drink it all at once…” you say. Gojo shrugs and sinks further into his seat. 

You drive in silence for a few minutes, the pale, orange street lights whizzing by and the soft, white noise of the tires rolling on the pavement making the ride a peaceful, comforting experience. At least it would be if Gojo wasn’t staring holes into the side of your face. 

In his drunkenness, he’d somehow managed to misplace his glasses and blindfold, much to your dismay. You adore those brilliant blue eyes, but damn, if they weren’t intimidating as hell when they were staring you down. You do your best to ignore it, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead of you. 

You feel your heart skip a beat when a cold, calloused finger presses gently against your temple before tracing your hairline, sweeping your hair behind your ear.

“You’re so pretty,” Gojo whispers, his words barely audible. Your breath catches in your throat, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. 

“O-oh, umm… I- th-thank you,” you stutter horribly. Gojo hums softly as though he’s satisfied with your reaction before laughing lightly. His hand leaves your quickly heating face as he turns back to the window, slumping against the cool glass. 

After what couldn’t have possibly even been a minute, you hear the faintest snore come from the man. You poke his arm, expecting some kind of reaction. But nope, he’s out.

You take a deep breath and start blasting the AC. It suddenly feels really stuffy in here.

You soon reach his house and pull into the driveway before parking the car and climbing out. You open the passenger door, being careful to not let Gojo dump out onto the ground. You shake his shoulders, whispering to him that he was home and needed to wake up. After some gentle-turned-vigorous shaking, the man wakes up bleary eyed and a bit confused. 

“Have a nice nap, sleeping beauty?” You tease, taking his arm and attempting to pull him to his feet. He grunts, reluctantly swinging his feet out of the car and onto the ground. The moment he stands, he leans back against the car, his eyes squeezed shut in discomfort. 

“Shhhhit, why did I do that?” He slurs, the alcohol still screwing with his brain. At least he’s more coherent than 30 minutes ago. 

“Not to be like that, but I did try to stop you,” you joke.

“Shut up,” he groans. His eyes open and meet with yours, but instead of holding the annoyed glare you were expecting, they were soft, appreciative. His typically pale complexion was still dusted pink, though not nearly as flushed as earlier, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile to accompany it. 

He leans against you, his arms snaking around your waist in a loose hug, and his head resting heavily on your shoulder as he sighs. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“Why don’t you thank me when I’ve gotten you inside!” You laugh awkwardly, pushing the large man off of you. 

Gojo pouts, his soft, pink lips protruding in a way that could only be described as borderline sensual. You tear your eyes away from him and link your arm in his to walk him into the house with much less stumbling this time.

You make it inside, Gojo dragging down the hall to his room while you dig in his kitchen cabinets in search of ibuprofen. Once you’ve found what you’re looking for, you grab a glass and fill it with water before making your way to Gojo’s room.

You knock on the door, the sound echoing through the cold, empty hallway. A muffled “come in” reaches your ears and you open the door. 

You step in and your eyes land on a half-naked Gojo sitting on his bed, stopping you in your tracks. He did say to come in, didn’t he?

He looks at you, a questioning expression written on his face. With everything he’s done this evening, it’s beginning to be hard to believe he’s not purposefully trying to fluster you.

You draw in a breath and walk over to him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you nervous.

“Here, for the potential hangover,” you say, handing him the pills and water. He takes it gratefully, downing the meds and water quickly. He sets the glass on the nightstand with a soft thunk, and an odd silence follows after. 

“Well, I’m gonna head home now. G’night, Toru,” you say, turning on your heels and heading to the door. Your hand barely touches the doorknob when Gojo says your name.

“Y/n,” he calls quietly. You stop and turn to him with a questioning hum, but he doesn’t give any response back other than a waving hand, signaling for you to come back to him. You shuffle awkwardly to stand in front of him, confused about what he wants. 

He stands up, his chest almost bumping against yours as he does so. You begin to take a step back, but before you can, his hands are on your waist, holding you in place. You look up at him to ask what he’s doing, but the words get stuck in your throat the moment your eyes meet his.

Those bright, cerulean eyes that were so often hidden from the world, were looking at you with such care and fondness that it made your chest tighten. 

Before you’re even aware of what’s happening, his warm, soft lips are pressing tenderly against yours. 

Your tense muscles relax and eyes flutter shut as your lips push back against his. His hands grip your waist as he pulls you closer to him before one lifts the back of your shirt, fingers dragging slowly over your skin. 

You sigh into him, your own hands traveling up his arms, to his neck, eventually finding home in his silky hair. His other hand moves from your hip to your face, cupping your cheek as he deepens the kiss. 

His tongue darts out and sweeps across your lips and the faintest lingering taste of bitter alcohol bites your tastebuds, snapping you back to reality. It’s only then that you remember who you’re kissing, where you are, and how you got there. 

Your eyes fly open and hands move to his chest, pushing him away from you harshly. Gojo loses his balance, landing back into a sitting position on his bed, his once peaceful expression now shocked and confused. 

Your hand covers your mouth, surprised by your own actions. It’s only a second or two that you stay there, staring at each other before you decide that you should definitely leave.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” you say, wasting no time in leaving his room and ignoring his calls for you. You jump into your car and start the engine before your door is even closed.

What were you thinking? He’s the drunkest he’s been in ages, how could you let that happen? You curse yourself as you drive home, frustrated that you allowed such a thing when your friend was in such a vulnerable state.

 You make it home and park in the driveway, but you don’t leave. You sit in your car and stare blankly at the steering wheel as the full weight of regret begins to sink in. 

You’ve desperately wanted that man to kiss you for years now. But not like this! Not when he was intoxicated and most likely not thinking straight. You wanted a genuine kiss; one he gave you because he truly wanted to. Not because his drunk-self just wanted attention.

How are you supposed to keep your feelings for him under wraps after this?

You’ll just have to lie. You’ll tell him that it was just a slip up, that you were caught off guard. That he kissed you and- dammit, you kissed him back! And not only that, you were wrapping your arms around him. You can’t play off your feelings for him when you kissed him like that!

You groan painfully as you open your door and force yourself into your house, trudging your way to your room. You change your clothes and crawl into bed before plugging your phone in. The screen lights up with the red battery, which disappears quickly, revealing a missed call and several texts from Gojo.

I’m sorry Y/n. Can we please talk?

It wasn’t what you think

Y/n?

Hello?

He almost never texts you, let alone several times in a row. But you can’t find it in you to respond. You turn off your phone and stare at your ceiling for what feels like an eternity, the moment replaying in your mind on repeat. 

It wasn’t what you think? What is he assuming you think?

You raise a finger to your mouth, remembering how it felt to have his lips on yours as you trace over them. 

It was so warm, so sweet. The way he held you close to him, so strong yet gentle. The way his thumb stroked over your face so tenderly. Maybe… it was real.

No. You can’t allow yourself to believe it was genuine and get your hopes up, you can’t.

You roll over onto your side just as your screen lights up once more. You take a glance at it and find another text from Gojo. 

I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Please let me explain.

A new wave of anxiety washes over you when you realize you’ll have to see him tomorrow. You do work at the same school after all. You don’t have a few days to process this or even find a way to respond. 

You wrap tighter into yourself and painful tears fill your eyes, not taking long before they’re streaming down your face and soaking into your pillow. You just want the earth to open and swallow you. 

Your only comfort is in the slim possibility that he was still drunk enough to have a chance of not having clear memories the next day. Maybe he’d wake up, see the messages he’d sent you and not even remember what it was about. 

You know it’s a foolish hope. He wasn’t drunk enough during that kiss to have no recollection of it. Even so, it’s the only thought that calms you down enough to fall asleep. 

Okay, all you have to do is file a couple reports, meet with Ijichi and Nitta, and check in with Shoko on a new corpse. You don’t even have to be on campus the whole day, just do your few tasks and leave. 

You were not going to talk to Gojo today. You’re not sure your heart can handle it right now. You’ve barely even processed what happened last night. It’s like your mind is trying to convince you it was a dream. But the unanswered texts still sitting in your inbox say otherwise. 

You decided you would do your best to avoid the inevitable conversation. You’re sure that when he sees you, he’ll likely confront you about it. But, if you were with others, you knew he’d keep his mouth shut. You can’t hide from him, but you make damn sure he can’t catch you alone.

You know you’ll have to talk about it eventually, just not today. And maybe not tomorrow. Or the day after that.

You take a deep breath as you walk into the school and head for Yaga’s office. You’re not too worried about bumping into Gojo here as he usually avoids this part of the school simply because he’s afraid of running into Yaga and being asked to do something he doesn’t want to. 

You make it there without incident and knock on Yaga’s door before entering. Thankfully, your meeting doesn’t last long as you just have to turn in your reports and give him a quick rundown of your past week’s assignments.

Next was finding Ijichi and Nitta. Which meant going to the more common areas of the school. Which meant risking running into Gojo.

At this point, you were just hoping he decided to go MIA today as he typically did. Or maybe he’d be too hung over to even bother getting out of bed. Whatever the case may be, you just hoped he wouldn’t be behind the door to which you are about to enter.

You turn the doorknob quietly and poke your head in, finding no one but Ijichi sitting at a desk looking over a stack of papers, and you feel relieved. You step inside and Ijichi looks up, a small smile appearing once he sees it’s you.

“Ahh, Y/n. You’re a bit early,” he greets kindly. 

“Haha, yeah. My meeting with Yaga didn’t take as long as expected,” you laugh softly as you walk over to the desk and take a seat across from the man. “Where’s Nitta?”

“She’s currently out with the first years. They were sent to investigate the disturbance you reported a few days ago. Turns out it was just a few Grade 3 curses roaming around.” Ijichi replies.

He shuffles the papers spread out on the desk into a few separate piles before picking up each one, shaking them into neat stacks and paper clipping them together.

“Oh, that’s good to know,” you say with a smile. “So, you said you and Nitta needed something?”

“Oh, yes. We wanted your opinion on-”

“Gooood morning!” A familiar voice calls happily as the door swings open. You hunch over in your chair and glue your eyes to the papers in front of you, not daring to look at the man. You didn’t think you would run into him this soon.

“Oh, goodmorning, Gojo,” Ijichi says.

“Ijichi,” Gojo greets and nods to his co-worker.

He turns to you, your eyes still studying the reports laying in front of you. It was obvious you weren’t reading them though, considering they were upside down to you. “Y/n,” he says quietly.

You still refuse to look at him, mumbling a barely audible “good morning” in return.

Ijichi, sensing some tension, clears his throat and returns to the matter that brought you here in the first place. He only had a few questions, wanting your opinion on which recent cases should be assigned to which students. It wasn’t long before you had fulfilled your need and could leave.

You say your goodbyes, stand from the desk and make your way to the door, still having not spared Gojo, who was leaning against one of the couches, even a glance.

Despite hiding his eyes behind that dark blindfold of his, you could tell he’d been staring at you the whole time. You could practically feel his gaze burning holes into your skin. But, just as you expected, he didn’t dare bring up anything about the previous night with Ijichi in the room.

You walk out the door, thankfully leaving Gojo behind it. But you weren’t sure how long he’d stay there. You make your way quickly through the halls as you head towards the morgue. You open the door and step inside, the cold air making your body shake with a chill. 

You walk through, but find no sign of Shoko. Deciding that she must be in the office, you turn and start making your way over, it being just a couple doors down the hall. 

You step outside of the morgue and about jump out of your skin when you’re met with blinding white hair. Gojo. Of course. You should’ve known he would catch up to you. 

You stand there for a moment, him standing in the doorway and therefore blocking your exit. You still can’t bring yourself to look at him, not really, only giving him quick glances. It must be so easy for him to make “eye contact” when he doesn’t really have to.

“Can we talk?” He says, his voice taking on an unusually shaky and serious tone, and you suppress a sigh. Any hope you had of him not remembering last night shattered with those three words.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say quietly, desperately wanting to avoid the impending conversation. 

“Y/n,” he says, his large hand reaching carefully for your arm. You move quickly, avoiding his grasp.

“I don’t want to talk,” you say and push past him, making it through the doorway. You speed walk down the hallway to the morgue office, thankful that it’s just a few doors down. Gojo begins to say something but before he can, you’re knocking on the door, shutting him up quickly.

Shoko opens the door only a moment after you’ve knocked, silently stepping aside to let you in once she sees it’s you. Her neutral expression breaks a bit when she sees who’s behind you.

“Gojo, wasn’t expecting to see you today,” she says, referring to the rough condition he was in last night.

“I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” He chuckles. He looks at you as he says this and you feel your face grow warm. Shoko walks over to her desk and shuffles through the various items in search of something.

“How are you feeling? You haven’t had that many drinks in a long time,” She asks curiously.

“I feel great actually. Y/n is a pretty good caretaker,” he says, once again looking over at you. “She’s the reason I’m not hungover.”

Yep, you certainly were. Maybe you should’ve skipped the water and ibuprofen. But that was before what happened. Past you had no idea that future you would be cursing that decision.

“He wasn’t too much trouble was he? Gojo’s always annoying when he’s drunk.” Like he’s not annoying when he isn’t drunk.

“He was fine,” you say plainly, wanting to move on from the topic.

“Fine is one way to put it,” Gojo says, an obnoxiously flirty smirk on his face. What happened to the serious and borderline nervous Gojo you had just a moment ago? Bring him back please.

“Maybe I should’ve let Nanami take you when he’d offered,” you mutter. Shoko turns back around to you, confused by the comments being made.

“Is that really what you would’ve wanted?” Gojo asks. 

“If it means we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, then yes.”

Shoko looks between the two of you, reading the looks on your faces and expertly deciphering that this was not a conversation she needed (or wanted) to be a part of.

“I’m not getting involved in this,” Shoko mutters as she collects her things and quickly leaves the room, abandoning you in this anxiety-inducing situation. “We can meet later, Y/n.”

“Ah! Wait, Shoko!” You call, but she ignores you and walks out the door. Well, this certainly isn’t what you wanted to happen. Now you had no excuse to leave and apparently didn’t have anyone to have your back. You knew Shoko saw your plea for help in your eyes and she actively ignored it. But, it is Shoko. She always avoids getting involved in things that don’t concern her.

