#WHY did they render his eyes out like that

[loverafey]

he comes back bruised !

ꕀ warnings - rafe's having a breakdown, a bit mean to reader, brief mention of injuries, unestablished relationship, hurt/comfort. wc - 697.

it had been a while since you last heard from rafe, messages and calls left unanswered. you didn’t want to seem clingy, you really didn’t, but the prolonged silence was starting to make you more and more anxious with each passing day. was he even okay?

you had decided to wait by his house tonight, finding no one there, silently sitting down at the porch as you scrolled through your phone, attempting to divert your attention from the tension within you that continued to build up. evening turned into night and you were almost about to give up when you heard a rustle in the bushes nearby, causing you to stiffen up.

you sat there, still with wide eyes staring at the source of the noise, holding your breath. there walked in rafe, his breathing clearly irregular as he stomped forward, his hands fidgeting and holding onto his head in distress. you soon noticed his knuckles, bruised and bloodied — so were his lips. fuck.

“rafe?” you were quick to rush forward, though still maintaining some distance, trying to not let all of your concern show. the last thing you wanted to do was make him uncomfortable. though it was hard to suppress the wobbling of your lips and the way your hands ached to grasp his bloodied ones. “are you okay?”

he didn’t respond to you, pacing around and avoiding your eyes, grunting in agitation as he slammed his knuckles against the side of his head, causing you to step forward and grab his hand.

“don’t fuckin’ touch me!” he was quick to pull his hand away, his loud voice cutting through the previous silence that surrounded this place. you couldn’t help but flinch, though he barely noticed it.

“why are you here?” his voice came out as a snarl as he stepped forward, closing the distance in between you both, allowing you to catch a better sight of the cut on his lip that was still bleeding.

“i was worried you… hadn’t been responding to my messages.” you explained yourself, brows furrowing as you connected the dots together gradually. “rafe, did you beat someone up….?”

somehow that question made his shoulders stiffen up even more, a groan leaving him as he shifted from one foot to another. “why do you care?” he asked, voice hoarse as his hands shakingly grabbed onto your shoulders, as if trying to see whether you were really there. you didn’t pull away, ignoring the ache blooming in your chest at how he was yelling at you.

he wiped the blood from his mouth, constantly shaking his head. “don’t need your fake sympathy. you’re just using me like others, aren’t you? making fun of me behind my back as well?” he laughed bitterly, his body not knowing how to react. he wanted to say so much more, accuse you of things you hadn’t even done, rendering you confused.

“that fucker deserved it. bad mouthing my father, calling him all sorts of things! i needed to beat some sense into that fuckface.” he didn’t give you a chance to speak, getting louder with his sentences getting more incomprehensible, his mind clearly a mess.

he was panting heavily, trying to struggle away as your hands finally managed to cup his face, eyes desperately trying to meet his wavering ones. once he looked at you, a choked noise left his mouth as the palms of his hands quickly tried to dry the forming tears in his eyes. “f-fuck… sorry baby, i’m so sorry…” he sounded so broken, his resolve weakening as he let you hold him.

“i can’t… it’s just been too much. and everyone’s pissing me off and-” you let him ramble on and on, hissing, tones shifting back and forth between being angry and just utterly devastated. “shouldn’t have yelled at you like that… promised myself i was gonna change.”

“i know, i know.” you hummed, gently wrapping your arms around him. he was quick to pull you into him, face resting against his chest, his heart beat loud. “i care for you, a lot.” you offered him a smile, letting him rest against you. “c’mon, let’s take you inside and get your wounds tended.”

[kiraley]

Hitoshi Shinsou x Yandere!Reader

Description: Shinsou doesn’t like your obsessive coddling. Or maybe he does.

Trigger Warnings - Infantilization. Pet play. Yandere and tsundere themes. Kidnapping. Brief brainwashing. Mentions of bullying, insecurity, and being restrained. Stockholm syndrome. This is meant to be a lighthearted one-shot, however, so nothing too serious is shown! No NSFW content. Age of Characters - 18+. Gender Identity of (Y/n) - Unspecified. 

***

“Stay still for me, Kitty Cat!”

“No.”

“But these cat ears are the cutest! You’d look so cute if you just stayed still and let me put them on you.”

“Don’t care.”

“Don’t be like that. Who’s my good little kitty cat?”

“Stop this.”

“You are! Yes, you are~!”

“I said stop.”

Shinsou’s deep voice severed through your affectionate babbles. He dismissed you in any way he could. Though, he couldn’t do much to begin with. Not with you straddled to the lap of the taller male, forcing him to be pampered like a helpless little kitten. He shifted in discomfort against the restraints securing him to a chair. Funnily enough, the restraints in question were of his own capture weapon. He was almost impressed at your ability to one-up him, had he not been pissed at being abducted. He’s long since abandoned the struggle to escape his binding, but that didn’t stop him from occasionally retracting from you, or uttering a grievance in protest. He didn’t appreciate you stepping over his pride with your affectionate overindulgence. He found it to be quite flustering.

“Why would I stop now? We’re just getting to the good part!”

After placing a cat ear headband onto his scalp, you continued to accessorize your darling. Hitoshi’s gaze lingered past your own as he stared off into the distance with a deadpan expression. Your fingers brushed against the nape of his neck as you worked to clasp a black choker around his neck suited with a small bell. He shivered against the feeling of your fingers on his skin. Finally, you dismounted his lap and stepped back to view your progress. Hitoshi donned a black, white, and purple themed cat boy maid outfit, with matching cat ears, gloves, thigh-high stockings, and a tail. Minor cosmetic application complimented his look as you adorned his face with emo-esq eyeliner- accentuating his sleep-deprived eyes, and a touch of dark lipstick. And of course a painted on nose and whiskers!

You couldn’t help but swoon even more. He was just too cute! Though the outfit was missing something- a final touch! BUT WHAT???

In contrast, Hitoshi grunted in dissatisfaction. He couldn’t have been more humiliated.

“We're just about done with your outfit! It's coming along so nicely.”

“Oh, goody.”

Your outstretched smile was greeted by his unimpressed muse. You giggled at his reaction and toyed with the bell attached to his necklace.

“This choker really adds to the edge of your personality. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I'm not answering that.”

“You just did, Kitty Cat!”

“Stop calling me that.”

“I'll consider it if you behave like a good kitty for me~,”

“That's an oxymoron.”

“Aw, shucks. I guess you're right! Might as well call you Kitty Cat, anyway.”

Much to his dismay, his impassive commentary was dodged left and right, rendered ineffective against your blinding adoration. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, enclasping him partially, and snuggled into the side of his face. He huffed out and tried to turn his head away from yours as you rubbed against him like a clingy feline in demand of scritchies. For someone who refers to him as a kitty cat, you sure acted more like a cat than he did.

“This is highly unorthodox.”

“"Unorthodox"? Please! Is it so wrong to be hopelessly in-love with you?” you purred in admiration.

“If that’s what you’d call being a delusional stalker.” 

A quirk of agitation flexed a muscle on his forehead as you laughed off his insult.

“Being feisty, are we? I do love it when you bare your teeth at me, Kitty Cat,” you lulled into his ear. “Be a good little kitten and “meow” for me, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not entertaining your insanity.”

“You should. It’s far too much fun.”

“Have mercy on me, (Y/n). I’m not a pet.” he retorted, sardonically.

“That’s not my name, silly.” you countered in a sickeningly sweet tone. 

Through gritted teeth, Hitoshi spoke with much reluctance.

“Oh, sweet darling of mine,” he corrected himself with the most apathetic voice, “please, do have mercy on me. I think we’ve both had our fair share of coddling tonight.”

“But, Kitty Cat! It would be the opposite of mercy if I deprived you of my affection!” you objected lightly, “And you’re just the cutest thing ever! I couldn’t stop showering you in love, even if I wanted to. Not that I would ever want to. Or even could.” 

“How considerate of you.” he mumbled sarcastically. He tried to ignore the warmth in his cheeks by looking away. Maybe he was just feeling restless.

“Look, I'm getting tired. Can I just go to bed?”

“You mean, can WE go to bed~?”

“Can. We. Please. Go. To. Bed.” he seethed through a gritted smile.

“But I'm so close to completing your outfit! And I had so many fun activities planned! And you just wanna sleep?!”

“Obviously.”

You sighed out.

“Well, I don't want you to be tired. My kitty needs his beauty sleep, after all. So I guess I'll wrap this up.”

“Good.” he said sternly.

“Right after I finish your look and take some pictures!”

“ . . . ”

“I'd knew you'd agree!”

“I was feeling the exact opposite.”

“Now,” you cleared your throat as you reached for something in your back pocket, “let’s finish your look, shall we? This bow-tie is just the thing.”

“Please, don’t.” he countered blandly as he attempted to wriggle away. His disobedience caused you to grin.

“I’ll loosen your binds if you promise to behave like a good kitten.”

He stopped moving and his eyes noticeably lit up at the prospect. Was he about to sacrifice what little pride he had left just to appease your mania? Well, not like he had much pride to begin with after everything you’ve subjected him to in terms of your mollycoddling. He considered your proposal as a possible way to break free to the outside world once again. Without being tied-up, he’d have a much easier time to plan his escape. And inevitably fail. 

His compliance lacked verbalization as he nodded silently in agreement.

“Use your words, Kitty.”

He paused to glare at you. You were getting under his skin, and he knew that you knew that. He could tell from your ever-growing smirk and how your words tinged with such innocent condescension. There was nothing more enjoyable to you than teasing your darling to death.

“I promise.” 

“You promise to~?” you drawled with a loving coo, leaning in for added effect.

He heaved another sigh and rolled his eyes.

“I promise to behave.”

You hummed a smooth chuckle and patted his head as a reward for his obedience. He cringed as you did so.

“Good boy.”

You parted from his lap to unravel the binding cloth around his torso and limbs. The white fabric fell to the floor in a muted thump as his arms and hands gained freedom. You stepped back and watched him stretch out his weary limbs and rub his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile at his ever-persistent state of sleepiness. He reminded you too much of a cat, even down to the smallest of details. You knew the cat costume was a great idea! And of course it had to be maid-themed. Not for any particular reason. But the emo aspect of his outfit spoke for itself. It fit his personality!

His eyes slowly drifted to meet yours. A subtle look of calculation crossed his visage. A look that, perhaps, you'd fail to pick up on in your current state of swooning.

“Will you ever get tired of the kitten play?” he asked strategically.

“I could never!!”

Bingo.

He smirked to himself. The words slipped past your lips seemingly without thought. With his body unrestrained, and your blissful ignorance causing you to respond, the opportunity to escape presented itself. He was about to activate his quirk when he stopped to ponder his plan. Maybe he'll keep you under a state of immobilization. But how long would the effects of his quirk last until he found a means to escape? You’ve broken the immobilization tactic before as he was mid-escape; the process would likely repeat if he tried it again. Or he could brainwash you into going to sleep. Or brainwash you into entering a comatose state.