The silence that follows Shoko’s leaving is so incredibly deafening and you hope the ground will open up beneath you. You debate leaving, but you know that Gojo will just follow you. There was no escaping it now. Dammit, and you were so close to getting out without speaking to him.

You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the desk, your eyes glued to the floor.

“Y/n,” Gojo speaks softly. You refuse to look at him. You can’t. You don’t know what will happen if you do. “Y/n.” He steps closer to you and you sink further into yourself, feeling your throat tighten. “Let me explai-”

“What did you mean?” You close your eyes, finding yourself talking before you can even comprehend the words leaving your mouth.

“What?” Gojo says, confused. You sigh, annoyed with yourself now for having said anything.

“Your text. You said it wasn’t what I thought it was. What did you mean?” Gojo looks at you. Well, you assume he’s looking at you. He could be looking at the wall behind you for all you knew.

“I…” Gojo starts but doesn’t finish. He sighs quietly and leans against the chair in front of you. He doesn’t attempt to speak again for a long moment and you begin to wonder if he even plans to. And you’re right, he doesn’t speak. But instead, his hand reaches for the dark blindfold hiding his eyes, and he pulls it down around his neck, his snow white hair falling into his face.

You tear your eyes away as soon as he does, not able to bear even the thought of looking at him directly in those blue irises. Luckily, you’re not tempted to as he keeps his head down, his hair shielding his eyes from your view.

“I remember everything from last night,” the man says finally. You feel your heart sink. You knew he remembered, but for some reason, hearing him say so only made your anxiety worsen. “You didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye last night,” he says with a mild, teasing tone, though it was made with minimal effort, the tension in the room making it hard to joke playfully.

Your arms tighten around you and your throat burns, your eyes remaining focused on everything but him. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be leaving in such a hurry either,” you say, risking your voice breaking into tears. Gojo chuckles.

“I thought you’d stay for a bit longer after the way you were kissing me,” He jokes, and this time it has his usual lightheartedness to it. Despite that, you feel your blood run hot through your body and for a moment you forget that you’re avoiding looking at him. Your eyes whip over to see him already looking at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Wha- you kissed me!” You whisper yell, afraid that someone outside may hear you. You can’t believe him. HE made a move on YOU, and yet he wants to talk about the way you were kissing HIM?

“Buuut, you kissed me back!” He says accusingly but airily. You close your mouth at this. He’s right, you did. And this is just what you were afraid of, him realizing that you kissing him back meant you actually enjoyed it if only a little. You couldn’t hide it.

“And I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry,” you say quietly. You turn your gaze away just in time to miss the way Gojo’s face twitches and his smile drops. Before you can’t stop yourself, you continue to speak, the coil in your throat snapping and the tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you back. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me to begin with. But please, I don’t want to hear what you have to say about it. I know you were drunk and it was a mistake just… Please, don’t tell me that.” 

The silence that follows your statement is so quiet that you can hear Gojo’s uneven breaths alongside your own. You feel the urge to run, to walk out the doors and never turn back. To find a hole somewhere to bury yourself in, never to resurface.

“You think I made a mistake?” Gojo’s words barely reach your ears, his voice so soft you almost have to strain to hear it. He looks at you, completely dejected. “Even if I did feel that way, do you think I’d come here to mock you for it? Do you think I’d be that cruel?” The hurt in his voice is so obvious that you can feel it yourself.

“I… I don’t know.” Truthfully, you did know. You knew he wouldn’t do something like that. He may be annoying, but he’s not cruel. It was out of your own fear of the outcome that you were avoiding this conversation. But then, two words in his statement stand out to you. 

Even if. 

Meaning even if it was a mistake. Meaning he didn’t think it was?

The tears welling in your eyes begin to fall when you dare to look up at him, his own already on you. But you don’t look away this time.

“Would you have kissed me if you were sober?” You ask quietly. Gojo’s shoulders slump and his face grows longer at your words. He takes a cautious step towards you, testing to see if you’ll back away. And you don’t.

“Y/n, I didn’t kiss you because I was drunk,” he replies, his voice smooth as silk. He takes another step forward, this time reaching out a hand to place on your arm, and you don’t pull away.

“That’s what I meant when I said it wasn’t what you thought. I knew you figured it was an alcohol-influenced choice. And while the alcohol admittedly may have had something to do with it, that wasn’t why I did it.” Your vision blurs as you begin to cry, your tears feeling like rivers of fire as they flow down your cheeks.

“I did it because I wanted to, Y/n,” he admits. He lifts a hand to your face, wiping your tears as he strokes your cheek with his knuckles.  “It wasn’t a mistake. It was a choice. And one I don’t regret.”

You close your eyes, not being able to see with them open anyway. His other hand moves from your arm to swipe at your tears, both hands now cupping your face tenderly.

“I don’t know what to say,” you mumble. You raise your hands to wrap your fingers around his wrists, your thumbs stroking over the back of his hands. You open your eyes, your vision clear enough to see him looking at you fondly, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His soft lips that, in the back of your mind, you’ve been thinking about all morning.

Your gaze must have lingered on his mouth for a moment too long as his smile widens. He comes closer to you, his head towering over yours and his hands guide your face to continue looking at him.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. But.” He leans his face to yours, his warm breath against your lips. “I would like to kiss you again. And I hope you won’t run away this time.” His voice lilts in that familiar, teasing tone and your heart twists.

“I won’t,” you say with a breathless laugh. 

His large hands continue to hold your head as he moves forward, wasting no time in putting his lips against yours in a passionate but tender kiss.

And this time, you let yourself kiss him back.

©Cxtori 2024 please do not copy, plagiarize, repost or translate. reblogs appreciated

[heytheredelulu]

I was wondering if you could do maybe a like feral Bucky? Like maybe they trigger the soldat and instead of him fallowing their orders he goes after the shy curvy little intern of Tony’s? They’ve both been too shy to make a move. I’m cool with whatever spin you put on it, I LOVE your writing.

(Love all your normal kinks so feel free to add those too as you see fit! )

Thank you lovely 🥰 Can’t wait to drool over more of your writing lol

I took this and RAN with it.

It ended up becoming much longer than I had anticipated so this one will be broken up into two parts.

I struggled with trying to incorporate Bucky being triggered after the reader already being somewhat aquatinted with him, pining after him, etc. so I went the route I did and I hope it fulfills your request!

Part one will be mostly just plot building with a spicy cliff hanger leading us into a part two of pure smut.

Ready to Comply - Part One - Anon Request

Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Reader

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

Word Count: 2.5k

C/W: Language, discussion/implications of violence and murder, choking, blood (Bucky is strugglin’ and bites his own hand), a lil sexual tension in prep for part two, he sniffs her coochie, okay?

“Okay, stop. Stop that.” Tony whispered out of the corner of his mouth. You shot him a glance and tugged at your skirt one more time for good measure. He lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes. “You look fine, Rookie. Very professional. Is that what you needed to hear?”

You scoff and shake your head. “That’s no- I’m not fishing for compliments, I genuinely hate dressing like a fucking secretary.” You grumble, drawing a laugh out of Tony. “And don’t call me ‘Rookie.’” You add with a prod to his chest. He brushes the front of his suit jacket sarcastically in response to your poke and raises his hands defensively, a soft chuckle rising from his throat.

“A fucking secretary? Really? It’s business professional. Did you think I could let you stand next to me in a press conference wearing an old t-shirt and some torn up jeans? We need to create a semblance of professionalism.” He gestures to his own attire with a grin and there’s a teasing glint in his eye as he continues.

“And what’s wrong with ‘Rookie’? You’re my little protégé.” He jests, reaching like he’s going to pinch your cheek as if you were some adorable little toddler. You frown, swatting his hand away and brings it to his chest, clutching it dramatically. “Wow, you’re going to assault your friend, mentor and extremely rich and handsome boss?” He jokes, feigning offense.

“The only accurate adjective in that sentence is ‘boss’, Sir.” You reply dryly, crossing your arms. The corners of his lips twitch into a sly smile and he nudges you with his elbow. “I’ll accept if you don’t agree with friend and mentor.” He starts, pressing his lips into a pout. “But I might actually get a little offended if you refuse to acknowledge how devastatingly handsome I am.”

You groan in annoyance and roll your eyes, preparing a witty comeback when Pepper Potts rounds the corner with a tablet cradled in her arm, a phone nestled between her ear and shoulder and an expression of concern written across her face.

“Everything alright?” Tony asks, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me.. another offer for People’s ‘sexiest man alive’? I keep telling them, I can’t be on the cover every ye-“ Tony stops mid sentence as Pepper’s manicured forefinger lands on his lips, effectively silencing him.

“Yes. Okay. Understood. Thank you.” She says curtly into the phone before disconnecting the call. “That was Fury. We have an issue. A Barnes issue.”

Your brows furrow at this. “What’s happened with Bucky?” You ask, a sense of dread creeping up your spine. He’d been all but isolated since he’d moved into the Avenger’s tower alongside his best friend Steve Rogers and you couldn’t imagine him being the source of an issue with how reserved this man was. You weren’t at all oblivious to his past- it had been global wide news after all, but in the months since his de-conditioning in Wakanda he had been making great strides towards recovery, working to make amends.

Though your interactions with the ex-assassin had been few, he’d always been polite and kind towards you. You’d felt so out of place among the Avengers, being Tony’s intern. You weren’t on the team, hell, a few of them didn’t even know your name despite you having been trailing behind Tony for the last year. Maybe it was your own fault, considering you hadn’t really made an effort to talk to any of them but aside from the fact that they were all extremely intimidating, you were naturally a shy and quiet person.

You quickly push the self deprecating thoughts from your head. You didn’t care about any of that. You shouldn’t. It wasn’t as if you wanted to be on the team, or were there to make friends, you were here as an engineer, to learn from who was arguably the most intelligent man on the planet. Perhaps that’s why Bucky had always been cordial to you more than some of the others living here. Maybe he gravitated towards you, as someone who constantly felt so out of place, because he felt that way here as well.

Or maybe he thought you were cute.

Oh fuck, if only.

You couldn’t deny your attraction to the man or that you’d been quietly crushing on him practically since you’d started your internship. Every small interaction with Bucky left a blush on your cheeks and a kaleidoscope of butterflies flitting about your belly.

The thought of someone as absurdly good looking as Bucky fucking Barnes finding you attractive was enough to spark a surge of heat straight to your abdomen.

No, get it together. Now’s not the time.

You mentally scold your vagina for having the nerve to throb at the mere mention of Bucky Barnes regardless of the context and turn your attention back to Pepper and Tony as they argued in hushed whispers.

“What’s happened with Bucky?” You repeat, knowing they likely won’t clue you in if it’s related to Avenger’s business.

Tony offers a nervous smile and exchanges a quick glance with his wife before he checks his watch. “Terminator? He’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably holed up with security for setting off the metal detector.” He pauses and then snaps his fingers. “Or maybe he walked past the junkyard on fifth and got snatched up by the hydraulic magnet.” He says, lifting a hand and miming a crane.

Pepper lets out a soft sigh and your gaze flicks to her. “Yeah, a big magnet or something.” She mumbles, turning her attention back to her tablet. “I don’t think that’s-“ Your cut off by Tony’s hand on the small of your back, urging you forward. “Enough about Robocop. We’re on, Rookie.” He says, his nervous expression falling away and quickly being replaced with a mask of professionalism. “Let’s go unveil our project to the press.” Pepper moves to open the door for you both and before you can open your mouth to tell Tony that if he calls you ‘rookie’ one more time you were going to strangle him with his overpriced tie, your senses are overwhelmed with an onslaught of overlapping voices and camera shutters.

You toss your blazer over the desk in your quaint office and slump over into the chair, trying not to let your mind run wild with anxious thoughts about the press conference. Despite your best efforts you couldn’t help but worry that you probably looked like a deer in headlights up at the podium alongside Tony.

You huff and rest your chin on the back of your hand, glancing over at the computer screens. Your attention is immediately drawn to security footage from one of the conference rooms when you see movement on the monitor. You lean in with your brows furrowed. It’s late and no one should be in the conference room. You expand the image and can clearly make out Tony and Steve moving about the room with tense body language.

You hover over the footage with your mouse and hesitate. You know that you absolutely should not eavesdrop on the two men but once Tony’s hands begin angrily gesturing around you give in to temptation and turn on the audio.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘back up?’” Tony shouts, beginning to pace the room.

Steve leans forward with his palms on the table and his head bowed slightly. “It’s exactly what I said, Tony.” He replies, his biceps flexing as he grips the table. “HYDRA had a fail safe. They’d planted a back up activation incase he would ever manage to be deprogrammed.” He looks up at Tony with a solemn expression. “They got to him. I should’ve been there, I should’ve-“

Tony holds out a hand, his other resting against his temple as he tries to comprehend what Steve is telling him. “Well you weren’t and they did so know we have to figure out how the fuck we navigate this.” He says firmly, shaking his head. “Do we have eyes on him? Is he in the building?”

Steve sighed and stood upright from the table. “No. He’s in the wind. We lost contact with him a few hours ago.” He admits, running a hand through his hair. “But there’s something you need to know.” He adds, looking at Tony with concern as he begins to pace again.

“Well spit it out, Rogers!” Tony yells, stopping and turning back to Steve.

“Nat received some intel. The hit HYDRA ordered is on you and your intern.” He says so quietly you can barely pick it up on the audio. Fear crawls up your spine and your hand trembles as you increase the volume on the security feed, while your heartbeat in your ears becomes near deafening.

Tony stiffens, slowly approaching Steve. “You wanna tell me why?” He asks, his voice low and dangerous. Steve nods. “The new tech you unveiled today.“ He explains.

Tony sighs, understanding why one of their enemies would be threatened by what the two of you had been working on and reaches to loosen his tie. “I’ll take Pepper and move her to the safe house before I meet you at a rendezvous point. Send someone to get my Rookie and get her off the grid. I don’t want her alone for a single second.” He says in an exasperated tone, reaching into his suit jacket and pulling out his cell phone as he stalks towards the door.

“And Rogers?” He asks, turning around one last time, his hand curled tight around the doorknob. Steve’s head snaps up and he looks at Tony with guilt ridden eyes. “Yeah?”

“Find Barnes.”

Find Barnes.

The statement echoes in your ears, sending your thoughts spinning as if a category five hurricane were waging inside your head.

No. No, no, no.

There’s a hit out on you?

To be carried out by the fucking Winter Soldier.

Oh you were so fucked.

You scoot your chair back, bracing your hands on the desk to stand with wobbly knees.

Bile rises in your throat as you take a slow step backwards, bumping the chair in your state of panic and knocking your jacket off the workbench. You jump at the sound of it slipping to the floor and clutch your chest as a result of inducing your own jumpscare and take slow breaths to steel your nerves before you bend down to pick it up. As you rise back upright, your gaze connects with a pair of vacant, icy blue eyes in the shadows across the room and your entire body seizes in terror.

He’s not in the wind.

He’s been in here with you this entire goddamned time.

“B-Bucky?” You stutter, bringing your jacket to your chest and grasping it until your knuckles turn white. Maybe Steve and Tony were wrong. Maybe Nat’s intel was wrong. Maybe this was all a huge misunderstanding and you weren’t about to die at the hands of the ex-assassin you’ve been pining over for nearly a year.

He takes a step forward from the shadows, his face expressionless and his eyes unblinking without a single trace of emotion behind them.

Okay, yeah. You’re fucked.

“Sergeant Barnes?” You whisper, almost a plea to the man you knew, locked away somewhere in the brain of the cold and calculated killer standing in front of you.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t register your words, as he crosses the lab in a few quick strides and catches your throat in his cybernetic hand.

Oh god.

The air leaves your lungs, his grip tightening around your windpipe as his face remains blank.

You’re going to die.

So why are you so fucking turned on?

Heat pools low in your abdomen, your core flooding with arousal, coupled with fear and unbridled lust.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as you gasp and thrash in his grip, your thick thighs rubbing together with every kick and flail, doing nothing to alleviate the throbbing ache in your cunt.

God this is so wrong.

His brows furrow, the first hint of emotion since he stepped out of the shadows. His head tilts inquisitively and his grip slackens around your throat as he leans in, tracing his nose across your jaw line and inhaling deeply. You still, your face contorting in confusion as you swallow hard against his palm, leaning your body into his hold.

His eyes narrow as he pulls away from you and you take the opportunity to suck in a breath, massaging your neck gently while your gaze drops to observe his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides.

“Bucky?” You ask, wondering what’s caused the sudden shift in his demeanor, wondering if maybe he’s somehow snapped out of the trance he’d been in. He’s still and silent for a long moment, his head bowed as his chest rises and falls heavily with every breath.

“Sergeant Barnes, are yo-“

His head snaps up, effectively silencing you.

Your mouth remains agape, stuck on your last word and as he watches you with predatory eyes, taking menacing steps toward you, you can’t seem to find your voice any longer. You stumble backwards, losing your balance and falling back against the desk, unable to regain your footing before his hands grip the flesh of your bare thighs.

He tilts you backwards, your back colliding hard with the surface of the desk, stealing the breath out of your chest. He drops to his knees, splaying his palms against your thighs, the hem of your dress rising up to expose your panties as he spreads your legs wide before him and drags his nose across the fabric.

He groans.

He fucking groans.

“You’re my mission.” He breathes out, eyes wild and fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as if he were fighting to physically restrain himself.

“I know.” You whimper, lifting your head to look down at him over the soft curve of your stomach.

“I’ve been ordered to kill you.” He chokes out, pressing his forehead against your inner thigh and drawing in a deep and shuddering breath.

“Then why haven’t you?” You ask in a broken whisper.

He turns his head and mumbles something incoherently, his breath ghosting against the damp fabric of your underwear and sending a wave of arousal crashing through your core. He stiffens, curling his flesh hand into a fist and bringing it to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles as he swallows back a moan.

He shakes his head, his teeth pressing into his skin hard enough to draw blood and you move to sit up, leaning on your palms as you look down at him where he’s slotted between your legs, visibly trembling.

He rises quickly to his feet, his left hand shooting out to curl around your neck again and he drops his bloodied flesh hand to his side.

“Because..” He says through clenched teeth, inhaling sharply as the cool metal of his thumb strokes the column of your throat.

“I can’t fucking focus when all I can smell-“

His free hand roughly cups your pussy over your panties, his voice trailing off as he kneads his palm against the thin, wet fabric.

He growls, tightening his grip around your throat and jerking you up to him, forcing you to meet his threatening gaze.

His expression grows pained and he whimpers, dipping his head to meet your forehead with his own, his breath fanning across your face with every heave of his chest.

“All I can smell is how wet you are.”

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@suz7days @blackbirdwitch22 @truthfulliarr @lilacka

Part two

[httpvomitello]

Pretty Girls Fight Like This! *⁠.⁠✧

April had brought you into the lair one night, insisting you’d be a valuable addition to the team. At first, Donnie thought you’d be like anyone else, but then he saw you.

Your bright, pastel-colored outfit caught his attention immediately, a stark contrast to the dim, industrial tones of the lair. And then there was your hair—long, flowing, and streaked with colors so vibrant it almost looked like a prism.

“Is your hair... naturally like that?” Donnie asked before he could stop himself.

You laughed, brushing a strand behind your ear. “Nope! It’s dyed. I like to stand out, you know?”

Donnie blinked, unsure how to respond. You certainly stood out, that was for sure.

He quickly learned there was more to you than your eye-catching appearance.

One of the first things that caught him off guard was your strength. During a training session, Donnie watched in stunned silence as you easily lifted a heavy training dummy and hurled it across the room.

“Impressive,” he muttered, adjusting his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

You grinned, wiping sweat from your brow. “Thanks! I’ve always been a bit on the stronger side.”

“A bit?” Donnie repeated, incredulous.

“Okay, maybe a lot,” you admitted with a wink.

Donnie didn’t say anything, but he made a mental note to measure your strength later—purely for scientific purposes, of course.

Then there was your appetite.

One evening, Donnie walked into the kitchen to grab a snack and found you sitting at the table with Mikey, the two of you demolishing an entire pizza.

“Wow,” Donnie said, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think anyone could keep up with Mikey’s eating habits.”

You swallowed a mouthful of pizza and smiled. “What can I say? I love food!”

Mikey laughed, nudging you playfully. “Don’t worry, D. Y/N’s got a black hole for a stomach like me!”

Donnie couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “Of course...”

Despite your quirks—or maybe because of them—Donnie found himself intrigued by you.

Your bright clothes, your boundless energy, your unapologetic individuality... It was all so different from the calculated, methodical world he lived in.

One thing that particularly caught his attention was your socks—or, more accurately, your constant struggle to keep them from slipping. Every time you adjusted them during training, Donnie couldn’t help but notice.

“Why don’t you just get longer socks?” he asked one day, genuinely curious.

“I’ve tried,” you said with a sigh. “But they always fall down. It’s so annoying!”

That conversation stuck with him, and a few days later, Donnie found himself tinkering in his lab. He designed a pair of custom socks with reinforced elastic, ensuring they wouldn’t slip no matter how much you moved.

When he handed them to you, you were surprised.

“They're for me?” you said, holding them up.

“They’re designed to stay up during activity,” Donnie explained, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “I noticed you were struggling with yours, so I thought these might help.”

Your face lit up, and you gave him a beaming smile. “Donnie, that’s so thoughtful! Thank you!”

You hugged him tightly, catching him off guard.

“It’s nothing,” he said, trying to play it cool. But his heart was racing, and he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face.

Over time, Donnie found himself growing more and more attached to you.

It wasn’t just your strength or your unique style—it was the way you treated him. You didn’t just see him as “the smart one” or “the tech guy.” You saw him.

And you had a way of surprising him with small gestures, like bringing him snacks while he worked or showing genuine interest in his inventions.

One day, you handed him a small bracelet made of colorful beads.

“What’s this?” Donnie asked, examining it.

“A good luck charm,” you said with a smile. “I thought you could use it in the lab.”

Donnie stared at the bracelet, his chest tightening. It was such a simple gesture, but it meant so much to him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, slipping it onto his wrist.

Donnie wasn’t used to feeling this way—flustered, nervous, happy. But with you, it felt natural.

You were a whirlwind of color and energy in his otherwise structured world, and he found himself drawn to you in ways he didn’t fully understand.

[seelestars]

LEAVING LIPSTICK MARKS ON HIM ?! (neuvillette, wriothesley, jing yuan)

a/n : if u write for hsr or genshin, or like any of them in general pls hmu,, id love to have some moots on this app

also sorry if wriothesley isn’t that accurate, his personality is hard to figure out for me </3

NEUVILLETTE

you two were having some time to yourselves— time that was very hard to come by considering what a busy man neuvillette was. so, you decided to make the most of it to the best of your ability.

which was, showering neuvillette in affection.

seeing how he didn’t seem to mind, you proceeded to smother his face in chaste kisses. there was a playful smile on your lips as you did so (a smile that neuvillette found himself growing fond of overtime.) a small giggle escaped your lips as you leaned back for a moment to admire your work.

“very affectionate today, are we?” neuvillette hums in contentment, his eyes full of adoration for you. you had to hold back a big grin from his obliviousness to the lipstick marks you left all over his face.

“mhm.. just wanted a way to remind you of how much I love you.” you caress his horns gently, watching as neuvillette closed his eyes with a blissful sigh. one of your hands stroked his horn while the other played with his hair in a comforting manner.

soon, neuvillette’s break was over. you felt reluctant to let him go, and he felt regretful for only being able to spend so much time with you. getting off his lap, you smile despite how you still craved for more of his affection. after watching him leave the office to inquire from a melusine about some information, you let yourself let out the laugh you’ve been holding in since you knew he’d definitely embarrass himself with all those lipstick marks on him.

…and he sure did. that night, neuvillette had returned to your bedroom with a more flushed face than usual for reasons you already knew about. seeing how red he was, you decided not to tease him about it for his sake.

WRIOTHESLEY

it had been a long day managing the fortress of meropide for wriothesley. it felt even longer to him when it came to being separated from you. thoughts of you constantly filled his mind while he reviewed different documents at work.

but it was all worth it to him at the end of the day, where wriothesley could melt into your warm embrace.

“had a long day?” you gaze fondly at him, ruffling his hair playfully as he rested his head on your lap. his eyes were closed as he savored the feeling of being so close to you after a tiring day at the fortress. one of his hands was intertwined with yours, caressing your knuckle with his thumb.

“you know it.” wriothesley opens his eyes to meet your gaze, a small smile forming on his lips. being able to indulge in physical intimacy with you like this was his favorite part of the day. the time of the day that never failed to make him smile.

no further words had to be communicated between the two of you, it was as if you could talk with just the way you looked at each other.

you nod in understanding as he sat up to wrap his arms around you, this time resting his head on your shoulder. suddenly, a mischievous idea popped into your mind. your smile widens a little before you proceeded to give him many quick pecks on his face and neck (in a place where he couldn’t see the marks you left on him without a mirror.)

wriothesley opens an eye to look at you curiously, his cheeks dusted a subtle pink from your display of affection. he has to stop himself from grinning stupidly from being kissed by you. though you two have kissed each other many many times, he just couldn’t seem to get used to the feeling of your lips on his skin or his own lips. but it was addictive. he wanted more.

wriothesley felt like a highschooler experiencing love for the first time again from how shy he felt about asking you for more kisses once you had stopped. he was glad you ended up understanding what he wanted without saying it, planting more kisses on him.

the next day when he was in the fortress of meropide as usual, wriothesley found himself receiving weird glances from others. only sigewinne was brave enough to point out the lipstick marks that adorned his face and neck, causing him to instantly fold in embarrassment.

JING YUAN

you were visiting him as he was working, watching him read through different files. “you should take a break, you know?” you nudged him lightly, holding a box of dessert you intended to share with him.

“later.” jing yuan waves you off with a hum, his eyes focused on the scrolls instead of you. you knew it was childish, but you felt jealous of how the scrolls were receiving more attention than you.

setting the dessert to the side, you pouted knewing words weren’t working on him. so instead, you decided to think of a different way to make him focus on you. …this may not have been the smartest idea you’ve came up with, but you chose to give it a try anyway.

you turn his head towards you, a jealous look in your eyes. jing yuan only had a second to react before you attacked him with kisses all over. despite how it was supposed to be an attack in a way, it felt pleasant to him. he found himself smirking at how possessive and jealous you were being out of nowhere.

“you know im all yours, right?” jing yuan laughs once you finally pulled away, your mood having calmed down a little. your cheeks flush a little at his words, not wanting him to tease you further so you just ignored his comment.

“next time I better be your priority instead of whatever these.. scrolls are.” you wrap your arms around him, nuzzling your face into his hair lovingly. you hope your plan had worked to distract him from his work, to only focus on you for now.

and it worked. jing yuan let out a fake disappointed sigh, opening his arms for you to properly embrace. “don’t worry, you will.” he smiles once you hugged him tightly, afraid to let him go as if he’d try to escape once you let go. he pats you on the head, feeding you the dessert you had bought for the two of you.

he knew of the lipstick marks you had left on him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. instead, he wore them around proudly, leaving many jaws open in shock at his boldness.