No- he's tried that, too. The moment he ordered you to slip into unconsciousness, your conscious mind awakened immediately to subdue him. It both impressed him and terrified him, to say the least. You may not be the first to break from his hypnosis, but you remain the only person to actively break from his hypnosis. It's as if the grip of his quirk is completely useless against you. Or at least, his quirk is rendered useless if it were to come in the way of you and your beloved.

If he can't subdue you in that regard, maybe he could brainwash you to unlock a door or window leading to the outside world. Then he could run away into the night with his newly found freedom. Or maybe he could restrain you with his capture weapon, and then summon the police and/or pro-hero's to deal with your crazy ass. He needed to find a way to brainwash you that wouldn't involve you snapping out of his hypnosis, consequently leading to a time-out for his misbehavior. Sometimes he'd be forced to wear a hat of shame as part of his punishment for acting out, but we don't talk about that.

. . .  

“Earth to 'Toshi~,”

Just like that, he was snapped from his daze.

“''Toshi"? That's your new nickname for me?” he answered sarcastically.

“I figured that would get your attention.”

He shot you a stoical expression.

“I honestly can't believe how uncool you are.”

“Le gasp!! I am OFFENDED!” you overemphasized as you clamped a hand over your heart, before a smile flickered on your lips. “Anyway, where were we?”

“Doing anything but this.”

“Heh! You're funny!”

Hitoshi grunted. For once, he decided to ignore his thoughts. He'll think of an escape plan later, he rationalized as he thinned his lips, tasting the faint flavor of the lipstick. His gloved fingers started smoothening over his wrists and forearms. They were kind of sore from being restrained. You replaced his fingers with your own as you massaged the tender areas. You hummed as you did so- a contended look etched on your face. His hardened gaze softened ever so lightly at your delicate ministrations. There was such a slight, but tender look in his eye as he inspected your countenance, as if the tranquility of your aura was affecting him, as well. The way your fingers moved with such gentle precision . . . Taking care of him with such doting consideration . . . As you always did . . .

“Better?” you questioned, snapping him away from another daze.

“Yeah,” he replied softly, “thanks.”

His absentminded politeness caused you to let out a surprised gasp.

“Look at you using proper manners! I didn't even have to remind you. I’m so proud of you, Kitty Cat.”

Your hand found its way to his head as you rewarded him with the head pats of a lifetime. Your fingers interweaved with his already messy locks, rustling his hair back and forth, and the tips of your nails gently grazed his scalp. You even caressed his cat ears, feigning them to be real ears.

“Such a good kitty cat, aren’t you? Aren’t youuuu? Who's my precious baby boy?”

His contentment dispersed, replaced by bashfulness. A stuttered noise emitted from his throat as he found himself at a loss for words. To add insult to injury, you started leaving smoochies all over his face. The added peppering of kisses proved too much for him to handle and he crumbled under the weight of your love.

“Ngh, hey--! Stop that!”

A deep shade of crimson tinctured his fair face. With your affection making him feel more flustered than usual, his brows furrowed and he tried to shoo you away. You denied his efforts to do so- instead, you giggled at his mortification.

“Awe, is my kitty feeling embarrassed? Do you enjoy your head pats and kisses? Don't be shy, now. You can tell me.”

He refuted your observation with subtle indignance, huffing to himself. 

“N--no, I don't, you idiot. Don’t get the wrong idea.” 

“Noooo, I would never.” you teased, sitting back down onto the comfort of his lap, “It's not like your face is beet red or anything.”

He cleared his throat sharply. The uncomfortably hot sensation in his cheeks couldn't be disputed. You were an expert in making him feel flustered, after all. It's not like there was a part of him that subconsciously enjoyed this.

“I'm only red because you're irritating me.”

“Sureeeeee. Definitely not from blushing!”

“Would you shut up already?” he mumbled, cursing at himself internally for blushing.

“Easy, tiger! No need to bring your claws out! Let’s just finish up your outfit, shall we?”

Begrudgingly, he sat there in silence as you finalized his look. You fastened a frilly purple bow tie around his neck to seal the deal, humming innocently to yourself. The reserved man detested this more than anything. The man just wanted his sleep. Or in the very least, to get away from your babying. His pride and heart couldn't take much more of this.

An adjustment here- a tightening there, and . . . VOILA! You bounced to your feet to admire your magnum opus. At last, the emo cat boy arc has been achieved, and you couldn’t have been happier. The same could not be said for your purple-haired pet. You doubled-over, placing your hands on your knees as you positioned yourself to be at eye-level with Hitoshi.

“Do you feel bonita?” 

. . . 

“Do you, or do you not feel bonita?” you asked again- this time, with much more conviction.

He sighed out the last remaining semblance of dignity.

“I feel bonita.”

“Wonderful! Because you look bonita,”

You grabbed his face and planted a prolonged smooch on his forehead. A noise of disgruntlement warbled from his squished cheeks as you rested your forehead against his.

“You are very precious to me.”

“I can't say the same.”

“Come on, now,” you started, softly, “it’s not so bad, is it? Being here with me? We're in-love, and we're meant to be together. Forever. You know this just as much as I do.” 

Shinsou's stare hardened as he glared daggers at you. An expression that read "are you kidding me?"

“This is what you would call a power imbalance. Or perhaps a "toxic relationship." No- "unrequited love" works better. What we have is not even a relationship to begin with. I never agreed to be your partner.”

“Silly little kitten,” you murmured with a hint of slyness in your tone, “if you were against me as much as you say, you would’ve used your quirk to free yourself ages ago.”

Suddenly, his fierce composure wavered. His gaze inadvertently softened as his eyes expanded in realization.

“I–I have tried. Numerous times.” he stumbled over his words, foiling his attempt to sound serious.

“No, no, no,” you booped his nose in three intervals, feigning offence, “don’t lie like that. It's not fair to the both of us. You can’t sit there and tell me you were actually trying to escape those previous times.”

Hitoshi gave you an incredulous look. Your accusations had him flummoxed to a degree he couldn't quite explain. He was against this situation, wasn't he? Of course he would be. There's no way he actually enjoyed your company.

. . .

Maybe you had a point, after all.

No. He shook his head.

There's just no way.

Maybe just a little bit.

Hitoshi scoffed, his eye failing to meet yours as he dismissed your words, “What makes you think I wasn't trying, (Y/n)? You literally kidnapped me. You force me to be your "kitty cat" everyday. So of course I've tried to escape.”

“Hitoshi, darling,” you started and pulled away to meet his uncertain gaze, “"Tried" is exactly the point. You don't try to escape with that much effort anymore. I'll admit, at first when I brought you here, you gave it your all trying to escape my love. Trying to deny your love for me. You almost got away from me at one point, too, y'know. Almost,”

You pinched his cheek lovingly before continuing.

“But it didn't take long for your self-proclaimed "declaration of war" to run its course. You aren't resisting nearly as much anymore. Your attempts to "fight back" are amusing at best, lackluster at worst. And let's be real; you're the type to put up a fight to ensure you won't let anything get in your way. It doesn't matter the cost. You and I both know just how capable you are. How strong and dedicated you are when it comes to your goals. You aren’t weak. Not by any means. If you wanted to leave, you would’ve done so long ago. Especially with how powerful your quirk is.”

Silence was his only response- sans for a gaping mouth. The deepest hue of rosiness tinged his pale cheeks and his brain wracked with a surge of thoughts as he struggled to rationalize with this revelation. Meanwhile, you were nonchalant. Your half-lidded gaze looked down as you adjusted his bowtie. It's like you were expecting this. And that's because you were.

“That’s why I know that, deep down, you're okay with this. That’s how I know you love me, too. You just haven't accepted it into your heart yet. Not completely, anyway.”

You crane your neck to peer down at him with an expression of prideful amusement. His composure faltered underneath your softly domineering smirk. There was no way he could refute your argument. You had him figured out even before he had himself figured out.

“Judging by your reaction, I can already tell you've come to terms with all of this. I can see you accepted that, maybe, just maybe, you aren't as against this as you initially thought. Isn't that right?”

He avoided your gaze to glance to the side as he cleared the tension from the back of his throat.

Well, shit.

Looks like the cat is out of the bag for real this time.

“I guess I’ll take this over being outcasted by society and villainized for my quirk.”

His relented response caused you to chuckle. He attempted to establish an expressionless facade but you could tell he was overwhelmed with emotion. And you wouldn't be wrong. You maneuvered your hand through the soft, disheveled tufts of his Indigo mane. The small act of comfort caused his heart to soar with elation. He probably shouldn’t enjoy this, but he can’t help it. He was wrapped around your pretty little finger; an indisputable fact, one that he'd finally come to accept. Maybe deep down, all along, he knew his little acts of resistance were something to prolong the inevitable. To delay accepting his feelings for you. After all, the only real escape was in your arms. The only future he had going for him is a future where you're right beside him. Even if that meant being pampered like a pet all the way. Maybe you weren't that bad, after all.

“I already knew that.” you said, smiling.

He closed his eyes and sighed gently. Not in agitation. Rather, in a subtle display of submission and acceptance.

“The world doesn’t appreciate you. It never has. Nobody has ever appreciated you,” you spoke partially to yourself and partially to him. “Nobody could ever appreciate you the way I do.”

A deep chuckle reverberated from his chest. He couldn’t help but agree with your statement.

“Maybe you’re right. You’re the first person to not view me as less than human, or accuse me of being something I’m not. The first to see me as something other than a villain.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I mean, at this point, there's no point in denying my feelings. And there's no denying that you're the only one who never judged me for my quirk. And for that, I'm grateful to you, (Y/n). For giving me a chance. For always being there for me, and for taking care of me now.”

He hated to admit it, but he could appreciate you for who you are. Even prior to becoming your captive, you were the only one to ever treat him with basic human respect. Others rejected him, ostracized him. They deemed him a freak- someone with a quirk suited for villainy. He kept to himself, yet they persisted in his apparent villainous nature. If he was silent, he was plotting. If he spoke, he was an intrusion. If he looked at you, he was perverse. If he didn’t, he was judging. If he worked with others, he was a mooch. If he was alone, he was stuck-up. That’s all he was to people; the embodiment of depravity, no matter the angle he was viewed from, no matter how contradictory their accusations were. He would always be the bad guy. All because of his natural gift.

“Of course. It’s because I love you. I’m the only one in this world who understands you. The REAL you.”

You were the opposite. The complete opposite to what he’d been accustomed to for his entire life. You weren’t afraid to be around him. You weren’t disgusted, judgmental, or abrasive. You spoke to him directly, answering his questions with direct eye-contact. No sign of hesitation, no waver in your voice. You regarded him as another human being- simple as that. You felt comfortable enough to approach him, to smile at him, to invite him for studying sessions and the likes. The only one to ever see past his apparent “villainous” exterior. And for that, he had to thank you, to show you his gratitude.