[coco-loco-nut]

Book Club - Part 9

pairing: grid x reader

summary: you just got your wisdom teeth out, just in time for winter break fun with headcanons

a/n: thanks for the request, I missed the club❤️ ALSO! the original post just hit 1,500 notes??? like guys🥹 ilysm, you don’t even know. you are still reading my silly little writings, and i appreciate that more than you know. every like, comment, and reblog is the reason we are here 9 parts later (seriously you should see how happy i am when i see comments)

requests open masterlist series masterlist

——————

- You didn’t tell anyone else on the grid other than Lance, obviously

- They were all surprised when it was announced that you were going to be missing Abu Dahbi

- Your oral surgeon only had that Wednesday free before Christmas

- …and let’s be real, your seat was secure, you weren’t going to win the WDC, and the constructors championship was locked in

- You would raise hell if you couldn’t enjoy the food around the holidays, so missing the last race it was

- You were exhausted from the season and appreciated the early break

- Lance just let it slip to the drivers on Friday a couple of hours after he got there

- You were sitting at home with Kimi, swollen and in pain all Friday

- “What do you mean she won’t be here? We have our presents for her” Fernando pouts

- Charles one day ships you cases of his gelato with a note telling you to feel better, he’s trying to get into the club for the gossip

- Lance gets invited to the club meeting to his surprise

- He assumes that they want to check in on you, despite them blowing up your phone

- No, he was VERY wrong

- Lance got roped into showing them videos of you on drugs

- Their favorite was the one of you when you first came out from being under

- “I’m married? Oh my god, I married Nico Hülkenberg? This is the best day of my life”

- You were sobbing tears of joy

- Nico was sent the video immediately, you gave him permission via text to post it the next day

- The second favorite was your favorite to laugh at

- You went on a massive rant about how Susie Wolff is a MILF and how you hoped Toto could fight because the female driver was your woman crush and you WILL have her

- Susie loved the video (George and Lewis sent it in the Mercedes family gc), Toto… not as much but he was amused

- You got a lot of fussing drivers on Facetime during the meeting

- You were loopy af from the painkillers and general exhaustion during it, it wasn’t your fault they called you late

- Kimi forced them to shut up and hang up so you could sleep

- Carlos joked about being relieved that there wasn’t another race for you to follow his trend during an interview

- You won the first race the next year

- Your phone started blowing up with messages on social media wishing you a quick recovery

- Most of the book club showed up to your home after Abu Dahbi, wanting to make a quick stop to check in before the break

- “Hello, wife,” Nico greets you when he sees you

- You joked you were about to file for divorce from Lance, who just sighed and went to get you a carton of LEC

- You had to film you opening your secret santa gift and send it to the F1 social team

- You got a quilt blanket that had a square for each book you read with the club since it started

- You actually started sobbing (you blamed the meds, even if you were actually crying)

- Lewis got the biggest hug ever, he enlisted help from Valtteri for all the books

- You forced them to cut the parts of you crying out of the video

- You got Logan an old iPod full of popular music (you hacked into his phone to check the genres he liked) from his childhood and now

- Obviously you added headphones and a couple chargers

- Logan used it all the time, he called you immediately to thank you

- You had the honors of choosing the first book over winter break

- You chose an F1 romance novel

- Boy oh boy were those meetings fun, just tearing up the book for its inaccuracy

- Daniel vowed to write an accurate one and sell it

- Spoiler Alert: he never did

- But Fernando did

- It was an international bestseller

[rosylix143]

sweet angel | h. hyunjin

pairing: demon!hyunjin x angel!reader (fem)

genre: fantasy, angst (some comfort ig)

synopsis: you’re an angel who escaped the heavenly palace from your extremely possessive guardian angel, only for you to stumble into a forbidden territory of a demon who finds you a little peculiar.

cw: MDNI (putting this warning here just to be safe), abusive relationships (not with hyunjin), descriptions of abusive behavior (also not with hyunjin), captivity, manipulation, not everything is religiously accurate, hyunjin's lowkey an asshole but also not really lol.

let me know if i’m missing anything

wc: 2985

———————————・❥・———————————

Your feet were tired. Your legs were burning, and air was constantly forcing itself in and out of your lungs rapidly. Your head was spinning, and your wings hurt from resisting the pin so much. You just wanted to fly instead of run, but you couldn’t. You didn’t even know where you were going. You just wanted to be as far away from the Heavenly Palace as possible. It didn’t matter where you were. You just needed to be out of any angel’s sight.

Suddenly, a scream escaped your throat as you tripped over one of the larger roots of the trees. You fell face-flat onto the grass. Your nose burned from the rough landing. You groaned and tried to get up. You winced a little, noticing the trail of blood coming down from your knee. You then took a moment to see how your perfect white dress was now torn and covered in dirt.

You tried to get up, but you were exhausted. How long have you been running for, you had no idea. You didn’t even know where you were. You panted heavily and looked around to take in your surroundings. Turns out that you ran into some deep forest. The trees were tall and lively, most of them were growing delicious fruits. The sunlight was glimmering through the branches, and the water was flowing peacefully. The flowers were even blooming. Everything in the forest was beautiful. But everything in Heaven was beautiful. It’s so beautiful that no one could see the darkness within.

No one knew what living in the Heavenly Palace entailed. At least for you. Every angel around you found pleasures in the littlest things in the palace: all the wine, fruits, music, and holy books. You wondered if they ever had to go through the same things as you. There had to be something wrong in their lives at least. Or maybe you were just so naive that you never knew of some test you had to pass to achieve great success. Did they ever have a Guardian Angel like him?

You wondered so many things, but you didn’t have the time to think about it all. You only needed to run and run and run until he couldn't find you. You tried to get up, but your legs were so tired. It was like they gave up on you. Or maybe you were paralyzed, you didn’t know. You wanted to just lie down and rest somewhere, but your mind was screaming at you to keep going because if you don’t…he’ll find you.

I have to keep going….God, please let me move….

“Oh my…I didn’t expect to see an angel around here.”

You stopped, and so did your heart. The voice was unfamiliar, but if it was a fellow angel, there’s a chance that he’s found his way close to you. You looked around frantically, wondering who could be nearby. Your eyes then met those of a man dressed in all black: a black sheer button up with intricate maroon patterns, black trousers, and black pointed shoes. His hair was a little long, dark, and luscious. His lips were full and red like a very ripe plum, and his eyes were a deep crimson, mischief brewing in them. His dark wings were spread out, and his thin and pointed tail was wailing around like a whip. A demon?!

“Who are you?!” you asked, your voice shaking.

“What does it look like, Angel?” he laughed a little, “Don’t tell me you’re unfamiliar with my kind.”

He stepped closer to you, and you couldn’t do anything about it but brace your arms for anything. Your legs were still not bothering to move, and your wings were a lost cause. The demon was finally standing right before you. He was tall, and he looked at you with curiosity. It’s not every day he sees a battered angel. Normally, angels are well-kept, and their wings are never pinned and clipped. A smirk crept up his lips, and he crouched down to meet you at eye level.

“So this angel is rather…unfortunate,” he said, his voice had a little dryness, but there was something a little melodious about it. “What could have you possibly done to get you looking like this, sweetheart?”

You didn’t look at him. Meeting a demon was the last thing you needed to deal with. Your whole life, you have been told to avoid demons in whatever way you can. They are evil, they encourage nothing but sin, they come from a place of constant torture and endless pain, and they try to corrupt as many angels and humans as they can to take them away from the righteous path. To meet a demon is the equivalent of meeting your demise.

“Not that much of a talker, huh?” the demon asked. “I thought angels loved to talk and talk. But again, angels don’t get their wings clipped and pinned like a treasured bird.”

He laughed a little. You couldn’t say anything about it because he was, in fact, right. You aren’t like other angels. The demon circled around you like you were some zoo animal. If you had any strength or energy to run, you would’ve been far away from him by now. Shivers were sent down your spine when you felt his fingertips glide across your wings. 

“Very pretty and soft wings,” the demon purred, touching your feathers like it was a cat’s back.

You couldn’t help but think of the many times your Guardian Angel sat you in front of the mirror, your bare body fully on display. Your skin was warm and rosy, and he held you close, kissing your neck softly while touching your wings. He did it with the same kind of gentleness, whispering soft praises into your ear of how good you’ve been for the whole day, right before he brought out the long and sharp golden shears. You quickly cowered away from the demon’s touch, shaking and hiding behind the large tree that was closest to you.

“Don’t touch me,” you said.

The demon raised his eyebrows, becoming even more curious. He then smirked once more.

“So the angel can talk,” he said. “Don’t worry, Sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s rich coming from a demon,” you spat out.

“And you know what I am. Good, good. I was beginning to worry that you didn’t. Oh, silly me, I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin bowed his head toward you like a gentleman. You just stared at him while he looked deeply into your eyes. If you were being honest with yourself, something stirred deep within you from his gaze. You weren’t so sure why. Maybe it was just his intimidating presence or devilishly handsome face.

“Well, I’m no one…” you said, finally feeling your strength return to your legs. You got up and turned your back to him.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Hyunjin said, “I thought angels couldn’t lie.”

“Your perception of angels is skewed.”

You crossed your arms and started walking away from him. You didn’t hear anything from Hyunjin for a moment. Maybe he was pondering your words. You kept walking, and you felt something cold and scaly slither up your leg. Your eyes widened, and you jumped, letting out a squeal. The black snake quickly wrapped itself around your arms and waist, keeping your body still, and Hyunjin was suddenly standing right in front of you.

“What do you mean by that, Sweet Angel?” he asked, “You're telling me that all the angels up in Heaven are truly not the God fearing divine beings they claim themselves to be? Has my whole life been a lie?”

He asked with such a sarcastic tone, like it was laughable that angels are capable of being anything other than God fearing and perfect. You wanted to slap the demon before you, but you couldn’t because of the snake wrapped around you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, irritated, “Let me go!”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. The snake immediately disappeared, turning into a red smoke, and you were free to move again. Well…mostly. Your wings were still pinned. “Come on, Angel, I was simply asking a question, and you haven’t given me an answer.”

“Why should I answer to a demon of all things?”

“Because you ran into my territory.”

You stopped for a moment. His territory? You looked around, and the forest around you seemed clearer than before. Sure, it was beautiful on the surface as you thought, but the wind was cold—very cold. The sky changed from blue and bright to dull and gray. The trees were slowly decaying, and all the cute animals you’d normally see in Heaven were laid dead, decomposing on the ground. This place didn’t feel like Heaven to you.

“Oh…the poor angel doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into,” Hyunjin teased. “Well, to be fair, it did look like you were running away from somewhere. It’s only unfortunate that you bumped into me.”

“Am I in Hell?!” you asked, a little panicked.

“I’d say the In Between. One step closer to me, and you, Sweet Angel, will end up in Hell.”

“I can’t be here!! I have to leave…”

“Leave? And go back to Heaven so soon?”

You froze a little at his response. You couldn’t go back to Heaven. Not after running away for so long. You couldn’t bear to imagine the look on your Guardian Angel’s face once he sees you crawl back to him. The punishments he’d give you for being a disobedient angel, or the humiliation you’d feel if he forced other angels to see you looking so broken and ruined, making an example out of you for why angels shouldn’t disobey their Guardians and God.

Hyunjin looked at your conflicted expression. He didn’t understand why an angel would be so torn about returning to Heaven. It’s their safe haven, is it not? But he then looked at your state once more: your clipped wings, held together by a golden pin, your torn up and dirtied white dress, the bloodied scrape on your knee, and the red marks on your wrists, ankles, and neck. Not to mention, the scars on your skin that looked like the aftermath of severe burns.

“You were running away from Heaven, weren’t you?” he asked.

Your silence was enough of an answer.

“Let me guess,” Hyunjin continued, “You disobeyed your God, and you’re dealing with the consequences—”

“I didn’t disobey Him,” you said, “I did nothing wrong.”

“Oh really? Well, what else could’ve happened?”

It was clear Hyunjin didn’t believe you.

“Fine. You wanna know the truth?” Your patience was wearing thin, and your hands were trembling. “My Guardian Angel did this to me. I didn’t do anything wrong. I just existed, and he punished me for it. He claimed that he was protecting me from the cruel Hell demons and whatever sinful things were lurking around. I was too precious to him, he said. But then it got to a point where he just locked me up in his home and then later his room and then eventually a cage….”

The memories were flooding your mind once more: from the beginning where your Guardian Angel gave you a beautiful smile with the words “I will keep you happy and safe” to the many times he clipped your wings and pinned them together, the many times he kept you in a gilded cage, your wrists, ankles, and neck bound by golden chains, and the most recent memory of running away from him the second he opened your cage to check on the burns he left on your skin with hot iron.

Your heart clenched, and even while thinking about it all, nothing made sense to you. The number of times he said he loved you more than anything and how lucky he was that God put you into his life. His kisses, his embraces, his hands tying the strings of your dress together and putting your hair up. They were so soft and gentle, unlike his harsh grip and his loud, haunting voice. Your Guardian Angel was meant to love and protect you, but he instead tortured you for even thinking of stepping outside. Tears streamed down your cheeks and landed on your ruined white dress.

Hyunjin watched as you were crouched on the ground, sobbing your pain away and feeling weak and helpless. He’s seen and done many cruel things in his lifetime, but he’s never seen anything like this. An angel all broken because of another angel. He didn’t even believe that it was possible. All he’s ever known was that angels were incapable of doing anything heinous, let alone lying. But here you are, crying because of your Guardian Angel’s abuse. He wasn’t sure why, but Hyunjin felt something stir within him. He couldn’t exactly define it, but he wanted nothing more than to have you in his arms.

“Oh, angel,” Hyunjin said. He lowered himself to your level. His dark demon wings spread out and covered you like a blanket. You couldn’t see anything except for him. His hands gently reached for your face, his crimson eyes staring into yours. “It’s awful that you had to go through that.”

“Are you pitying me?” you cried, “I don’t need it.”

“No, no, I’m not pitying you. It’s just….They don’t deserve you. How could anyone be so cruel to their own?”

You sniffed, feeling so confused yet comforted by Hyunjin’s words. His touch was surprisingly gentle and not threatening. You had a fuzzy feeling in your stomach, and you didn’t understand why. Why was a demon comforting you? Demons are supposed to be evil and heartless, aren’t they? Hyunjin’s expression and embrace, from both his arms and wings, reminded you of something. You remembered the night your Guardian Angel scolded you for even thinking about walking to the Garden of Eden by yourself.

It was dark outside, and you read a lovely poem about the Garden of Eden. Your Guardian Angel was finishing up his nightly prayers to the Almighty. You innocently asked if you could go to the Garden, and he firmly said no.

“Why can’t I go to the Garden?” you asked, “Every angel gets to see it so why can’t I?”

“Because demons can still lurk there, Y/N,” your Guardian Angel said, his tone very annoyed. “They’ll give you an apple, and your lovely wings will disappear. Besides, we have a garden of our own, and it’s just as beautiful as Eden.”

“But—”

“No buts. My job is to protect you from harm, and I can’t afford letting you walk out there into any demon’s trap.”

“This is Heaven though, and I never hear anything about a demon lurking around from other angels.”

“Yes, but demons are still going to find an excuse to be here.”

“You’re acting like I can’t protect myself.”

“That’s because you can’t!!” he yelled, his voice booming through the whole room. “Look at yourself. You’re too naive, too pure, and too innocent for this universe! You don’t understand just how different you are from other angels, Y/N. If any demon gets its hands on you….I won’t ever forgive myself. God wouldn’t forgive me.”

Silence was between you both, and your Guardian Angel’s hands were clenched into fists. Meanwhile, you were twiddling your thumbs, your whole body slightly shaking. He looked deep into your eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel weak for just how scared and guilty you looked. Your Guardian Angel sighed and approached you, pulling you into a tight hug. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said calmly. “You know how protective I am of you…I’ll go to the Garden tomorrow and pick out something for you. I’ll get you anything you like.”

You were completely enveloped in his arms and wings. His hand was gently gliding on your smooth, silky hair, and your warm face was right up against his defined and soft chest. His scent was so strong that it made you dizzy. You weren’t so sure how to feel within that moment, but the thought of having anything from the Garden of Eden seemed like a good compromise.

“Anything?” you asked.

“Anything, Love,” he said, kissing your forehead.

You opened your eyes once more, and Hyunjin looked at you with such sincerity. Maybe this was some demon’s trap like your Guardian Angel said many times. Hyunjin was holding you so tenderly, and his wings were not like anything you’ve ever seen: so dark, sharp, and leathery, unlike your soft, fragile, and feathered. His tail was one of a kind. It could pierce through anything, but it probably wouldn’t hurt as much as the hot iron staff your Guardian Angel pressed against your bare skin more than once.

“Will you protect me?” you asked.

Hyunjin looked into your eyes, and without thinking, he leaned in close. His lips pressed against yours.

“Yes, I will,” he said, “I’ll treat you better than any angel has in their lifetime.”

He held you close, gently kissing you just like your Guardian Angel did many times. However, this time, you felt the urge to kiss him back. You kissed Hyunjin back, and his hands traveled down to your waist. You weren’t so sure if this was his demon magic or if you were severely starved for love. But you melted into his touch anyway. Maybe your Guardian Angel was right. You were too naive, too pure, too innocent for this universe, but at that moment, you didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. If Hyunjin’s so bad, then what makes him any different from your Guardian Angel? If losing your wings meant never having to be in endless pain and suffering ever again, then you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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a/n: here's a new fic to take a small breather from the LADS AU lol. this type of fic isn't what i normally write, but the idea was killing me, so i had to get it out there. also, happy birthday, hyunjin. love you to pieces, pookie bear :333 comment down your thoughts, and ofc reblog/like if you enjoyed it. see y'all in my next post hehe <3

masterlist | taglist

[thefirstforgottenpages]

I Learn From The Best

Authors note: hhhhhh was on a flight and that’s enough time to write a long fic sooooo buckle up buttercups

Also MAJOR disclaimer, I may have “beef” with liv for injuring Rhea, but under no circumstance condone the threats and harassment she’s getting. At the end of the day it should never be that deep… 

Warnings: Rhea Ripley x fem reader smut, wrestler! Reader, mommy/mami kink, oral, fingering, praise, squirting, swearing, liv morgan (she’s an opp rn lmao), 

“Baby I’m gonna be just fine.” You offhandedly shrug your response to Rhea and continue to punch at your training dummy. Rhea shakes her head at your cockiness, smirking as she steps in front of you, forcing you to stop your aggressive jabs. You were scheduled to fight Liv Morgan later today, and wanting nothing more than to avenge Rhea, you were putting in your all. A small grin graces your features as Rhea reaches out, grabbing your waist and pulling you in, careful to be gentle with her sprained shoulder. “You’re so hot when you’re feral.” Rhea jokes with a low chuckle. You roll your eyes, but nonetheless lean into the strong arms of your girlfriend.

“I’ll riptide her to get the message across.” You snort fiddling with Rhea’s layered necklaces—something you know she secretly loves, “she’ll think it’s you reincarnated.” You continue. Rhea shakes her head amused by your antics. “C’mon I got you food.” She says gesturing to the exit to the gym. You lick your lips, happy to have a distraction from the strenuous workout. Huffing, you agree, grabbing her hand and letting her drag you towards the door.

You felt little nerves about the match as it approached. Training with Dominik, Damian and Finn had helped up your pain tolerance and get into the mindset of a smaller opponent, now knowing how Liv’s thought process would be. So as you got ready, you allowed your mind to wander to what you were going to do after the match. Or, rather, more accurately, who was going to do you after the match. Your cheeks warmed at the thought of the lewd promises that were whispered to you. “Just a little motivation.” Rhea had purred to you earlier. “Motivation indeed.” You grin you yourself as you make your way backstage. 

Bouncing on the balls of your feet you wait for your music to play, when it does, you make the your way to the ring, a sinister smile gracing your lips as you eye Liv up. Your smile turns more genuine however, when you see Rhea sitting first row. With the coolness of her persona, she nods back in acknowledgement, but the arousing glint in Rhea’s blue eyes told more. They reminded you to the hopefully eventful night you had ahead of you. Winking at her, you slip into the ring waiting for the bell to start the match.

Being the favorite, the crowd was screaming itself hoarse for you, but an awed hush fell as you displayed your strength yet again in the match by throwing Liv like a rag doll. You found yourself laughing darkly as you sauntered to her crumpled form. You hoisted her up, making sure your next words were loud enough for the mics to pick up 

“Oh and this one’s from Rhea.” You spit before slamming her into Rhea’s signature pin. The crowd’s responding roar was even more deafening than before. You stuck your tongue out suggestively, eyes once more scanning the crowd before they found Rhea’s prideful gaze. As the ref called the three count, you beamed, throwing Liv’s legs to the side before walking with authority out of the ring. 

“Fucked that girl right up!” Dominik laughed as you got backstage, “couldn’t have done it better myself!” He grins childishly as you laugh. Damien voiced similar regards to your skill, but with less vulgarity laced in his words. “Did good kid,” he chuckled musing your hair as you received a happy punch to the arm from Finn. You then gasped as you felt a hand smooth over the curve of your hip. You know who it is before a different, knowing smile spreads on your face. Your name is cooed softly in your ear before a soft kiss is placed on your cheek. Your face blooms red as you tuck your chin into your chest. “The riptide was a nice touch.” Rhea says wrapping her arms around you. Her fingers dance nimbly up your sides, being sure to brush against any exposed skin your wrestling outfit flaunted.

“I learn from the best you know.” Your cheeky reply has her snorting, nudging her face into your neck.  The soft swirl of arousal in your belly that you get from the simple affection has you mentally face palming, but, with Rhea looking like she wants to eat you alive, it seems that your sentiment is returned. “Fucking hell get a room!” Finn’s disgusted groan has you and Rhea pulling sharply away from each other. Damian said nothing, but the knowing look he gave Rhea had her shrugging, a little bit red, and shaking her longer hair to cover her face. 

“Maybe we will.” You mumble softly, eyes immediately widening at the boldness of your self-inflicted embarrassment. Much to your relief however, the group of guys only laugh, unaware to the sincerity that lies behind your jest. 

Rhea was well aware of your slip up, you watch in badly suppressed lust as her jaw clenched and she shifts her legs tighter together. Her hand on your hip travels lower and you nearly arch at the warm sensation. When you let out a shaky breath, Rhea coughs, speaking up to address the group. “We’ll catch up with you guys later… we’re going back to the hotel.”  Her quick excuse has them nodding offhandedly, not understanding the underlying implications. 

Rhea smiles at you coyly as you nudge your side into hers and she hails a taxi your way quirking her brow as you hurriedly get inside. “What’s got you in a rush doll?” Rhea pretends to fix her black lipstick, swiping two fingers over her plump lips, she holds your gaze as she does so, smirking as you shift in your seat. Her teasing has you pouting prettily, blinking up at her as you pray for the trip back to be shorter than physically possible.

As soon as you were in the hotel room, no time was wasted. All it took was one look of hunger from Rhea and you were hurriedly ridding yourself of the complicated strappy garment you had on. Her rushed hands brushed over your body. You moaned at her eagerness, already too enraptured to care if you sounded needy. You knew she wanted this just as much as you did. “Does—oh-does your shoulder hurt?” Even in this state your concern shines through the pleasure. Rhea silences your worries with a biting kiss before she shakes her head.

“Always worried about me, yeah?” Rhea’s tone sounds cocky, but the affectionate kisses she then places on your cheeks tell a different story. “Always.” You confirm breathless, carefully helping her remove her own shirt. The pathway to the bed was strewn with various articles of clothing, and Rhea chuckles in satisfaction as you push her onto the bed. 

You giggle as she flips the both of you over, caging your body beneath hers as she presses her lips to your now bare chest.  “You look good like this.” Rhea’s voice has dropped to a deep rasp as she eyes the black lipstick marks she’s left on your smooth skin.

“Just good?” You bait, a dizzy smile on your blushed face. Rhea only looks smug before her hand trails up to your throat. The whimper you let out as she does so is loud and drawn out. “Beautiful actually.” Rhea clarifies grinning wider at your state, her other hand slowly trails down below your stomach. 

“I— holy fuck!” Your plea is cut short when Rhea’s skilled fingers shut you up. You arch into her hand as she finds your clit, “What was that darling?” It’s cruel because Rhea knows you can’t answer in this state. And as her middle and ring finger circle your soaked hole, you shake your head vigorously not being able to form a response. “Good girl,” she praises you simply, but your body reacts to her words blatantly. “Rhea…” you trail off unintelligibly and the whine in your voice has her groaning softly and rutting against the mattress as she pleasures you. “You’re so fucking tight sweetheart.” Rhea sighs as she curls her fingers.

Your eyes roll back as she rubs against your g-spot. “F-fuck mommy!” You choke out hand coming up to grip Rhea’s that was still delicately wrapped around your throat. “Feels good hmm?” Rhea questions, leaning closer to bite into your neck. No doubt leaving hickeys that you would have trouble covering up tomorrow. Your breath hitches once more as she adds another finger to your pussy. Your brain is moving slower than honey, the only thing that’s registering is how fucking good Rhea is finger fucking you. The lewd sounds that she was milking out of you would be embarrassing if you weren’t already so close to coming undone. You were quick to cover your face with your hands as Rhea noticed your change in demeanor. “Your gonna cum for me?” Even though Rhea voices it as a question, it’s more of a statement because she knows you will. “Yes—please Rhea-mommy please!” Your mewls are pornographically loud and Rhea moans at your neediness. “Since you asked so nicely.” She purrs to you before her thumb circles your clit with a precision that sends you over the edge moaning her name.

You were still drunk on the pleasure as you pulled Rhea in, your fingers gliding through her silky hair as you kissed her. She allows you to push her gently back once more as you grab at her plush thighs. As you inch further down, you’re keenly aware of the needy gasps that slip past Rhea’s parted lips. “Baby… please?” Her soft question is barely audible causing you giggle at her insistence. But you can’t deny her. How could you? Rhea chokes as you place several open mouthed kisses into her dripping cunt. “You’re a—a fucking tease.” She manages, grabbing a fistful of your hair. You press your lips to her inner thigh before you respond, voice as coy as ever.

“I learn from the best.”

[d1xonss]

The olive theory

If one person in a relationship likes olives, the other shouldn’t, signifying that opposites attract best.

Daryl had never been one to believe fate or anything of that sort when you had first met him. After all, he was very set in his ways. He wasn’t the kind of man to trust in destiny or certain events happening in the right place at the right time. From his stubborn mindset, he believed things just sort of…happened. Not because it was necessarily meant to be, but because of the free will that everyone possessed.

And he had certainly never heard of this so called theory until you had brought it up to him randomly, catching him completely off guard.

“Do you want my tomato?” you asked, holding it out for him to take as you had previously taken it out of your burger.

He paused mid chew, raising an eyebrow at your offer before shrugging his shoulders. “Alright, give it here.”

You smiled as you carefully handed it over, watching for a moment as he ate it effortlessly, knowing that you on the other hand couldn’t eat the fruit without gagging. The thought then caused a lightbulb to appear on top of your head.

“Hey…have you ever heard that theory that if one person likes a food and the other can’t stand it, it means you’re compatible?”

The burley man again stopped eating as he heard your question. Looking at you as if you claimed the sky was purple. “Huh?”

You laughed softly, “You know, like with tomatos,” you used as an example, “I don’t like them, but you do, so you can always have mine so they won’t go to waste.” you spoke with a smile before quickly taking another bite.

Daryl huffed at your statement, “What kinda dumbass theory is that?” he said without thinking, “Ya mean to tell me we’re soulmates or somethin just because we got different opinions on a burger toppin?”

Your face dropped upon hearing his somewhat careless words. You knew it was a dumb theory, one that may not even be true. But still, it meant something to you knowing that the two of you could be connected in more ways than one.

“I don’t know…” you mumbled with a shrug, wishing you hadn’t even brought it up.

Immediately he felt terrible for how he reacted.

Seeing you so hopeful about it, it obviously brought you some kind of joy, one that he instantly seemed to squash. Just because he may not believe in something so small such as that, didn’t mean that you couldn’t. The sight of you just staring at your food a bit sadly tugged at his heartstrings. He racked his brain for a moment as he wanted to make it up to you, wanted you to know that he didn’t mean it like that at all. When suddenly, he had an idea.

You bit the inside of your cheek as the silence grew thicker, unknown to the things going on in his head. That is until you felt a gentle nudge on your shoulder, looking over to see Daryl handing out a pickle that he had picked off his own burger.

Your soft gaze glanced back and forth between his face and his hand, hearing him clear his throat, “…Ya like pickles, right?” he asked, his voice much softer than before.

You nodded slowly, “…Do you?”

He shook his head, “Nah…never really saw the appeal.” he admitted almost sheepishly, hoping you’d see what he was trying to say.

A slow smile was brought to your face when you heard his small confession, gently taking the pickle from him before popping it in your mouth.

His chest filled with a certain warmth upon seeing your smile light up your face, silently knowing he’d do just about anything to see it happen again and again.