“The people who judge you and bully you- they claim to be better, yet they treat you so terribly. Who is the villain then, huh? The one fighting to become a hero despite everything, or the one who rejects those based on something they can’t control?” you asked in rhetorical reference. “You aren't the villain. They are. The audacity they have to mistreat you, abuse you, and then claim to be heroic is disgusting. They're all hypocrites. Every last one of them.”

You scoffed. Your hands instinctively tightened around him and you nestled into the curvature of his neck. Your words, tinged with repugnance, hit too close to home for the introverted male. All he could do was look at you in his state of shock. His heart fluttered, accelerated by a burning passion emerging from his soul. He remained silent, allowing the sentiments to fester in his mind, and allowing his repressed feelings to finally surface.

“You don’t need to worry about them anymore. You don't need to worry about anything else anymore. I’ll take care of you. From now until forever.”

A comfortable silence befell the two of you. He made no effort to protest your love this time around, nor did he feel any resistance to your benevolence. On the contrary- he wanted to indulge further. From the bottom of his heart, he longed to share his heart with yours. He wanted to accept your love. To be a willing recipient, who not only receives love, but delivers it, too. His soft expression then soured. His thoughts of internal self-wallowing began to emerge, and his expression furrowed into a display of doubt. Even after your declaration, lingering anxieties got the better of him. The remnants of his past came back to haunt him again as he doubted your intentions. He couldn't help it.

“You mean it when you say you love me, right? This isn’t some sick joke? Some misguided, deluded power-trip?”

Your head shot up as you responded to him in a heartbeat.

“Of course I do–,”

The sound of your own heartbeat reverberated in your ears as an immediate stillness enclosed every fiber of your being. A cold numbness beyond your capabilities restricted your mind and body, depriving you of free will. No longer were you in control of yourself.

With your movements halted and your eyes glazed over with an expression starved of emotion, he pounced. He’s brainwashed you before, but never to inquire about your true intentions. A part of him needed to be reminded of your love, but under the condition of his quirk. He needed to know that this was real.

He was a needy little kitty, after all.

“Answer truthfully,” he commanded. “Do you love me?”

“Yes. I love you more than anything. I would do anything to prove my love for you. I would do anything for you to love me.”

Your response was instantaneous. Even under hypnosis, your voice was defined by pure, unadulterated compassion. Shinsou released a staggered breath of air- one he wasn’t aware he was holding in.

He shouldn’t care about your love.

He really shouldn’t.

He shouldn’t even think about loving you, either.

Even after you kidnapped him- even after the countless pampering sessions, where you treat him as some little pet needing to be cared for constantly. He shouldn’t be entertaining your insanity; he’s said it before.

But . . . 

Maybe he doesn't care what he "should" or "shouldn't" do anymore. Maybe that’s the line between heroism and villainy that becomes blurred. To love someone who is a villain- to acknowledge and appreciate the good qualities in them.

But who's to say who is and who isn't a villain? Maybe you were just like him. Someone deemed a “villain” merely for existing out of the boundaries of conventionality. Someone called a "villain" just because you lived life a little differently from others.

You may have done some.. less than lawful things, but you still had a good heart. Was this justification? Rationalization? Should he be concerned that he was falling for his kidnapper?

Eh.

Looks like he didn’t care about that anymore.

Coloration was restored the shrinking whites of your eyes as the grip of his quirk relinquished from your being. When you came to, you gazed at him in loving adoration, a soft smirk adorning your lips. The coldness from his quirk was replaced by the warmth of your love. He refused your stare by looking at the ground in shame. The bell on his choker jangled slightly as he did so.

“Have I,” he struggled to find his words as he willingly resigned to his fate, “misbehaved?”

You giggled at his remark.

“Not at all,”

Your hand grasped his cheek as you redirected his gaze, staring deeply into his dark purple eyes.

“I like when you use your quirk on me, Kitty Cat.”

Any mental restraint holding him back disappeared once you said those words.

For the first time, Shinsou initiated the first move by leaning in to kiss you. Something unanticipated from both sides. Your breathing caught in your throat as you were taken aback by his emboldened move. His arms slithered around your form to pull you flush against his chest- his long digits splaying across your back, sending a series of pleasant tingles down your spine. Your shock diminished quickly and you melted into his touch. Your palms cupped his cheeks as you cradled his face in your hands and rubbed your thumb over his cheekbone. His lips moved in slow, passional synchronization to your own as you indulged in a moment of tender intimacy. For once, he allowed himself to be vulnerable, accepting you as his own. The world beyond the two of you didn't need to matter. Not anymore. Your hands slithered up his outfit to entangle in his hair. The feline-themed headband fell to the ground as your fingers tousled about, and you could taste his lipstick smearing onto your own lips. He tilted your head slightly to deepen the kiss and you oh so graciously accepted. The two of you kissed passionately for what felt like a heavenly eternity. When the kiss parted, the two of you were breathless, weighted in an atmosphere of requited fondness. Hitoshi’s breath intermingled with your own. His lips hovered against yours, as if waiting with bated breath for your next word. 

The silence was broken when he peered up at you and muttered against your lips, “You’re the first person to say that to me.”

You smiled and leaned in to kiss him.

“I’ll be the first and only one.”

He closed his eyes to indulge in the taste and feeling of your lips once more. You pulled away briefly, a mischievous glint sparkling in your eye.

“Now, then,” you cooed, “why don’t you meow for me, like the good little kitty that you are?”

Shinsou sighed. This time, he sighed in contentment, with a gentle smile gracing his lips.

“Meow.”

“Now purr for me!”

“Don't push your luck.”

[javis-beretta]

Need You (More Than Want You)

this is about 6.5k words, and focuses on secretary!reader x javier peña. there are flashbacks, so pay attention to the dates and headers! the reader-character is not named but is referred to using she/her pronouns. title is from the song "Wichita Lineman" by Glen Campbell. line breaks from evansyhelp!

contains (lots of) swearing, making out, and possible future chapters will contain smut so tentatively 18+. pls rb if u enjoy so other people can read it too (✿◠‿◠)

You're not usually an angry person, but whoever is knocking at your door at seven in the fucking morning on a Saturday deserves nothing less than death. You wrench the door open, ready to let loose all the Spanish curse words you've been learning, but you are rendered speechless, because in your doorway, there he stands. It's been weeks since you've seen him, even longer since you've actually spoken, and last you heard he was being shipped back to D.C. to hand in his gun and badge, and yet. And yet, Javier Peña is standing at your door, at seven AM, panting like he's just a run a marathon. 

"Hi," he says, pushing his way into your apartment like he has any right to be there. His eyes are wild and strangely desperate, in a way you've only seen once before. 

You've spent so many sleepless nights rehearsing what you might say to him if you ever saw him again. Some nights, you yell until you're hoarse. Other nights, you crumple into his arms and cry like a child while he holds you. Now he is front of you, and you can't manage anything other than a weak, "Hey."

"You look good," he says, even though he hasn't made eye contact since he walked in.

He looks good too, dressed in a suit with a fucking tie and everything. He looks more official than you've seen him before, but you won't give him the satisfaction of saying that. He probably already knows, the cocky asshole. 

"Thanks," you reply, voice tight. And then, the question he's been expecting, "What are you doing here, Javier?"

He looks at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. Inhalen y exhalen, like his mother taught him once upon a time. 

"I need you," he says, and he winces when you balk. "I mean, I need you to come work for me, work with me, in Bogota. You're the only person I trust."

You try to hold it in, to be mature, but you can't help the incredulous scoff that you let out. 

"Not a fucking chance," you say. 

"Just," he sighs, "just please hear me out. Please, before you say no." You don't kick him out, so he takes that as a sign to continue. "After everything that happened here, in Medellin, after everything I did, I was so sure that it was over for me. That they would take my badge and kick me out forever, but they," he hesitates, "they didn't. They want me to be the DEA attaché in Bogota, to take down Cali. You're the most competent person I know, and I can't do it without you."

He looks so earnest, so unlike that stoic man you knew before, that you almost fold. Almost. 

"Congratulations on the promotion, but it's still no, Javier."

"Why?" he demands, "What did I— How can I convince you?"

He was one of the first people you met in Colombia, he was close to being your first friend, and you’ve never seen him beg like this. Not for paperwork to be filed, not for a meeting with Messina, not even for a chance with that hot secretary on the third floor. 

"You said you want me because you trust me, Javier. That's why it's no. After what you did, what you were involved with, the US of fucking A rewards you for your sins with a goddamn pay raise and a new job. I can't trust them and, after you ignored me for months, Peña, like I was the one who did something wrong, I definitely can't trust you."

His eyes are pleading, verging on pathetic. 

"You can," his voice is hoarse, watery. "You can trust me. It'll be different this time, it'll be good. We'll do it right, end this once and for all. I just, I need you there with me."

In spite of yourself, you believe him. Your traitorous heart flutters at that word -- need -- again, and you take your own deep breath in to stop yourself from thinking of the last time he said something similar, when his body was underneath yours and you were breathing in tandem. You exhale and observe him for a moment, his head hanging down and his eyes screwed shut, like he's ashamed of something. 

You've never said it out loud, but Javier has always known you're somewhat of a kindred spirit. That was what started the arguing, the heat that had once pulsed between the two of you. Naive as it may have been, you were an idealist, just like him. You believed in justice, and you had worked to see it done. With Pablo, it had been messy, a winding, twisted path that started and ended in bloodshed. Maybe, Javier was right. Maybe you finally had a chance to do things right, to make up for all the ways you failed. Maybe you could finish this, be done with Colombia, be done with him, once and for all. You sigh out his name and he finally looks up. 

"When?" Your hands are on your hips and you look grim. It's a familiar look to Javier, one of his favourites on you. 

"What?" he snaps out of his observation of you.

"When?" you repeat, impatient. "When do we start?"

He beams, a smile wide and fucking dangerous, like the burning sun on a summer day in Colombia. That's how it all starts, after it has ended once already. You're screwed, you just know it.

Bogota, 1994. Months later.

"No one can get in to see him at short notice, Peña, he's a stickler for due process. I'm afraid this is out of my hands." Crosby is as grim and as unhelpful as ever. 

"What do you mean 'this is out of your hands'? You're the fu— the ambassador! Surely, there's something you can do?"

Javier is exhausted. This charade of professionalism is draining. He needs a cigarette, he needs a politician who gives a fuck. Crosby sighs, and shakes his head no. 

"I'm sorry, Peña. Find a different judge, or find a different way."

It's as good as a dismissal, and Javier stomps out of the ambassador's office, a storm in his eyes. He's reaching into his back pocket for his smokes, before he swears, remembering that you’re holding onto them. He’s supposed to be quitting, after all. He sighs and re-routes to your desk, just outside his office. It has been months since he begged you to join him, and you are every bit the asset he knew you’d be. The office would fall apart without you. He’d fall apart without you. Thanks to Feistl and Van Ness, the agents you’d recommended he choose for Cali, the DEA is closer than ever to bringing down Miguel. But close is not close enough if he can’t get his warrant, if he can’t do things right this time. 