“So…that mean we’re compatible?” he asked quietly, tilting his head a bit.

“Mhm…looks like it.” you said with a knowing glance.

AN ~ Hii<3 This is definitely a very random little headcanon, but once I thought of it, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I figured it was very cute and accurate to how Daryl would react to the beloved olive theory.

Also sorry for disappearing for a hot minute, I haven’t had much motivation to write recently, but i’m back:) And for those of you who read my series, the next chapter will be out tomorrow, promise<3 xoxox

[cloudsmateria]

double agent! leon kennedy x reader

i actually really love this fic i wrote I'm proud of it tbh.

summary: you have been fucking your roommate, leon kennedy. little does he know you work for the british government as an agent against America, little do you know, he's an american spy. you finally tell him how you feel, with a mixed response of a fear of commitment and confusion about these feelings for the first time in 6 years, battling suspicions from both sides.

warnings: spicy smut, porn with a lot of plot

You and Leon had been participating in flatcest for the past two months and your feelings for him had been festering for at least another two before that. When you had both first moved in you managed to work your way around that awkward phase by going out at night after your shifts to grab a bite to eat and you had kicked it off instantly.

The reason you opted for a roommate was because the nature of your job as an agent had meant you were rarely home anyway, why would you waste money on rent? Not soon after meeting Leon through a mutual friend of Jill you found that he was also rarely home since he worked for a global weapons company rather high up and said he had a lot of abroad business trips, but your holidays and spontaneous days off had always managed to line up.

This week after you finished your mentally draining mission you went into Leon’s room who had just gotten back from his shift, rather than going to your own. He was at his desk finishing up paperwork at his desk and sipping at his coffee. 

“How was work?”

“Miserable.” You mumbled, changing out of the jeans and top you had changed into at work after your shower to avoid suspicion of going onto public transport, coming home in full tactical gear, and smelling like days of brewing body odour and gunpowder. You took one of the shirts out of his wardrobe and fell onto his bed, which made him smile. 

“Want to talk about it?”

“That stupid bitch Graves couldn’t stop giving me shit the entire time when he was doing barely anything compared to me, he just- Ugh. I don’t even know how to explain my co-workers sometimes, there are some truly insufferable characters.” You had told Leon that you were an aircraft mechanic as it was one of the only things you had an idea of what was going on in that profession as your dad was one, it also excused coming home looking like you had lived in a cave for the past few years when you were on the verge of passing out let alone having the energy to shower at work. 

He lets out a light laugh. “Insufferable characters? You wouldn’t last a day working with my team.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” You whisper, so quiet there was no way he could’ve heard, forgetting of his abnormally good hearing.

“Hm? What was that?” He grins, turning around his chair. 

“I think you’re the one who wouldn’t last a day at my job.”

“Oh really? What couldn’t I survive at your difficult job?”

“The imminent threat of death.” You say sarcastically, making him laugh at the irony knowing he almost got stabbed last week. “You’d blow something up for sure.” Sounds pretty accurate.

“I wouldn’t survive a day there because I’d always be distracted by you. Can’t even focus on my paperwork right now.” He says, getting out of his chair and sitting on the side of the bed to cup your face, leaning down to kiss you. You wrap your arms around him and kiss him back until he eventually drags himself away with a final kiss on your head before getting up. 

“You’re not taking me away from my work this time, I need to finish it.”

“I was going to sleep anyway.”

“I’ll join you in an hour.”

You nod and toss over, closing your eyes and falling asleep in an instant. The next time you opened your eyes, you felt the weight of Leon sinking into the bed next to you, both of you being such light sleepers. You wrapped your arm and leg over him, placing your head on his bare chest and kissing his cheek, prompting him to duck his head down to meet your lips. 

“I missed you on your trip.” He muttered in the brief interval of you both pulling away. 

“Shut up, you’re going to make me think you’re in love with me.” He only smiled and rolled over, in a position on top of you where he could slip his hand up your baggy shirt to hold your trace his fingers along your waist as his mouth slowly worked down to your neck. 

The soft pads of his fingers eventually met with the delicate mounds of your chest, gently pinching the bud and rolling it between his fingers, all whilst marking your neck. He tried to remove your shirt, but you knew his weirdly good vision, he would see your body littered with bruises, cuts and other trinkets you acquired on your body over the last week. You stop his hand, holding it in place and shaking your head to avoid any questions from him which would be impossible to explain.

“You okay?”

“Just- want to keep my shirt on today.” He nods reluctantly, slightly sensing the off-tone of your voice. 

“Something off today?” He asks while trailing his fingers down to the lower parts of your body instead.

You shake your head, leaning up to capture his lips and avoid his questions, he seems concerned but you make quick work of getting him distracted, letting his hand continue its path down your body, pulling off your shorts, slipping his hand under the waistband.

His finger traced circles on your clit, his teeth gently biting down on your bottom lip as he slips a finger into you, making you gasp and your body instinctively buck up to meet his finger. His fingers were so thick, so talented and always like heaven, he watched your face change as he started moving, you clamping around him, completely drenched. 

"Oh, you really missed me." He smirked, making you bite your lip. He slipped a second finger in, curling them up and hitting that spot inside you, you gripped onto his arm as your hips continued to move with him, his mouth back at your neck, sucking and nipping. Your free hand was buried into his hair, the other still holding onto his forearm.

He was driving you crazy, your breathing becoming heavier and louder as your nails dug into his arm, he moved faster, you were practically soaking his fingers, the sound was filthy. 

"I had a long mission." You say embarrassed. He pulls his fingers out of you and holds them in front of your mouth.

"Open."

You part your lips slightly, and he shoves his fingers into your mouth. You start licking his fingers, tasting yourself on him, wrapping your tongue around him, looking into his eyes, they were dark and hungry, watching his fingers move in and out of your mouth, watching the way you sucked and licked them clean.

"Fuck, did I miss you too." He groaned, slipping his fingers out and leaning down to kiss you, he could still taste the slight tinge of you on his lips. You wrapped your legs around him, he pulled away, his eyes scanning your neck and then back up to meet your eyes, his hand slipped up your shirt to grab at your breast, his thumb gently grazing the scab he could feel under your shirt. "What's this?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Did you get hurt?"

"It's fine, don't worry." He nods, doubtfully. You kiss his neck until he pulls away, ripping your legs open to kiss the flesh of your thighs, slowly moving up until he hits what's in between. His tongue laps against the damp fabric, you whine, he pulls the fabric aside and immediately begins lapping up at your folds, your hips moving with him, and his hand pushing down, pinning your hips against the bed.

"So impatient." He says, kissing it.

"Leon, please."

He doesn't tease anymore, burying his face into your pussy, his nose nudging your clit, his tongue flicking in and out of you, tasting you again. He pushes two fingers into you again, curling them up and moving them in and out, his other hand holding you down as he eats you out, you were squirming, moaning loudly, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling.

"Ah- I- fuck, Leon, I'm gonna-" Your walls tightened around him, the knot in your stomach snapped, a warm and pleasurable feeling spread across your body, he slowed his pace, dragging his tongue out slowly to catch the juices running out of you, before sitting up and wiping his face, crawling up the bed.

"Fuck, I missed that." He grinned.

"Shut up." You kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. He moves your panties to the side, dragging his tip against you to get himself wet, before lining up and pushing in, making you gasp and bury your head into the crook of his neck. "Oh, fuck, Leon."

"Shit, you feel so good." He grunted, starting to move his hips, gripping onto the flesh of your hips, you held onto his arms, feeling his muscles flex and move. His thrusts were hard and fast, the room was filled with the sound of his hips meeting your skin, the squelching sound of you both, his grunts, your whimpers, his name constantly on your lips, his praises and his dirty words, all his sweet nothings that felt so real. Fuck, he was such a good liar.

"Leon-" You moaned, squeezing his arms.

"Give it to me, sweetheart."

"Oh, Leon-!" You cried out as you came, tightening around him, feeling him twitch inside you and warmth filling you from the inside. He slowed his pace, riding out your orgasms and then slowly pulled out, collapsing on the bed next to you, quickly getting a towel to wipe you both up. He slips back into bed, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Leon…?” You ask quietly a few minutes later. He hums in response. “What are we?” You felt his body tense up instantly from beneath you.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“I mean… we’re basically cohabiting instead of being roommates.” He doesn’t reply. “Let me ask you an easier question. Do you like me?”

“Of course I do.”

“More than friends?”

He sighs. “Why don’t you just go to sleep? We can talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

You nod, trying to remain optimistic about it. You doubt there’s a chance he doesn’t like you unless he’s an utter sociopath. The way his arms wrap around you now must mean something, how he strokes your hair as you fall back to sleep.

Little did you know, Leon got barely any sleep tonight. Maybe managing to get a light rest at 5 am. He should’ve expected the question, but he didn’t. Of course, his luck evading it had run out, did he really expect he’d continue like this forever? 

He hated the idea of talking about this, he hated the idea of talking about any of his feelings. Every relationship she had ever had in his life, his parents, mission partner, his ex-girlfriends had only ever left him or died. He knew he had been lying to you as well, the nature of his job he wouldn’t even be able to disclose to you. And it would only put you in danger, no matter how much your laughter warmed his heart, your presence at night shielding him from his night terrors, the way your small little intricacies and-

He hated the idea of falling in love again, but he already knew it was too late. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let this go on this long.

The next morning, he woke up at 9 and couldn’t get himself back to sleep, laying there regardless to give your pretty head a soft pillow. You only woke up 30 minutes later, squeezing your arms around him and propping yourself up on his chest to kiss his nose.

“Morning.”

…

After breakfast, you both ended up spending the whole day on the couch watching movies and then reading. Getting some food ordered to the house as you lazed around in pyjamas, but you could now feel a slight tension from Leon. He didn’t return as many of your touches or show as much emotion. 

You put your book down, looking up at him. 

“So my question.”

“What question?”

“The one I asked last night.”

“Oh… That question,” He sighs and closes his book, looking you in the face. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Well, flatmates with benefits… I guess the thing I’m really getting at is that I like you a lot, and I think we should be more than that.”

The moment of uncomfortable silence rips you apart slowly. When he looks at you, he can see Ada, Claire, his ex, every single woman who has ruined him, every single time it’s never worked out. He can see the pain on your face when he eventually tells you who he’s working for, and he can see the pain on your face now. 

He shifts his eyes down, and his next words come out slowly, thinking deeply about his response. “You want me… But you wouldn’t want us…”

“What? Leon, I love what we have. I love us right now.” You say, holding his hands, looking into his eyes deeply as he looks back up at you. 

“Then we can keep what we have.” He says, softly.

“Right… Okay… I’m sorry I think I was just getting the wrong idea.” You say, leaning back on the coach defeatedly, out of it as you think back disappointedly. There’s no way you could have gotten the wrong idea, were you an idiot?

“Please don’t take it the wrong way.” He said, sitting up to cup your face, only this time you sat there still, no reaction, so unlike you, it already hurt him and he should’ve expected this, yet he can’t get over it. “I like you so much, I think you’re wonderful. And it’s me, it’s not you. You don’t want me. You know how often I’m out with my job.”

“So am I, I just thought we’d go together well. Low maintenance relationship, similar dedication to our jobs, our holidays usually line up as well.”

“But that could change at any time.” He sighs deeply. “I just don’t think that it’s a good time for me to get into a relationship, as much as I would love to, with you.” He watches you bite your lip, nodding your head slowly. For fucks sake, how is it that he manages to ruin every good thing in his life? To hurt every good thing in his life when he knows that this couldn’t go anywhere? Now he’s fucking lying to you too, relationships scare him more than anything, he hasn’t even thought about one in the last 6 years, he couldn’t even admit to himself how much he loved you.

“I understand.” You said, standing up, he held your wrist stopping you from walking off.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to hurt you.” He knew he could die at any time, the fact he was still alive was a ridiculous stroke of luck, and it had been so long, that he didn’t even know if he was capable of loving someone anymore, it was already so confusing. “Please don’t let this affect you.”

“Hurt me? How could you possibly hurt me?” You said, frustrated with the vagueness of everything he’s said, left wondering with festering feelings and no idea what was going on. You knew something was off, you could sense it in his tone, something you had too much experience with dealing with, interrogations. 

“I wouldn’t be a good boyfriend.”

“Well that’s a lie, you’ve acted like a good one and we’re not even dating, so what are you not telling me, Leon?”

“What?” He said, incredulously.

“You’re hiding something.” His gut twists, but he can act naturally. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Is it another girl? Have you been lying?”

“No!”

“Then what is it? I’m not stupid, with all this vagueness you’re giving me, skipping around the real reason.” Fuck. He needs to come up with something. 

“I’m not.”

“Say it.” 

“I don’t-” His eyes drop down to your wrist, he was holding onto, seeing a deep scab under your shirt - his instincts take a hold of him, lifting up the sleeve and seeing the amalgamation of cuts, bruises, you pull your hand away straight away. “What is that?” He says, worried. 

“It’s not important.”

“Is that what you didn’t want me to see last night? There’s more, isn’t there?” 

“There’s not- It’s just.” He stands up, stepping towards you, and you back yourself into a wall. He puts his hand out for your other arm, not saying a word. 

“Why do you care? I’m not anything to you.” He keeps his hand out, wordlessly. “Leon.” You say, warningly. You try to sidestep him but he grabs both of your wrists, you break yourself out effortlessly, and he raises an eyebrow at how you’ve done it so easily, with the exact military technique. He slams his hand against the wall to stop you from leaving, you try to step under, getting stopped by him again. 

“What are you hiding?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. All you’ve been doing to me is lying.”

“Show it to me.”

“Why?”

“I want to see what happened.” His hand grabs your wrist again, roughly to an extent that you can’t overpower. You quickly knock your legs between his, knocking him on the floor with his grip still tight on your wrists so you fall with him. How do you know how to do that? He thinks, and with such a graceful agility and power like you do this every other day. He rolls over, his weight on your waist so you really can’t move. To try to flip him with your hips but he keeps himself down, and although he was expecting it, you manage to do it again although with some strain. 

He grabs your ankle as you try to quickly run off him, quickly putting you underneath him again, keeping his pressure firmly on your hips and your wrists above your head. And how does he know how to detain people so easily? It’s not just his strength, it’s his calculated movements. 