When you come into view, you're telling Stoddard off for something, and Javier smiles in spite of himself. 

"Yes, Agent, I am well aware that I don’t outrank you. I'm just telling you that Agent Peña will take a look at your proposal after, and only after, I have vetted it and decided if it’s worth his time. He's too busy for bullshit," you say, dismissing the younger agent easily. 

"What bullshit am I too busy for today?" Javi leans on your desk and gives you a thin, conspiratorial smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"The young man wants a new water cooler for the office. He wrote you a proposal, Javi," you smirk back. 

"Whatever I see goes through her first. You know the rules, kid," Javier addresses Stoddard, who straightens up at the attention. 

"But I—" he starts to protest. 

"But nothing. She’s more capable than anyone in this office, including me. It's her call."

Stoddard sighs and deposits the document on your desk, before slouching back to his. 

You survey Javier for a moment. 

"Meeting with Crosby didn't go well?" you probe, already holding out his pack of Camels. Javier knows better than to be surprised that you can read his mood so easily, even when he's trying to quash his disappointment down. 

"Yeah, it's a no go. Looks like I won't be able to get an expedited warrant from Lopéz, and he's the only judge we know for sure won't snitch to the godfathers. We'll have to find another way," he sighs, taking the cigarettes from your hand and lighting one up.

"Wait, the judge you need is Lopéz? Emiliano Lopéz?" you have a familiar look on your face, that icy determination that first endeared Javi to you, even when he wouldn’t admit it.

"Yeah, Lopéz, the magistrate here in Bogota. His docket is full for weeks, and he’s not the type to let us cut in the line. He's honest enough that he won't work for Cali, and honest enough that he won't budge under any pressure from us. Not to mention the fact that he hates America, and all that good ol’ Uncle Sam stands for," Javi takes a deep drag of his cigarette, his mind already thinking of loopholes, of strategies, of options. Turns out that doing things right in Colombia isn't as easy as it looks. Due process often means the slow-turning wheels of justice, and that means a chance for the godfathers to evade capture once again. But he had promised you that things would be different, and he meant it.

Javier turns back to you, raises his eyebrows at your wide grin. 

"I can get to Lopéz," you are already flipping through your almighty rolodex. He sighs, and says your name. 

"I wasn't kidding when I told the kid that you're the best person here, but this may be beyond even your powers," he says, gently. He knows you don't like to be wrong, just like him. 

You don't argue, not even to remind him that that isn't exactly what he said to Stoddard a minute ago. Instead, you ignore the flutter in your chest that his compliment brings on and pause on an entry: "Here it is! Gabriela Lopez!"

"His wife?" Javier asks, intrigued. 

Your smile is shining. 

"Even better. His daughter. His only daughter. Met her a few years back at some fancy government party. Her birthday is in a couple of days, and I happen to know her favourite brand of tequila. Lend me that corporate card and I'll get her to talk to dear old dad." You're smug, as you well should be. 

Javier sighs again, but he's already digging for the card in his wallet. 

"You sure this'll work?" he asks, holding it just out of your reach.

"You dare to doubt me? Just for that, you're paying for drinks on Friday," you snatch the card from him, already dialling the number on the office landline. 

"Drinks?" he asks, trying not to be mesmerised by your pretty red nails as you twirl the phone cord in your hands. 

"Drinks," you confirm. "We're going out for drinks after this works out."

Before he can reply, you're already hollering into the phone and shooing him away. 

"Gabi! Hi! How's the baby doing? Still keeping you and Samuél up all night?"

He ambles back to his desk and slumps in his chair, pretending to look over a report. In reality, he's watching you through the glass door, your over-expressive face and your widening grin. He really had meant what he said to Stoddard earlier: you are the best person in the entire office, maybe in all of Colombia. You are far better than he deserves, that much he knows. More than just a capable assistant, you're the lifeblood of the DEA in Bogota: competent, organised and meticulous to a fault. 

He frowns to himself as he remembers how he made fun of you, back in Medellin, for those same traits. Attractive, and more than a little intimidating, he had envied your charm and likability. Even worse, he had despised the fact that you barely gave him a second glance, rebuffing his flirtations and throwing out his shoddy paperwork in favour of Murphy's neat handwriting. He had seen you as a bastion of bureaucracy, everything that was the problem with the government and the DEA. Messina's pretty assistant, who demanded excellence and challenged him, constantly. He knows now that you are anything but a stickler for the rules. In reality, you believe in order and in systems, not unlike Martinez. You bend rules, but only when you know it is right. You make sure everything looks good on paper, because you know that good actions mean nothing in this world without the paper trail to back them up. You are good, and Javier, as much as he tries to be better these days, can never forget how he once was anything but. 

He sighs and returns to his work, giving you one more longing look since he knows you aren’t paying attention. He's lost in his documents when you come bounding in, not bothering to knock. 

"Good news or bad news, first?" you say, beaming as you lean your forearms on his desk. He clears his throat and is proud to say that he barely glances at your chest. Barely. 

"Good news, please," he says. 

"You have a meeting. His new secretary is Peruvian, and she’s doing us a huge favour, so you're going to buy her a box of alfajores and some flowers on your way in to the judicial offices at 8am, tomorrow. Get there fifteen minutes early, parking is a bitch."

Javier is on his feet and hugging you before he can really think about it. You came through, because, of course you did. You were right, he was ridiculous to doubt you, competent, capable, wonderful, you. You're laughing in delight at his over-the-top reaction.

"Wait," he says, holding on to your shoulders, "what's the bad news?"

You sigh, pouting exaggeratedly, "Gabriela's cousin's bachelorette party is on Friday, and I need to give her that fancy bottle of tequila, so we have to postpone our celebratory drinks."

He's trying and failing to bite back his smile, and yours doesn't falter, even as he steps back and the space around you empties of his electricity. 

"What a shame," he drawls, already pulling his fancy whiskey and two glasses out of the drawer of his desk. "Guess we'll just have to celebrate now, instead."

He pours you a glass and hands it to you, ignoring the familiar spark when your hand brushes his. 

"A tu salud," he clinks it with yours, and you take a sip in tandem. The whiskey is rich and warm on your tongue. Despite it all, you can't help but miss the burn of the cheap, shitty liquor you once shared with him. 

The warrant comes through, because of course it does, and the operation to arrest Miguel Rodriguez is a success. Javier does his press interviews and you stand off to the side, watching the way he commands the room when he speaks. He wishes he could tell the world how he owes this success to you, to your fucking rolodex, your support, your charm. Even now, as he is trying to be a better man, he knows he does not have the words for all you are to him. Instead, he just smiles at you as he walks away from the platform. He leads you away from the clamouring journalists into an empty hall, wraps you in a bear hug, and whispers "Thank you," over and over again into your hair. He hopes you understand everything he means, hidden below the simple words. You hug him back, tight and firm, and he thinks that maybe you do. Maybe you understand his words, his meaning, him, better than anyone ever has before. 

A few days later, he is working in his office, trying not to look at you through the glass doors. You’re a vision in that red dress – your Friday dress, you call it – and he knows that if he glances up at you, he won’t be able to look away. In his periphery, he sees someone approach your desk. Probably Stoddard, he guesses. Except, you were usually pretty good at shoo-ing the kid away and this person is lingering. He looks over just in time to see you throw your head back in laughter at something Feistl – fucking Feistl ­– is saying. He’s talked to Feistl plenty, and Javier knows for a fact that he is not that funny. 

He frowns, and strains to hear your conversation, striding across the room to fiddle with his filing cabinet, where he thinks he might hear you better. He’s just curious, he tells himself. 

“–dancing? Next Friday, around eight. There’s a cute new place on Calle 83 that I’ve been meaning to try.”

“Yeah, that sounds great, though I’m not much of a dancer,” he sounds sheepish. 

“I’ll be the judge of that. Maybe after a couple of drinks, I’ll even teach you how to cumbia,” you smirk at him, and now it’s Chris’s turn to laugh. 

Javier is squeezing the door of his filing cabinet so tight that he thinks he might warp the metal. Feistl and… you? Dancing? Drinks? His stomach hurts a little at the thought of it, and he wishes he hadn’t been so curious, so nosy. 

He huffs and goes to sit back down at his desk, tries valiantly to focus again. But he can’t stop thinking about you in that dress, about you dancing, laughing with someone who isn’t him. In the end, he needs to stay late to get through all the work that he couldn’t focus on. Though his concentration isn’t any better in the evening, because you’re working late too, and you’re so close that he feels like his body is humming. You’ve taken your heels off and you’re sitting on the little couch in his office with your feet tucked under as you survey paperwork. It’s busy work that any intern could do, but you pride yourself on quality, so you insist on triple-checking everything, even if it means staying late. It’s become a sweet little routine, which is why you get so comfortable in Javi’s office when the department clears out for the night. 

He realizes that he doesn’t know your relationship status, or Feistl’s, for that matter. He had assumed you were single, as crazy as the thought is. You’re often in his office, working late and he doubts any self-respecting partner would let you stay away so frequently. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on his part. Feistl, on the other hand… Javier knows he has a kid, but not much else about the agent’s personal life. Though, Javi guesses that Chris is probably closer to your age than he is. Less of a dark past, too. Maybe you’d make a good match. He winces at the thought.

"You know Feistl has a kid, right?"

It's the first time Javi has spoken in maybe an hour. You're correcting paperwork, filing documents and trying to align meeting schedules for the next few weeks. Javier is supposed to be poring over financial documents, trying to find a witness who might testify against Miguel.

"Oh, he does? Must be hard being away all the time," you reply, indulging Javier's unusual attempt at small talk with a response.

"I just thought it's something you should know since you and him are... You know," he continues, awkward as anything.

"Me and him are... what?"

"I, uh, heard you guys talking at your desk this afternoon. You're going, um, dancing?" he continues, putting a strange emphasis on the last word. 

It takes you a few seconds to catch on to his meaning. 

"Javier, do you think there's something going on between me and Chris?" you ask, incredulous. 

Javi's eyebrows raise and his eyes widen. It would be comical if it wasn't so stupid. 

"I just— I heard you and him talking about going dancing this weekend and, you know, workplace relationships and all that and I just thought I should mention it to you, in case you don't know and now I did so... Yeah. You know." His rambling is bizarre, and out of character, and you can't do much in response except let out a shocked little laugh. He winces at his own inability to string a fucking sentence together. 

"Javier. Seriously. I invited Chris to go dancing with me, and the entire office, like we do once a month, and have been doing since we started working here in Bogota. You know, the team building that I suggested we do to build morale, that I invite you to every month, and every month you say..."

"Too much work, maybe next time," he intones, finishing your sentence, still wincing.

"Yup. I'm not going out with Chris, or anyone for that matter. Not that it's any of your business," you sniff.

"Oh," he breathes a sigh of relief, "good," he says, before he can stop himself. You look at him sharply and his brown eyes look a little panicked. "I mean, good that you're not dating Chris because, I guess, dating in the workplace isn't really a good idea," he continues. The plastic pen in his hand looks about to snap.

"Huh," is all you say back, and he knows you well enough to know how dangerous the neutral expression on your face is.

"What?" he says, quickly, defensively.

"I just think it's funny that you're worried about me dating in the workplace like you didn't fuck the secretaries in three different departments back in Medellin.”

"Oh, c'mon," he says your name, "that's different."

"Oh, is it? Different? Because the rules don't apply to Javier Peña, right? So you can break hearts all over the office, and I'm getting fucking interrogated for being friends with my colleague? Is it because I'm a woman, or because I'm an assistant? Is that why it's different, jefe?" you huff, sarcastic and upset. 

"You know that's not what I mean. Don't be ridiculous," he replies, and you balk at his tone. He's using the voice he uses on the younger agents, talking down to you like he has any right to do so. All too quickly, you are back in that stuffy office in Medellin, listening to him condescend and patronise you. 

"You know what," you stand up quickly, dusting off your skirt, and slipping your heels back on. "Maybe I will go see if Chris wants to go out with me, or maybe I'll ask Van Ness, or anyone I want to, because I can," you march out, forgetting that it's only you and Javier left in the office at this time. 

He's up and following you before he knows what he's doing, grabbing on to your arm to stop you. Your skin tingles where he's touching you, especially when he says your name in that soft, dulcet tone. 

"I'm sorry, okay?" he says, when you turn around to face him. "I shouldn't have assumed, and I shouldn't have said that. You can date whoever you want, of course you can," he pauses for a second, takes a breath. "Just please don't date Feistl, he's like a short little version of Murphy. It freaks me out," he breathes out in relief when you smile at his stupid joke. He tries not to linger on how tense his chest felt at even the prospect of your ire. 

In those early days in Medellin, he would have expected nothing less than your biting sarcasm, your quick, mean retorts. But everything had changed since that day he showed up at your door. Since that day he begged for you. Things had been changing before then, maybe. That night he couldn't forget, no matter how much whiskey he drank, that was the moment things shifted. 

"Fine," you say, caught between a smile and a pout, "I won't date Feistl."

He still hasn't let go of your arm, and you still haven't pulled away from him. Javier isn't an idiot, he knows when a woman wants him. And he knows you're attracted to him, just like you know he's attracted to you. His hand slides up your arm to cup your face. The way his thumb strokes your cheekbone is familiar. 

"Don't—" he starts to say, before shaking his head. He has no right to you, and yet. You look at him with a question in your eyes. He wants to step back, out of your space, but he can't. 

"Don't date anyone," he says, all too aware that he is being possessive, that he has no right to ask anything of you.

You don't step back, or move away. Instead, you take him in. Your eyes are searching, scanning his face for something. 

"Why not, Javier?"

The question is so simple. Not for the first time, he curses at his own inadequacy. He wishes he could put it all into words, wishes he could explain this need he has for you. He wishes he could explain the way the smell of your perfume sometimes lingers in his office, the way he craves it when it doesn’t. He wishes he could tell you that you are his best friend, his best asset, the best part of him. He wishes he could explain how you are part of him, how your thoughts and interests and desires have weaved their way into his heart, and now he will always comprise him-and-you. He wishes he could say that you dating someone else would mean not dating him, and that would damn near kill him. 

"Because," he says.

"Because?" you prompt him for more. 

He hesitates, and the air between you sparkles with possibility. The tension between you and him is familiar, but this feeling – this string between you pulling tight, like it might soon snap – is something you’ve only felt once before. 

Javier’s chest is heaving at the intensity between you, and, before you know it, you are leaning up into his space. He is so close that his warm breath ghosts over your lips when he speaks.

“Because I—” 

A vacuum cleaner sounds, and you both start, moving away from one another quickly. There, in the dim light of the main office is Imelda, one of your favourite cleaning ladies. She notices you both a moment later, and waves cheerfully, beckoning you over and switching the vacuum off. You glance back at Javier, but he is looking down, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair. You paste on your smile, and walk over to Imelda. 

Javier watches you as you interact with the kind woman, though your Spanish is just passable, and she barely speaks English, you are communicating with such warmth and openness. He smiles, despite himself, despite what he had almost admitted to you. Imelda reaches into her purse and hands you something homemade in a packet, and waves you off so she can continue vacuuming. 

Javier is leaning against his desk when you walk the short way back to him, and he doesn’t miss the way your hand nervously clenches and unclenches. He wonders if you even know that you have a tell. You give him a half-smile as you stop in front of him, more distant than you were before, but close enough that he could probably touch you with an outstretched hand. 

In your hand is a packet of polvorosas, made by Imelda herself. It makes sense to him that she would give you something, you are more likable than he thinks fair. You’re kind to all staff members, regardless of their rank, and there is something about your self-effacing warmth that inspires gift-giving. 

You look up at him, worrying at your lower lip and he is suddenly struck by how little he deserves you. You told him once that you thought he was a good man, but he knows that however good he is, you are a million times better. 

“Sorry, you were,” you smile sheepishly, “before, you were saying something.”

He is quiet for a long moment as he regards you, and you feel naked in the warmth of deep brown eyes. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He turns back to his desk, sitting and picking up a report with clinical casualness. “We should get back to work.”

He doesn’t dare glance up at you, even as you hover near his desk, where he left you standing. You stand there for a long moment, caught between shock and hurt. And then, you shake yourself out of it, mimicking his nonchalance and picking a report back up. If Javi would have looked at you, he would have seen your hand tremble.

Medellin, 1993. Before.

In the wake of Carillo's death, in that godforsaken barrack room at Carlos Holgúin, Javi is caught somewhere between grief and blinding rage, as he so often is these days. He could hardly stand it, the way loss felt new every time, no matter how many times he'd felt it. He’s angry at Carillo, for failing him, for doing such dark things in war time and leaving Javier alone to sit with it all, for not seeing it through to the end with him. He’s angry at himself, for not stopping Carillo before it went too far. He misses his mother. He hurts for Carillo's wife, for his children, for that poor kid in that goddamn alleyway. Carillo, he had always thought, was the very best of them. Uncompromising, always; going too far, sometimes. If Carillo, imposing and militaristic as he was, could not be a good man, then what chance did little Javier Peña have?

You come to see him after Messina leaves. Ever her opposite, you don't know the right things to say. You don't say much at all, just hover behind him and gesture to his steadily emptying whiskey bottle.

"You in a sharing mood, tonight, Peña?"

He passes the bottle over and watches you, eyes maybe too heavy, as you take a swig and wince at the burn of cheap liquor. You hand it back. He still hasn't said anything. He's not sure there's anything he can say.

You exhale and perch at the edge of the thin regulation mattress, leaning back on your hands as you observe him. Red-rimmed eyes, a full ashtray on the table in front of him and another cigarette, not yet lit, held between his teeth. The silence stretches between you like taffy. 

"You gonna say anything, or did Messina just send you in here to stare at me?"

"Messina didn't send me here."

Javier scoffs. "Yeah, I'm sure after months of bein' a pain in my ass that you're here because you care about my wellbeing, right?" 

You don't reply. You know when Javier is picking a fight, and you're not in the mood to give in to him, not after the day you've both had. After a few more beats of silence, Javi takes another swig, emptying his whiskey glass. Then he stands up, all sharp, abrupt movements, and lingers where you're seated, handing the bottle back as a kind of fucked up peace offering. You accept. 

He's still watching you as you take another sip, and he complies far too easily when you pat the open space beside you and gesture for him to sit. He sighs; it sounds jagged, wrecked. 

"Do you think there are any good men?"

If you're surprised by the question, you don't show it. Javier is grateful that you don't show it. 

"I think," you hesitate, before carefully continuing, "I think someone's actions, their choices –  that's what makes them good. Good intentions, good thoughts, they don't count for much. The good things you do, that’s what makes the difference."

Javi swallows, parsing your answer in his mind. The silence that blankets you both now is less comfortable than before, it is thick with something unsaid. 

"Carrillo before he— before what happened tonight, did some things that...” he trails off. “I don't think he was always a good person. He wasn't Escobar, but he hurt people. That story about the child in Medellin, it's true. I was there and I... I let it happen. If Carrillo isn't a good man, then what does that make me?" His voice is thick and watery, weak with pain. His head is bowed, like he's praying or like he’s ashamed.

For the first time since you've met him, Javier seems human, vulnerable. No machismo, no tough mask. It pulls at your heart and tears prick at your eyes. You put the bottle down and touch his arm, feeling the muscle jump. 

"Oh, Javier," you breathe out, not sure what else you can say.

He moves quickly, suddenly and you almost think he might kiss you, but he doesn't. He just crumples into your arms, and you hold him, let him pretend he's the one holding you. You stroke the hair on the back of his head as you sit and breathe with him. 

"It's gonna be okay, Javi. It has to be," you whisper, voice muffled.

You don’t know how long you sit like that and pretend not to notice the wetness on shirt as he cries into your shoulder. Just as suddenly as he leaned in to you, he sniffs and pulls back, wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. His other hand is still at the small of your back, fisted in your shirt. For a moment, you both just look at each other. Months of bickering in the office hallways, of posturing and competing, pass between you in that look you share. Your throat feels dry. 

Your eyes flicker down to Javier's pretty pink lips as his tongue darts out to lick them. You hope he doesn't see your slip, but his eyes have already darkened. He pulls you closer to him with the hand at your back and the other goes to your jaw. For all his fire and intensity, the way he holds you now is tender, almost delicate.

You lean closer just as he does, and he presses his forehead to yours, lips just a breath away. Your eyes flutter closed, so you miss the way his eyes dart over your face like they're searching for something, or committing this to memory. Just as the moment feels like it's lingering a little too long, he kisses you. 

Javier kisses you like he needs you, not delicate but not quite vicious either. As he pulls you impossibly closer to him, you wrap your arms around his neck and scratch at the soft hair at his nape. He gasps, and moves his lips against yours with all the intensity he can muster. Somehow, the hand cradling your jaw is still tender, even as he slips his tongue between your lips and you moan at the taste of him. He pulls you into his lap and you grind against him, lost in the feeling of him all around you. His hands are everywhere, running through your hair, grasping at your thigh. The way he kisses makes you feel boundless; overwhelmed and stunned, all at once. 

He pulls away, resting his head in the space between your shoulder and neck and mouthing at the skin there. He sighs, hot breath fanning against your neck. His big, warm hand slips under your shirt and runs over the clasp at the back of your bra. 