“Don’t you dare.” His hand pulls up your shirt, to his absolute horror a bruise so dark it’s basically black covers half of your stomach, cuts on every inch, some long and deep. He had seen your scars, but this was fresh. 

“What is this?” He says, looking at you. He had seen some cuts and bruises on your thigh last night, which were ignored, but it was nothing compared to your top half. You turn away, refusing to look at him in frustration.

“I told you to stop.”

“What is this? What happened?” You don’t answer. “Who did this to you?” You manage to split you arms apart, breaking out of his hold, and flipping him over again, taking all of your strength.

“Leon, please. Stop it. Haven’t you hurt me enough today?” He holds your thighs down against him, not letting you get up. 

“Do you honestly think I’m enjoying this?! Do you honestly think I enjoy hurtning you?!” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Please tell me, Y/n. I can’t look at you like that, I’m sorry, I can’t. I care about you.”

“I got mugged on my business trip and I thought I could fight back because of some stupid self-defence classes!” Is what you manage to come up with. “Now can you fucking leave me alone?!” You rip his hands off of your legs, finally getting up, you feel him coming up behind you and you slap his arms away. You see a call on his phone on the couch, you stare at it until it stops ringing. Hunnigan. Then two messages. ‘Call me asap.’ ‘I need you.’

“I’m so fucking stupid.” You said, walking back to your room. 

“Let me explain.”

“I’ve seen enough.”

“Wait!” You slam your bedroom door, and he has no choice but to pick up that phone call. In a matter of minutes, he’s run out with his bag, and who knows where to. 

Hunnigan had called him about an emergency relating to a breakout of Las Plagas in the lab, and he needed to detain it. He texts you on his way there. 

‘She’s my colleague, it’s a work emergency.’ It’s been a matter of months and his job has already completely fucked up everything. But you? His head is rushing with you, with that little fight. Why were you so tactical? Why were you battered up? You must’ve been trained. He shakes his head, trying to chalk it up to some self-defence classes although it doesn’t feel right. He clears his head for the next few hours. 

You’re stuck in your room in shock about what has just happened. Rejection? Fine. Well, not fine, but it was better now than later. But he saw everything. What type of questions does that bring up? That came out of nowhere, everything built up to that 5 minutes where everything came out, every doubt brought up in those 5 minutes. And why is he trained? Dear lord.

He tries calling you, sending you a message on his way there. You don’t even know if you believe him, she might be why he doesn’t want to commit. You groan, calling Jill.

“Hey, it’s early, you alright?” She asks. 

“Are you free?” 

“Yeah, I’m going out with Carlos to the shooting range. Wanna come?”

“I’ll be over in 10.”

“What’s up?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there, it’s a lot.”

“Alright, love you, bye.” You hang up the phone, getting out immediately before you can let yourself think any more about it. Jill had no idea what you worked as, making it only more difficult to try explain things. She was waiting outside her house for you to give you a hug as soon as you got out of the car. 

“Is it Leon?” She said, knowingly. You nod. 

“Oh God, what did that idiot do now?”

“He’s hiding something from me.” Her stomach dropped, Jill may not have known about you, but she knew Leon’s job and every single detail, the fact he had somehow gotten you to catch on was even more concerning given how good he was at hiding things, although she knew how perceptive you could be, maybe it wasn’t a good idea letting you both meet each other. 

“What do you mean?”

“He’s, I don’t know… He’s hiding something. I told him I liked him because we’ve been…”

“Sleeping together?” She finished. “Thought so, we’ll talk about that later. Continue.”

“He said you don’t want me, his job, something about how I wouldn’t want us, it was just all vague and I can just tell. Then he got a call from this girl named Hunnigan and he left straight away.” Relief washed over her, oddly. Hunnigan was a colleague, at least he wasn’t actually cheating, and you didn’t suspect him. 

“You think he’s sleeping around.”

“No… But, who gets a call from their coworker on a Saturday morning saying ‘come now, I need you.’?”

“I guarantee you he’s not sleeping with her, that’s his colleague and she’s a lesbian.”

“Well then I think he’s hiding something from me, I just don’t know what. And we got into a physical altercation.” Carlos came out, he was listening from the doorway. 

“He hit you?” He burst out. 

“Carlos!” Jill shouted, slapping the back of his head. 

“I wanted to hear the gossip for myself!” He said, bashfully. 

“Let’s just talk about this inside.” She said, letting you in. 

“No, he didn’t hit me but he grabbed my wrist when I was trying to leave and saw some bruises, we fought as he was trying to see my other wrists and… he’s trained?”

Carlos and Jill looked at each other worriedly, did he just get himself figured out? 

“How do you know he’s trained?”

“I took some classes and I was a cadet in secondary school. I can tell he’s literally trained, to perfection. So what the fuck? Is he cheating on me or is he a fucking… I don’t know, some kind of mercenary, assassin, agent?” You say, finally trying to put the dots together. 

“He was a cop.” Carlos said. 

“For 1 day.”

“He trained before that, and he was the top of his class. It makes sense.” You drag your hands down your face in frustration, leaning back on the couch. His training was almost 6 years ago, why would he ever remember it?

“What is going on?”

Jill sits forward. “You’re overthinking things. His coworker called him, and he was trained in the police force. Maybe he just doesn’t want a relationship?” Which would make sense, knowing Leon who’s afraid to hurt anyone, who would have to keep secrets from you for the rest of your life. 

“He’s told me.” Carlos butts in. “He’s had a lot of difficulty with past relationships because of his jobs, being a cop, and the one he has now. His ex, of how many years he had broken up with him when he became a cop. His other one died in Raccoon City, he doesn’t have a good track record.” He thinks for another second. “You promise me you won’t tell anyone because he’ll actually fucking kill me himself.”

“I swear.”

“He likes you, he’s in denial but I swear he does, he doesn’t shut up about you and whatever you guys have been running around doing.”

“And you didn’t tell me, Carlos?!” Jill shouts. “And neither did you tell me what was going on Y/n!”

“I said he’d kill me! Because you’d tell her!” She crosses her arms annoyedly, that’s going to be long for Carlos later. But secretly, at least you’re off of Leon’s case, of course they have to do his work for him. 

“He hasn’t admitted it to himself yet but he does. He’s scared of committing to someone else again and having the same thing repeat. He’s not with anyone else, he just doesn’t know what’s going on in his own head, I don’t blame him for everything he’s been through.”

You nod your head slowly. He wasn’t playing you, you’re still confused. “So what? What am I meant to do?”

“Just give him some time. Keep telling him. Try talk to him.”

“I… I don’t know if I can after what happened. I’m still mad at him, he tackled me for fucks sake, doing everything I told him not to. I’m still having doubts.” You end up going to the shooting range with them, agreeing to just try and take your mind off of him. You find yourself frustrated throughout the extension of it, it still hurts. 

… 

Leon was stuck on the truck to the lab, trying to clear his head, but he just couldn’t. You were trained, fine, you had an excuse for that as off as he felt forcing himself to believe it. Even worse, you wanted him as more than friends, he loved hearing those words come out of your mouth, but it terrified him. It didn’t matter anyway as he already ruined his chances. 

He thinks about messaging you again, but he can’t. Those cuts and bruises everywhere on you play on his mind like a constant film on repeat, pissing him off every time it flashed in his head, it was even worse every time he thought about the fact you could let yourself get hurt. The argument had him heated enough to take it out with a rampage at work. What was going on with you?

...

Part 2 guys? I don't know whether I should continue it or not.

[judesmoonbeauty]

Jude Jazza's IF Prison Guard Story Set: "Immoral Interrogation"- Story One

MDNI. NSFW. This is part 1 of the story. Translations will include heavily cropped screenshots as mentioned here. Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

CW: DC/NC (?) I don’t think it needs this, but some might feel triggered.

Okay, let’s go now while there’s no guards.)

(The exit is just up ahead—)

???: - Stop right there.

When a sharp voice called out from behind me, my shoulders flinched and my feet came to stop.

???: Raise yer hands ‘n c’mere. Any unnecessary movements ‘n I’ll shoot.

The commanding voice was indifferent, and it didn’t sound like a mere threat.

If an escaped prisoner such as myself were to resist, I’d be shot dead by the enemy.

(Because I can’t die now….I have no choice, but to obey.)

I raise my hands and look backward —

— His cold amethyst eyes stared straight at me.

I was arrested and thrown back into prison, where I was roughly rolled onto the cold floor.

As I lay on my back, the man casually placed his foot on my defenseless stomach.

Kate: [Gasp]……!

???: Prisoner number R5328...If I’m not mistaken, yer one of the intelligence agents from the neighborin’ country.

???: Ya were imprisoned after a failed attempt to steal secrets from this country…

Kate: Ha….you know me so well. Are you a fan?

When I responded sarcastically so as not to be overwhelmed by his spirit, he laughed mockingly at me from deep in his throat.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: I’m a guard of this prison. I’ve got all the prisoner’s information memorized.

Kate: But that doesn’t look like a guard’s uniform.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: I’m off duty today. Was ‘boutta rest up when I saw ya tryin’ to escape.

Kate:…..You’re so loose-lipped. Is that okay? Telling me that you’re off duty.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Even if ya know that much, it ain’t no skin off my back.

I guess that’s not just big talk.

I’d heard before that the guards of this prison were superior, and that once you’ve been caught, you’d never escape again.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Seems like no matter how much they tortured ya, ya wouldn’t say thing.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: What’s more, it takes a lotta guts to plan a prison break. I like a lively woman.

Kate: Walking all over the woman you like, the guards of this country have extremely great tastes.

As I collapsed in a wretched state, I glared at the guard, provoking him.

Even though my stomach was being stepped on, I didn’t want it to reach my heart, so I mustered my best bravado.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Yeah, those defiant lookin’ eyes.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Even though yer a prisoner with no power ‘n no freedom, ya still haven't given up, have ya?

The foot that had been stepping on my stomach moves away slowly.

I thought it was a chance to sit up, but when I tried to move, I put pressure on my legs, so I couldn’t move carelessly.

……That’s when the guard shoe came between my legs.

Kate: …..Ahh.

The tip of the shoe gently stimulates the space between my legs, making me let out an unexpected cry.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Yer so cute it’s worth torturin’ ya.

(Such bad taste….!)

The guard finally removed his foot, as if he was satisfied that I’d raised my voice.

Giving up on escaping, I got up and sat on the prison bed.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Maybe ya were plannin’ on meetin’ up with yer friends after escapin’…..but it pointless.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Feel sorry for ya, but ain’t no one comin’ here to help ya.

Kate: On what basis….

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: I was readin’ somethin’ interestin’.

The guard handed me a newspaper that was printed in my country.

The shocking headline read, “BETRAYAL BY OUR COUNTRY’S OWN SPY.”

(This, is about me….?)

— Two months ago, it was reported that a a spy sent by our country had been taken prisoner by the enemy country.

However, newly discovered evidence shows the spy had been in contact with the enemy even prior to being captured.

Kate: I’m a traitor who’s been in contact with an enemy army?!

Kate: That’s BULLSHIT! I’d never do that!

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …..That’s the reality.

(Huh….?)

Was it just my imagination that those muttered words sounded soft somehow.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …..Well, ‘course they’re gonna make ya out to be a traitor.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: If they say they’re gonna abandon a spy who’s sworn their allegiance ‘n worked hard,

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Not only does that sound bad, it’s affects morale.

Kate: ……

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Betrayed by yer homeland, ya got no one on yer side.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Even if ya escape ‘n go back, they’ll silence ya by killin’ ya.

I know the guards are taking this chance to crush my spirit, make me despair, and trying to win me over —

(Is there really no one who wants me to comeback alive….?)

— My heart sinks at the information before me.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ….But, if ya spill all the information, I’ll be on yer side, sound good?

His words seep into the cracks of my crumbling heart like a sweet poison.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Country doesn’t matter. …..I’ll be yer sole ally.

Kate: …..Seems like, you plan to seduce me with sweet words, and then extract information from me?

Kate: I’m saddened by my homeland’s decision, but I’m NOT going to give up information -…..mm!

Suddenly, the guard kisses me hard, cutting me off.

I tried shaking him off, but he pulled on the chains that cuffed my arms, and pushed me down on the bed.

Kate: N……ngh…..ah……

The more I struggle and resist, the stronger the kisses become.

My lips were bitten, my tongue sucked, my breath melted, and my thoughts become muddied and caved —

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ….Ha, looks like it feels good.

Kate: How does this feel good…..Tss, Nngh…..

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Denyin’ it even though yer makin’ sucha sweet voice?…..Bad woman.

The guard reached down to my breasts. While kissing me, his large hand cups and squeezes them.

Because the prison uniform was thin, I could clearly feel the guards' hands, and my body inevitably became hot.

Kate: Ah……Nnghaa……!

I tried to hold back, but I let out a moan due to the sweet ache.

Hearing this the guard parted his lips from me with a somewhat satisfied smile.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …..Wasn’t it yer country that betrayed ya first? Then, it’s okay if ya betray ‘em too.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: If ya tell me everything, I’ll make ya feel even better?

The guard’s fingertips move down from my chest.

They trailed down my stomach, between my legs, and under my clothes.

Kate: ……haa.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: If ya want me here, then have a nice chat with me.

In this situation where I had no one to rely on, the guard's words sounded extremely appealing.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Force size, strategic objectives, chain of command, codes….

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …..Share all the information ya know.

The combination of pleasure and fatigue begin to dull my thinking.

But before my mind was completely overtaken, I came to my senses.

Kate: I won’t tell you anything….!

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …..Why’re ya so stubborn? I can’t understand it.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Is there anything in yer homeland that ya would go to such lengths to protect?

As he spoke, the guard’s fingers came in and penetrated my muddy spot.

Kate: Ahh…….

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: I don’t dislike it. Ya can tell me all by yerself how good it feels when I touch ya.

The guard’s fingertips crushes my secret bud, and stimulates my shallow spots.

My body writhes in inescapable pleasure.

Kate: Let go……Mmm….Tss

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: I’ll stop if ya spill.

Still, I can’t give up information about my country just because of a lewd interrogation.