"Need this so bad, querida," he whispers against your skin, and all too suddenly the feelings of the day come back to you.

"J-Javi," you breathe out.

He hums affirmatively against your skin and ruts up a little at the sound of his name. You can't swallow your gasp at his hardness under those tight denim jeans.

"Javier, I— wait. Stop."

His body goes still, fills with the tension that your touch had been soothing away. His voice when he says your name is wrecked, guilty and mournful. 

"What's wrong?" he lifts his head from your shoulder, but doesn't dare look up at you.

"I just—" you start to say, cradling his face like he held yours. "I just don't think this is what you need right now, Javier."

He makes a sound, something like a frustrated grunt but dirtier, angrier. Not at you, you don't think. Angry at himself, more likely. He drops his hands to run them through his hair. 

"Querida, I want—," he sighs at himself, at the words he can't put together. "I want you."

What he really means is that he knew he was attracted to you the first time he saw you, standing a little behind Messina in that godforsaken conference room, in a work-appropriate dress with sensible heels. He means that he's known he wants to do more than fuck you since that first conversation, where you refused to take his shit, rejected his flirting and put him in his fucking place. He wants to say that he likes the way you don't cower away from him, the way you demand that he deliver his best. The way you look rumpled when you work late, filing the paperwork he and Murphy pile on you unceasingly, without apology. He wants to tell you that he thinks he might be able to fall love with you, one day; in love with the sweet moments he sees when you let up on the sarcastic comments. There is so much Javi wants to tell you, but the words get stuck in his throat. He thinks it might all be too much, that he might be too much, so instead he shakes his head and lets you climb off his lap. 

He thinks you're going to leave without another word, until you pause in the doorway.

"I think you're a good man, Javier. You worry about your heart; only good men do that."

He doesn't show up for Carrillo’s funeral. You don't see him again until you almost collide in the hallway at the office. You both pause for a moment, and you take him in. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, his hair is unkempt. You open your mouth to say something, asks if he’s alright, if the whispers around the office about him and Los Pepes are true, but he's already pushed past you. 

It isn't until he's boarding the plane back to Texas, away from Colombia, that he lets himself think of your words again. He wishes you were right. He wishes he was a good man. He gives himself a moment to regret the way he acted. He regrets the way he pulled away from you in the weeks after that kiss, getting Murphy to file his paperwork, avoiding the break room on the third floor that he knows you like, not even saying goodbye when he knows he might never see you again. He thought you would be able to sense it on him, the stink of his broken principles, the stench of his betrayal. He regrets everything but the kiss and, even then, he regrets how it happened. You deserve so much better than him at his most broken, him at his weakest. You deserve so much more than him. Javier Peña knows that he isn't a good man, and he refuses to wait around for you to realise it too. 

[puff-the-bunny]

This is what my phone autofills for just the word "his", by the way. I MUST stress that this about a fake guy and I do not like men btw there's just something deeply wrong with me

[bluebirbbb]

little arthur malevolent lester portrait because my brain is full of him

[solalunar-eclipse]

To everyone in the comments begging for a fic about this: PLEASE go read Heart of Gold with Blood-Red Eyes!!! It’s by this artist and features Shadow in a similar dynamic with Fleetway Super Sonic, and it is fantastic.

[kamitv]

Getting a call while Suguru’s balls deep inside you sounds so interesting, lowkey.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Your fiancé would coo into your ear, cock dipping in and out of your sopping cunt languidly as his hot breath hit the crown of your ear.

It would all be so intimate. The way Geto has you beneath him, holding your shaky legs open for himself as his heavy balls smacked against you every time he thrusted his fat cock into you. His hips were moving slow but his dick was splitting you open.

"Sugu," You'd gasp, nails scratching at his toned back as you panted out a heavy breath of air, "Fuck-, mmh..."

"Can't get enough of this pussy, mmgh. Listen t'her talk t'me," He whispers to you, the messy slick of your cunt wetting up his shaft as he drew his hips back hitting both of your ears, "Y’like that, baby? Like bein’ stuffed like this, hm?” Geto questions.

Though, his words weren’t directed to you.

He often did that during sex— talked to your cunt, referring to it as she and baby just like how he talks to you. And it gets even worse whenever he’s giving you head.

Currently though, as Geto talks you, and your pussy, through his steady strokes, you moan his name up until your phone begins to ring.

The sound of your loud ass ring tone makes your lover groan, leaning up away from you just to catch sight of who the hell was calling you. To his surprise, none other than his best friend’s contact name was beaming across your phone screen.

“Hahh,” Geto cracks a half smile, “The fuck is Satoru callin’ you for?” He asks, sounding annoyed despite the amusement etched onto his features.

The curve of his cock sinks deeper into you as he reaches for your cell phone and you scratch at his chest, too fucked out to render what the hell he was talking about. All you wanted was his body pressed up against yours again.

“S-Suguu, shit-, ignore it, please.” You huff out demandingly, earning nothing more than a mere glance from your fiancé as he peers down at you from the corner of his eye.

Swiping your phone up, “Why’s he calling?”

“I don’t know,” You pout, extending a hand to his neck and trying to pull him back down to you. Your attempt almost works as Geto is tugged a bit closer to you, his hips still and his eyes back on your phone buzzing in his palm.

Cocking his head to the side, he smirks, “Find out then,” Suguru says to you.

You’re confused for only a second before an explanation is given through him answering the call and pressing it to your ear. Your eyes go wide as you realize he wants you to talk to Satoru while he’s balls deep inside you.

Gulping, “Sugu-“

“Hello?” You get cut off by the connection of the phone call and the sound of Gojo’s voice in your ear.

Your fiancé smiles down at you and whispers, “Go on, talk to him, baby. Promise I won’t move,” He hums all too sweetly.

It was definitely suspicious coming from him. You’ve been down the road more times than you can count— Geto promising not to fuck you while you talk to someone but ultimately doing so anyway.

With pleading eyes, you nod, hoping he’ll keep his promise this time around. “Hi Satoru,” You say into the phone, watching your fiancé mock you through his facial expressions.

“Heyyy, how are youuu?” Gojo purrs over the phone, his tone letting you know he definitely called to ask you for something.

You take a deep breath, “M’fine, can I ask why you called?”

“Straight to the point I see,” Gojo says with that smug voice of his.

Rolling your eyes, you release a sigh, "Yeah, I guess so. I'm kinda busy right now so uh, make it quick." Your tone was a lot more put together than you expected of yourself, especially with Geto's thick inches stuffed into the hilt of your cunt.

And for a while he doesn't move, he just sit there, marinating in the warmth of your cunt and listening in on your conversation.

“Well, then," Gojo starts, his voice suddenly enthusiastic, "Remember when I came over last week?"

Geto starts to lean up again and you send him skeptical eyes, to which he flashes another innocent smile at you. Then you sigh, "Yes, why?"

"Did I uh, leave my jacket there?" The male over the phone asks.

You blink, "You could've texted me this question y'know," The end of your sentence comes off all too breathy as a thumb suddenly swats over your clit, your free hand moving down to Geto's finger and trying to swat him away.

He just smirks at you though and presses the pad of his thumb into you, watching the way your back arches a bit and your lips part.

"Yes, I could've texted you this questions buuuut, you always ignore me," Gojo argues.

You bite your lip for a moment as Geto draws small circles around your clit-- you knew he was going to do this and yet you still weren't prepared for it. "I do not," You breathe out.

On the other side of the phone, Gojo tilts his head and his borws furrow, "You alright over there? Y'sound out of breath."

"M'fine, Satoru. And n-no, I haven't seen your jacket," You stammer as Geto starts drawing his hips back his eyes locked down on your cunt and how lewdly it's spread open for his cock, smirking before he spits down on it.

"Right... Well can you ask Suguru then?" Gojo continues, "I really need it for-"

"Can I just call you back?" You say all in one breath, trying your best to keep your composure as Geto eases himself back into you, fucking you so very slowly that it's both tortuous and stimulating at the same time.

The full stretch of Geto's thick girth way driving you insane, the way he'd ease back and then push forward, thumbing your clit simultaneously as his salvia smeared and mixed with the mess you've already made of him from earlier.

"Please?" You suddenly whine, not sure if it was really directed toward Gojo or Geto as you said it.

That's when Gojo pauses, his hears practically perking up at the tone of your voice, "Hey... No need to beg me to get off the phone, y'know," He hums, his voice suddenly... lower? "I would've hung up without the please but I dunno, you sound busier than I expected."

Your brows furrow at his sudden resistance toward ending the call, "Meaning?" You question, eyes focused on your fiance's face which was twisted up and he groaned quietly due to the sudden squeeze of your cunt.

There's a slight scoff over the phone, "Oh nothing, just uh-, well, am I interrupting something?"

Your lashes bat in disbelief of Gojo and Geto's losing his mind at how much your pussy's throbbing around his cock. Was that his doing or his best friend's doing? What exactly was Satoru saying to you over the phone and why were you squirming so much?

Geto tears his eyes away from where the two of you are connected and he looks at your face, spotting that you're basically just as confused as he is. Tipping his head to the side, he locks eyes with you and decides that that's the perfect time to thrust every inch of himself back into you.

The way your jaw drops, a moan pouring out so clearly and obscenely-- it makes Geto smile, nearly forgetting that Gojo probably heard that...

Probably would be an understatement too because Gojo's on his end of the call with his face flushed and his eyes widened, "Did you just moan?" He questions.

And as he does so, Geto decides not to hold back anymore, working up that brutal pace of his thrust by thrust as you slap a hand over your mouth and moan into your palm.

Barely even able to utter a response to Gojo, "N-No," You gasp, "I just-, mmh. Fuck, can I please call you back?"

Gojo blinks. Then he swallows, thickly, "Where's Suguru?"

Your mouth opens to respond but the phone is suddenly taken from you. Geto places one hand to your lower abdomen and pushes down slightly on the imprint in your skin where his cock is, his hips smacking into you roughly as you body jerked and you spasm.

Then you hear Geto speaking and realize he's taken the phone, "Busy fuckin' her to tears, call you back later 'Toru," He hums out simply.

Gojo coughs and then he laughs, "Hey wait," He stalls without second thought.

Your fiance tilts his head into the phone and his hips grow a bit harsher with you, the pressure of his hand on your lower abdomen making his swollen cock hit deeper and deeper. Then there was that mean curve of his, beating into where you were sensitive and making you whimper.

"Hm?" Geto hums in response, sounding almost annoyed.

"Y'Mind if I stay on the phone and listen?"

(pt. 2)

[rowarn]

SURPRISE, SURPRISE !

john "soap" mactavish / reader – 9.3k sale of a lifetime mini series !

tags: smut, developing relationship, virginity for sale trope, protective!soap, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader, mean!soap? or maybe just intense!soap, soap is NOT beginner-friendly

cw: loss of virginity, soap's filthy mouth, fingering, multiple orgasms, wet&messy, sloppy blowjob, cum facial, squirting, crying during sex?/dacryphilia, consent check bc johnny is a GOOD MAN, intense heated sex to sex with feelings, cunnilingus, corruption kink if u squint, multiple rounds, sloppy sex tbh

;

It’s not like it’s hard to find someone to sell your virginity to, men come out of the woodwork offering you the money. It’s no problem at all to set up a little meeting and get to know them before you’re whisked away to a bedroom.

At least, that’s how it should be. 

The problem was there seemingly was always something that got in the way. Or rather…someone.

Soap, in fact. 

or.

After continuously getting in the way of your attempts to sell your virginity, you finally let yourself fall into bed with him instead.

You couldn’t believe you wound up here. You always thought it would happen in some sweet way. A long-time boyfriend or girlfriend, happy and in love. You’d snuggle up afterwards and be told how good you were.

But no, instead you became swamped in debt and ended up on the verge of eviction even though you were living in the cheapest apartment you could find that wasn’t in an area that would get you stabbed for stepping outside. You needed money fast and you had one thing that plenty of perverts would pay for; your virginity. It’s not your most crowning moment in life but as they say, you gotta do what you gotta do. 

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself so you don’t crumble under the shame of it all. 

When the chair across from you suddenly gets yanked out, feet scraping obnoxiously across the floor, making you nearly jump out of your skin. The man who sits down looks nothing like the picture he sent and you internally groan. He looks much older than you, no doubt in his mid 40’s, balding, and graying hair. You wouldn’t mind an older man if he were a little more…attractive. Sure, maybe that’s a bit shallow of you but fuck, it’s your virginity you’re giving away. You should be allowed to be picky with the man you choose! Under normal circumstances you would be so why not now?

Then again, this isn’t exactly normal circumstances was it?

You pick up the glass of the strongest drink you could handle that you ordered at the bar while waiting and downed it in one deep gulp. You gave the man a very fake smile and he grinned back, the sleazy sight making your stomach turn. 

You were going to need a lot more alcohol. 

The evening turned into night and you’re feeling the effects of the alcohol. Your ‘date’ doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest as you drink, if anything he seems elated. That thought makes you curl your lip in disgust. 

“So,” he starts when you finally lean back in your chair, having had your fill of alcohol for the night, “Shall we move this along? My place or yours?”

“You got the money you promised?” you ask, raising a brow, unsure if you sounded as drunk to him as you did to yourself.

“In my car,” he responds, grin sitting irritatingly lopsided on his ugly face, “Got it all ready for you. After services are rendered, of course.”

Anxiety coils in your stomach at the mention of what you have to do to get the money. It’s a lot of money and that makes your palms sweaty – you need it. You feel like there’s eyes on you from behind, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. When you turn to look around, there’s no one paying any attention to you. Everyone in the bar was having a nice time. You wish you were one of them. 

“Let’s get out here,” the man grins, “I am just achin’ to get my hands on you.”

He stands up but you find yourself rooted to your seat. Your entire body feels tense, you can’t find it in yourself to stand up. You don’t want to go with the guy, you decide. Your fight or flight activates with terrifying speed, alerting you of the danger you’re in. Though you’re not exactly sure what danger that is just yet.

“I think…” you start and the guy heaves a big sigh.

“Don’t tell me you’re backin’ out?” he grumbles, not bothering to mask his irritation, “After I came all this way? That’s awfully rude of you.”

“I just don’t think I want to–” he groans, embarrassingly loud.

You feel the eyes of nearby patrons on you and your cheeks burn under the scrutiny. Shame bubbles up inside you at the thought of them finding out what exactly was going on between the two of you. 

“Let’s go,” he snaps, his anger bubbling to the surface as he rounds the table and grabs hold of your arm.

You don’t bother fighting back as he yanks you to your feet, instead leveling him with a fierce glare. You don’t want to make a scene in front of all these people so you plan to let him drag out outside where you can really give him a piece of your mind before hopefully coming back inside and peacefully getting drunk alone.

But a sudden, growling voice has both of you freezing in place, “I don’t think you’re goin’ anywhere.”

Your eyes fall upon a man, standing tall and confidently. He has a mohawk, brilliant blue eyes and handsome features. Upon first glance, you could immediately tell he was in the military based on his posture alone. He was intimidating, broad and well-built.

“Hey, dude, why don't you mind your own fuckin’ business,” your ‘date’ snarled, yanking you harshly towards him.

You felt your eye twitch in irritation but your drunken brain was too slow to react properly. You were still hung up on the appearance of this rather good looking man. 

“This is my business,” the stranger said, Scottish accent thick as he took two big strides over to the both of you, “Why don't you just leave quietly so things don't have to get ugly?” 

Your ‘date’ stares the strange man down for a few seconds, taking a glance at you before kissing his teeth and ripping his hand off of you. 

“You ain't worth this shit,” he huffed, stomping off into the crowd. You could hear the bell over the door ring, announcing his final departure from the scene.

“Well, he was just a dandy fellow,” your rescuer jokes, a crooked grin settling on his face. His shoulders relaxed and he held his hand out, “Name’s Soap. How about I walk you home?” 

“That'd be great,” you responded, feeling your stomach starting to roll as the alcohol settled. You knew you were going to be stuck with your head over the toilet bowl soon and you'd rather be in the comfort of your apartment for that. 

“Let’s get a move on then,” he waved forward for you to lead the way. 

The crisp outside air had you sighing happily. You hadn't realized how hot you were in there but now that the light breeze brushed against your skin, you noticed how you had begun to sweat. 

“So you’re military, huh?” you ask, leading him in the direction of your apartments “Soap.” 

He chuckles, “You caught me.” 

You smile, “It's kind of hard to miss, no offense.” 

“None taken,” he assures, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “What were you doin’ with a piece of shite like that? Was he your boyfriend?” 

You sputter, “No! Nothing like that. I just…had a deal with him, that's all. I called it off and he got pissed. I'm sorta pissed at myself. Just missed out on a fuck ton of money.” 

Soap’s brows raise, “What kind of deal?” 

Your drunken brain forgets all about the fact such a deal should be kept quiet. Your mouth opens before you can stop yourself, “My virginity for his money. But I’m not like a prostitute or anything!” 

He holds his hands up as surrender when you get defensive at the shocked look on his face, “You need money that bad?”

“You have no idea,” you sign, pinching the bridge of your nose at the mere thought of your money troubles, “I never do this. You know? I-I mean obviously…with the virginity and all. But-!”

“I’m not judgin’ you,” he assures, “Hard times. But you should be careful. Lot’s of dangerous characters out there.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, shrugging your shoulders as you come to a stop, “This is my place.”

“Right,” he mutters, “Let me give you my number.”

“For what?” you sputter, watching him pull out his wallet.

“Just in case,” he smiles, “I doubt anyone really knows what you’re dealin’ with right? I do. So if you’re ever in any trouble,” he hands you a business card, “Give me a call.”

You take the card and look it over. It’s got his name and military rank but not much else. You raise a brow, “Why do you have a business card on you?”

He chuckles, waving his hand flippantly, “Just ‘cause. I’ll see you around, darlin’.”

“Yeah,” you smile, stowing the card away in your pocket, “Thanks for walking me home, Soap.”

He stands outside of your place, waiting until you’re safely inside and shutting the door. When you peek out the window, you see him walking off in the direction that you had come from. You smile and go about getting ready for bed, grateful that you’re not feeling that awful nauseous pit in your stomach you had earlier.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re still dressed in your clothes and you have no recollection of having laid down the night before. You groan, your head throbbing in your skull as you sit up. 

You stumble your way to the bathroom, grimacing at the sight of yourself in the mirror. You take the time to start the shower and strip yourself, determined to scrub the grime from last night off of your body. 

By the time you step out, you’re feeling like a brand new person. You stretch your arms over your head and work on drying yourself off. Wrapping your towel around your body, gather your clothes in your arms, and trudge back into your bedroom. 

You look through the pockets of your jeans from yesterday, pulling out various coins and candy wrappers that you remember snacking on in the car to ease your nerves. You finally pull out the last thing – the business card Soap had given you last night. 

It all floods back to you, and you find yourself pulling your phone out, opening it to make a new contact under the name Soap.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, still wrapped in your towel, you shoot him a text.

“Hi Soap, remember me? You walked me home last night! I was just wondering if I could take this as a business inquiry?”

You aren’t sure where the burst of confidence came from. Last night, you would have never even thought to ask him such a thing. But the fact your plans fell through last night with that pig of a man, you kind of had no other choice at this point. 

And luckily for you, Soap texted back almost immediately.

“Sure, darlin’. We can consider it a business inquiry.”

Jackpot, you think. Not only is he very good looking and nice – if he has the money, then you can’t think of anyone better to sell your ‘goods’ to. 

He’s perfect.

Turns out, Soap is more than ready to meet up. Not at a bar, you’re thrilled, but at an actual restaurant. It almost feels like a real date!

You have the opportunity to dress yourself up and feel pretty. It feels so much better than meeting up with that guy at the dingy bar. Your nerves are almost non-existent. 

You still have that jittery feeling everyone gets when they’re going to be going out with someone new. 

But this isn’t actually a date, you have to tell yourself, as you get into your car to drive to the restaurant. It’s a meeting.

When you walk in, you’re greeted with the heavenly smell of food and what you can only deduce as something akin to mint. It’s a lovely restaurant, tablecloths and wine glasses everywhere. 

You look around the room before you spot him, sitting at a table in the far back nursing a glass of water. You make your way there, coming to a slow stop in front of the table. He looks up, blue eyes widening at the sight of you before he jumps to his feet. 

“You made it,” he says, a smile growing on his lips. 

He rounds the table and pulls your chair out, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“Thank you,” you say as he pushes you in a bit before returning to his own seat. 

Soap situates his elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands as he gazes across at you. You feel your cheeks burn underneath his intense gaze, not able to gain the courage to look directly at him.

A waiter comes by, depositing a basket of fresh, buttered bread on your table, letting you know he’ll be around in a moment to collect your orders. You offer him a polite smile as he vanishes, acutely aware that Soap is still staring right at you. 

“Why are you…” you clear your throat, finally looking at him. 

“You look lovely,” he says, a smile growing on his face when you become more bashful, “You’re truly breathtaking, has anyone ever told you that before?”

You can feel how hot your cheeks are and you resist the urge to reach up and pat them in an attempt to cool them down. You’re at a loss for words, no clue what to say in response to that. You hadn’t been told anything like that before, actually. Nor has anyone ever looked at you with such infatuated intensity like he is right now. 

Thankfully, the waiter arrives to relieve you of this immense pressure. Pulled from his devoted admiration, Soap orders first before you put your own order in. 