Kate: Ah…..I….made a, promise….

Amethyst-Eyed Guard:….A promise?

The finger movements that tormented me, came to a sudden stop.

Kate: When I was a child….there was a boy from a neighboring country that I was friends with.

Kate: I hope to meet that boy again someday…..

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …..

Kate: Shortly after the promise was made, the two countries went to war….

Kate: But if the war can be brought to an amicable end, diplomatic relations may be restored…..!

….At present, the country where I live is somewhat on the losing side of the war.

To return the situation to an equilibrium and conclude peace, we spies had no choice but to gather information from neighboring countries.

Kate: That's why I can’t share the information, so that way I can reunite with that boy, Jazza, someday…..[1]

After being tortured and interrogated by the guards, what I ended up spilling was not information about the state, but a promise I made as a child.

It was the number one reason why I became a secret agent... and I guess I just blurted it out.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ….Forget about that promise ‘n take it easy.

Those words were supposed to encourage me to confess, but for some reason, the guard's expression contorted as if he was enduring pain.

For a moment, the color of his eyes, which seemed to be tinged with bitterness, seemed to overlap with the color of the boy with whom I had made the promise.

(…..But, I’m sure it’s just a mistaken resemblance.)

Kate: I won't listen to a man from an enemy country whose name I don't even know.

Kate: I won’t divulge any information, and I will fulfill my promise someday.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ……

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: If ya can’t forget or break yer promises….

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Inside the adult cage, you’ll be teased, tormented, ‘n loved by me.

The amethyst eyes lit up with a sadistic color, and my body shivered. Was it fear —

Ftn [1] Kate actually calls him Jazza-kun here. AWWWW!!!!

Jude: Tell me everything I wanna know, and I'll make ya feel even better. Kate: No. Jude: *Proceeds to finger her anyway* (I think you missed the point babe.)

Just you all wait for part 2 .........because dayyumm.

[Master List] [Part Two] Dividers: @.natimiles

Tags List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @letter-from-afar @nateko @cosmowgyrall. @lunaaka

Please let me know if you want to be added to my tags list by commenting below.

[suugarbabe]

Saving Grace

[Chapter 1]

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: You're caught in a pinch and Mattheo is quick to lend a helping hand, but you might have bitten off more than you can chew

Warnings: none

You turned the corner quickly, pressing your back against the wall to catch your breath. You had been speed walking down the hall trying to get away from Adrian Pucey. You had let him down, at minimum, three times in the last two weeks. You felt like you had been pretty forward with your denials, but Merlin was that little weasel persistent. Maybe he just didn’t get denied that often, I mean, he wasn’t ugly by normal beauty standards. But his personality was that of dragon dung. He had stopped you after potions the first week of classes, telling you how “nice your uniform fit this year” and it took all the strength you had not to gag in his face. He asked if you wanted to sit with him at lunch; you politely declined and then spent your lunch hour in the library for safe measure. Later last week he caught you after dinner, asking if you wanted to go to Hogsmead with him. Again, you declined, telling him you had to catch up on reading that you put off during the summer and swiftly walked away from him before he could ask to keep you company. 

The worst was earlier this week. You had successfully avoided him all weekend, even managing to go to Hogsmead with your friends for a few things without running into him. You weren’t sure if maybe he had actually seen you out, or maybe someone else had mentioned seeing you, but after potions that morning you tried to leave and quickly head to your next class when you were suddenly pushed against the wall. Adrian had you trapped with his arms on either side of your head. He said it felt like you’d been avoiding him. You told him he was right and that he couldn’t take a hint. He laughed, like you were challenging him to get closer. As soon as you noticed him trying to lean in to you, you mumbled a quiet depulso, causing his body to leap several feet away from you before running off to charms.

That led you to your predicament today. Back pressed against the wall around the corner, waiting for the moment you needed to start running. You heard Adrian’s voice down the hall and quickly pushed off from where you were resting and headed down the corridor you had turned. You had made it almost down the end of the hall when you heard him call out your name. You didn’t turn around, scanning the faces passing through for anyone even semi-recognizable to help you, or hide you, anything at this point. Just then, you saw what could be your saving grace turn the corner: Mattheo Riddle. He was in your house, but you and he did not hang in the same circle. You knew if Adrian was going to be intimidated by anyone, it was Mattheo. The entire school knew of his reputation, how accurate it was you had deemed irrelevant as long as it got Pucey off your back. 

You walked up to him quickly, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him to the side speaking quickly, “I don’t know if you know my name, but it’s Y/n. I know this is weird and I don’t expect you to help me but Adrian Pucey has been pestering me for the last two weeks and the git cannot take a fucking hint and now he’s looking for me again and I know he’s just right behind me, I heard him, can you just please pretend like you’re talking to me or give him one of those glares you do that make people not talk to you or something?” Mattheo’s grin grew wider with each word that came out of your mouth. 

“I know who you are, Y/n,” He started, looking over your shoulder noticing Pucey scan the crowd again, “He’s getting closer. You want me to shout at him or just glare?” You took a step closer to Mattheo, trying to hide yourself, if possible, “Glare please.” At that moment Pucey clocked you, brows furrowed seeing who you were standing with. He walked quickly up to you, reaching out to grab your shoulder. Mattheo quickly slapped his hand away, glaring at the boy, “Fuck off, Pucey. She’s busy, clearly.” Adrian eyed you suspiciously, “Since when do you hang out with Riddle, Y/n?” You looked from Adrian’s face up to Mattheo’s, trying to find a convincing answer. Mattheo’s eyes never left Pucey, answering without missing a beat, “It’s none of your fucking business what she does, or who she talks to. What are you, her handler?” Adrian scoffed, opening his mouth to speak but Mattheo cut him off again, “Oh no, that’s right, you’re just the prick that’s been pestering her since the beginning of classes. How many times does a pretty girl have to let you down before you take a hint?” 

With that, Mattheo wrapped his arm around your shoulder, leading you down the hall and leaving Pucey staring, mouth agape and completely dumbfounded. Mattheo glanced over his shoulder, noticing Pucey still watching. He moved his arm from your shoulders down to wrap around your waist, pulling you a little closer to him as you walked. “Just for good measure,” he whispered, getting close to your ear. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t race slightly at his movement, but you kept your face stoic.

There was no denying that Matteo was a handsome man. He had chestnut curls that seemed to fall in just the right place each day, bouncing when he walked. His eyes were multiple different shades of brown in one, easily mesmerizing any girl that he looked at. You knew plenty of girls that have fallen into his trap. Well, maybe trap wasn’t the best word, he did just help you willingly despite barely knowing you. He really had no reason to do that, and given his reputation, you’re honestly surprised he helped so effortlessly, even doing his best to make your simple walk away a little more intimate than just two friends. 

You heard snapping in front of your face, making you blink a couple times before being able to refocus on Mattheo’s half turned smile in front of you, “You still with me, Y/n? You were in kind of a daze.” You nodded, “I’m fine, yeah, sorry. Just got lost in my thoughts a bit.” His smile turned into a smirk quickly, “Care to share?” You shook your head, “Not this time, Riddle. But thank you for earlier, and for walking me to class. I really do appreciate it. Who knew you had such a kind heart in here,” you patted his chest playfully, moving to walk past him and into your next class. 

He was quick to grab your wrist, turning you around to face him once more, “You know there’s uh, a Slytherin party this weekend.” You smirked at him, “You know, being a fellow Slytherin myself, I’m aware of the party.” Mattheo scratched the back of his neck, almost like a nervous tick, “Yeah, right, aha. Erm, are you gonna be there?” You tilted your head slightly, feeling a little confident, “Do you want me to be there?” Mattheos cheeks had the slightest tint of pink, making you smile, “I’m just messing with you, I’ll likely be there.” Mattheo let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “Good, that’s uh, good. I was just asking because you know, Pucey is likely gonna be there so if you, uh, needed my assistance or anything…” He trailed off. 

You gave this some thought, you mean, he wasn’t wrong. Adrian most definitely would be at the party as a Slytherin himself; he kind of got a guaranteed invite unfortunately. “You’re right, I probably will need you again,” Mattheo seemed a little surprised at your words, “maybe we should have a chat then, make some ground rules in case he does try to come up to me again, little bugger is fucking persistent.” You nodded, confirming your words to yourself, “Okay, want to meet in the library tomorrow before dinner? Come up with a plan or something?” He nodded, throwing a wink toward you as he walked away backwards, “Yeah, okay. Tomorrow, I’ll see you then, Princess.” You shook your head, turning back to class and finding your seat. You sat down, putting your head on your desk. Your thoughts were racing, what did you just get yourself into.

[chapter 2]

[writtenbymoonflower]

hey I just wanted to say I love your work!!!! I keep binge reading your marauders posts especially!!! You are such a good writer. If it’s ok, can I send a request for the managers with an autistic reader? Maybe where they feel insecure bc of overthinking bc they act different to everyone else? I hope you have a good day xxxxxx

thanks so much for reading hunny! i hope this is okay. i'm not autistic myself so this may not be the most accurate, please let me know! autistic gn!reader x poly!marauders. modern!au

cw: insecurity, overthinking, mentions of alcohol

1k words

You couldn’t stop replaying all the interactions you had that day over and over in your head. You were scrutinizing every word you had said, every way you had gestured. You didn’t know if everyone loved, hated, or pitied you. It was possible that everything was fine, but it was equally as likely that everyone who you talked to today were still thinking about your conversations and were still annoyed with you. It was an indescribable feeling, it just made you want to curl up in bed and never see anyone again. Everything was just too much. You were grateful you were home alone right now so no one would have to see the state you were in. 

You had taken off your work clothes from the day, changing into a comfy sweater and soft lounge pants. You were on the couch wrapped in a fluffy blanket. (You thought that maybe Sirius had used it last, it smelled just like his soapy and musky cologne. You hummed in satisfaction from the comforting scent.) You buried your face in between a cushion and a pillow, hoping your nest would just swallow you whole and never release you. You had a few minutes to calm down before your boyfriends started barreling in. 

First it was Remus’ soft steps as he shucked off his coat before making his way to the kitchen. He probably assumed you were asleep, because when he passed you on the settee all he did was lean down to kiss your temple. You heard him (quietly) clanking around as he put the kettle on. Thankfully the sounds were familiar and comforting, rather than overstimulating. 

Then was James and Sirius, being very loud as they burst through the door, laughing and joking. It made you smile against the pillow. They were talking about something they had seen on the way home. 

“Moons,” Sirius made a beeline to the kitchen. You heard James hiss when he looked over to you. 

“Quiet, Pads.” He scolded. “Baby’s sleeping.” 

“Shit,” Sirius whispered, walking past to get to the kitchen. 

“It’s okay. ‘M awake.” You mumbled, shifting to sit up. 

“Oh, hi sweetheart.” James crouched by the couch. He could cry at how adorable you were, all wrapped in the blankets and what he recognized as his jumper. Sirius and Remus came back into the living room, each holding mugs of tea. 

“Wow, Prongs.” Sirius rolled his eyes. “Gettin’ onto me for being loud only to wake them up right when I leave.” He tsked disappointedly and shook his head. 

“I wasn’t asleep, just resting.” You took a mug from Remus while James sat beside you, hauling Sirius into his lap. The ink-haired boy turned to face you excitedly. 

“Babydoll,” He started. “I was thinking, Marlene is havin’ a thing at her house tomorrow. Not really a party, just a little get together. She was saying something about ‘playing Cards Against Humanity and getting shitfaced.’ How’d you feel about going?” 

You were contemplating heavily. You wanted to go, yes. It sounded like a lot of fun. But hangouts like that stressed you out. You always felt like you were saying the wrong thing, not acting the right way. Especially in small groups. You loved Marlene, you loved her girlfriend and probably everyone else that would be there. But that only made it worse. You wanted them all to like you so much that you overanalyzed everything you said, which likely only made things more awkward because you sounded so robotic and scripted. You tried to keep the worry from your face, but unfortunately James could read you (and almost everyone) like the morning paper and he usually felt the need to call it out. 

“You okay, sweetness? You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” He reached over to rub your thigh with his warm hand. 

“No, I want to go, I do!” You cut in quickly. “I just-” You snapped your mouth shut before taking a big gulp of your tea. 

“You just what?” Remus asked curiously from where he was sitting on the coffee table. 

“Are you sure she wants me there?” You asked, worriedly. Sirius looked like you had asked if the sky was green. 

“Yeah she does. She wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t. Why wouldn’t she anyway?” His sculpted brows scrunched in confusion. You sighed and set your tea on the side table, starting to fidget and stim with your nails, using enough force to shred your cuticles. James grabbed your hand, encouraging you to play with his fingers instead. 

“I just feel like I never fit in at those things. Like, I don’t know. I just make things weird.” You muttered shamedly. 

“You don’t make things weird.” James said, squeezing your hand. “Why do you think that?” You lost your words suddenly, feeling all too vulnerable. Sirius was looking at you with enough gentleness to make you sob, like he knew you inside and out (he does). 

“I know you get anxious about this stuff. But baby, everyone loves you. I don’t see how they couldn’t. I can promise no one is thinking about how you act as much as you are.” He looked at you, seeing right through you. He abandoned James, making him let out an indignant huff to catapult himself on top of you, wrapping you up and squeezing tight. 

“You know,” Remus started. “I was at work today and Aoife would not stop asking about you. She kept saying I need to bring you over during break because you’re ‘heaps of fun.’” You wanted to scoff but you were too tired. 

“Angel, everyone loves you. I know it doesn’t seem like it, because your brain can’t always tell what people are thinkin’ but they really do.” You looked at James over Sirius’ shoulder. He was looking so soft as he leaned forward to peck your forehead. You were looking doe eyed at Remus and James. 

“Promise?” You asked, quiet and insecure. Sirius pulled away, bringing his hand up to your face. 

“Pinky swear, dollface.” You knew how seriously he took those. You reached up to wrap your pinky around his, face heating as he brought your hands up to kiss your knuckles. 

“Okay, it sounds fun. I’ll go.” You relented happily. 

“Oh thank god.” Remus sounded oddly relieved. “Lily texted me earlier asking if you would be there and I said yes. I really did not want to face her fury.”