Left alone once again, you and Soap fall into an easy conversation. You’re surprised by how nice it is to talk to him, he’s open and funny. He tells you about his buddies in the military and about how he goes out to drink every weekend with some guy named Kyle and that he thinks his buddy Ghost’s jokes are just the worst abomination on Earth. 

You get so lost in talking to him, you don’t even realize how much time has passed. Your food arrives and the table finally falls quiet. 

You both get lost in eating your meals. Soap finishes his glass of wine and leans back in his seat with a content sigh. When you finish your own plate, you do the same. The chair creaks underneath the shift of weight and your eyes meet his. 

You wait to see if he’ll say something. But he just continues to stare at you, drifting from your eyes and down the rest of your body that’s not hidden by the table. 

“So, should we get out of here?” you finally find yourself asking, burying any embarrassment deep down, “Your place or mine?”

Soap seems to falter suddenly, crooked smile slipping off of his face, “Listen, darlin’...I-I don’t actually want to…you know…”

Your cheeks burn a little and you shrink in on yourself where you sit, “Oh! Well, that’s fine. I-It’s just that you said it was an inquiry so…I assumed.”

Soap shakes his head, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours, “I know. I told you that just so I could see you. I’m just worried about you, darlin’.”

“You want to talk me out of it,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat again, “I appreciate your concern, Soap. But I’m really at the end of my rope here. This is my very last resort, you understand?”

“But you shouldn’t have to-!” you pull your hand out from underneath his and stand.

“I know,” you shrug, “I’m only doing what I can with my circumstances. I appreciate you taking the time to see me and let me know you’re worried. I’ll see you around, okay?”

You leave him behind at the table and make your way back to your car. As you sit, engine idling, the disappointment bubbles up within you. Soap is probably the absolute best you could have gotten in a situation like this. But, it’s clear now that you’re going to have to find a new guy. 

You just hope you don’t walk right into the clawed talons of some unknown serial killer or something. 

The thought sends shivers down your spine as you make your way back home.

So begins the process of finding a new person to get the money from. 

It’s not like it’s hard to find someone to sell your virginity to, men come out of the woodwork offering you the money. It’s no problem at all to set up a little meeting and get to know them before you’re whisked away to a bedroom. 

At least, that’s how it should be. 

The problem was there seemingly was always something that got in the way. Or rather…someone.

Soap, in fact. 

Around every turn, he was there to intercept the meeting you had with a man. 

A terribly boring man named Charles; Soap showed up at the bar you met at. The surprisingly young guy you weren’t even sure had enough money for his own monthly rent, Brandon; Soap was there. Justin, the doctor that lowkey gave you the creeps; Soap was there too. 

Every single time, the Scot would sit himself at the table and run the guy off, leaving you no choice but to go home alone and moneyless. 

You’re getting angrier with every passing day and before you know it, you’re calling him up and asking him to meet you. 

The second you lay your eyes on him, you’re marching right up to him.

“What the hell is your problem, Soap?!” you cry, practically nose to nose with him as you glare.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he holds his hands up in mock surrender, “Don’t know what I did to get you so wound up but-”

“You know exactly what you’ve done!” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “Why do you keep getting in my way?”

“That’s a mean thing to say to someone,” he responds lightheartedly. 

But then your glare wipes the smile off of his face and he sighs, running a hand through his mohawk. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, rocking anxiously back and forth on his heels as he seems to think over his next words carefully.

“I’m just lookin’ out for you, darlin’,” he assures, “This…isn't safe, what you’re doin’. You could get into somethin’ real serious. I just…want to make sure you’re safe.”

You deflate and sigh, “I already told you, Soap. I appreciate your concern but…”

Suddenly, he surges forward, big, rough hands cupping your cheeks as he pulls your lips to his. You gasp, hands resting against his chest as you allow yourself to melt into the kiss. 

When he pulls back, he seems almost nervous, “I wanted to kiss you really badly the first night I saw you.”

“So you like me?” you ask softly, not taking your hands off of his chest.

He reaches up, wrapping one of his hands around yours, “I’m afraid so.”

“Soap…” you start but he interrupts you.

“Johnny,” he says, “Call me Johnny.”

“Johnny,” you correct yourself, feeling your cheeks burn at the positively giddy look on his face, “I don’t know if…this…” you gesture between the two of you, “Is a good idea…with what I’m dealing with.”

His brows furrowed and a frown lines his lips. You find yourself wishing you could wipe the solemn look right off his face – it doesn’t suit him, “Just give me a chance, yeah? That’s all I ask of you.”

You sigh, “Okay, Johnny.”

You’re not sure why you gave in so easily to him. But the bright look returns to his eyes again and you find yourself feeling lighter. 

He steps back, slipping his fingers in between yours. He tugs you in his direction to follow him and you do, heart skipping in your chest as you look at your hand wrapped up in his. 

You haven’t been in a relationship in a very long time so this giddy feeling wasn’t one that you got to feel very often. 

Sooner than you’d like, he’s slipping his hand from yours to open the door to an apartment complex for you. You step inside and make your way down the hallway, tailing close behind him up to a door on the first floor – apartment 108. 

“It’s not much,” he gives you that charming, crooked smile as he opens the door.

“It’s better than my place,” you joke as you toe your shoes off.

“Have you had anything to eat?” he asks, helping you out of your jacket before hanging it on the rack by the door. You shake your head and he nods, “I’ll order us somethin’. Go ahead and make yourself at home.”

You watch him disappear into the kitchen as you look around his flat. It’s a modest apartment, a bit bare but there’s little bits of Johnny scattered around the place. There were picture frames on the walls and on different surfaces. The couch was navy blue and looked well loved. 

“Here’s some water,” he says, startling you as he comes back into the living room, “I ordered us some food, wasn’t sure what you liked so I guessed.”

You chuckle, taking a seat on the couch, “I don’t mind.”

“I’m not really,” he chuckles, sounding nervous, “Good at this.”

“Well,” you sink into the cushions, “I can’t say I am either.”

He laughs, a sweet, melodic sound that makes your cheeks flush, “Well, in that case. We can just…go with the flow.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Go with the flow.”

By the time the food arrives, you and Soap are invested in watching a random season of The Bachelorette. Neither of you could decide so you looked online to find a wheel to spin to decide your fate for you. 

“Ugh,” Soap groans, “Can’t believe she’s goin’ on about how dreamy this bastard is. He’s a total tool!”

You giggle, holding one of his throw pillows against your chest as you sit. You’re about to add your own two cents when the doorbell rings. 

Soap jumps to his feet, “Fuckin’ hell, I could eat a cow.”

You admire the view of him from behind when he opens the door. His tight green t-shirt hugs the dip of his waist, riding up just a bit to show a sliver of tanned skin. His shoulders look impossibly wide as he stands in the doorway to take the food, muscles rippling beneath the fabric. His jeans sit low on his hips, belt tied tightly around them. 

Fuck, he’s good looking.

He turns, grinning and holding up the bags as if to show you his spoils. He raises one dark brow curiously, as if he knows what you’d been thinking.

“So,” he coos, saddling up next to you, placing the food on the coffee table, “Did you enjoy the view?”

You squeak, “I don’t think it’s polite to call out someone for looking…”

He cocks his head to the side and chuckles, leaning down to grip your chin, “Mind if I kiss you?”

“Now you’re asking?” you respond, breathless as you look at his lips coming closer and closer to yours.

“Aye,” he breathes. 

You nod and his lips are against yours in an instant. He supports his weight by placing his hands on the back of the couch. You have to crane your neck back to be able to kiss him but having him over top of you like this is exhilarating. 

You know you should stop before you get too carried away but you can’t seem to bring yourself to break away from him. Your attraction to this man is palpable and all consuming. 

Against your better judgment, you let him push you down, back against the cushions so he can crawl onto the couch. One knee on one side of you, he keeps one foot on the floor to straddle you without crushing you under his weight. But you wish that he would, fuck. 

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers slipping through the short hairs of his mohawk. He sighs against your lips, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, just pinning you down so he can deepen the kiss. 

You find yourself tugging at his shirt, edging it up and up until he’s forced to pull away.

“Are you sure?” he asks, blue eyes swallowed by the black of his pupils when he meets your gaze. 

You nod, “Want you, Johnny.”

“I’ll give you all of me,” he promises, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. 

It feels like the air evaporates from your lungs at the sight of him. He’s built, muscles rippling underneath a layer of fat – a man who is built for pure strength. His tanned skin is littered with tattoos here and there and hair speckles over his chest and stomach, a thick happy trail disappearing under his jeans. Which are tented with how his hardened cock presses against the fabric, desperate to be released. 

Your hand slips down the planes of his chest and down his tummy, cupping his erection. It twitches and kicks beneath your touch and pulls a groan from him. 

He reaches out, wrapping his hand around your wrist and bringing your hand to his lips where he places a kiss upon your palm. 

“Strip yourself, baby,” he orders, “Wanna see that pretty body.”

He sits back on his heels, watching your every movement as you slip your shirt off and shimmy your pants down your hips. 

When you stop, he realizes you're not going to take your panties off so he quickly does it for you. His thumbs hook into the band and yanks them down, making you squeal as the force jostles you. 

Soap chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his hands eagerly cup your breasts. You sigh at the contact, arching your back to press more into his touch. 

His kisses all over your chest, leaving no spot untouched, until he can pop one of your nipples in his mouth. You whimper, fingers sliding appreciatively through his mohawk while his other hand slips between your thighs. 

You easily part them, nearly panting by the time his fingers slip between your folds. You're already wet and sticky, drooling all over yourself with slick he uses to circle your clit. 

Your hips twitch as the first feeling of his rough fingers on the little bud. You cry out, tugging on his hair as he switches his mouth to give your other nipple proper attention. 

You arch your hips, his fingers sneaking down to prod at your entrance. With a glance at your face to make sure you're okay with it, he slides one in. 

There's a loud squelch when it sinks in to the last knuckle and you whine in embarrassment. 

He can't resist commenting, “So wet.” 

You whimper, lightly slapping his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckles, leaning up to press his lips against yours as he carefully works you open on that one finger. He presses and prods against your walls, waiting for you to relax so he can slip another one inside you — really prepare you for his cock. 

He presses against your g-spot and it rips a heavenly sound from your lips that only encourages him to do it again. You get wetter and wetter, throbbing and clenching around his middle finger. 

When he decides you're ready, he introduces a second finger. His ring finger easily fits in right alongside his middle. 

“There you go,” he praises, unable to resist looking down to see where his fingers are buried inside you, “That's it, baby, look at you go.” 

You gasp, eyes rolling back in your head when he adjusts his hand. His palm cups over your clit, the angle letting him really grind the tips of those digits right against that gooey little spot inside you. 

He watches the way you cream his fingers, milky colored slick dripping down his knuckles. It makes his mouth water. 

The movements rub his palm over your clit, stimulating the tender little bud and driving you closer and closer to the edge. You cry out, moaning and wailing the tighter that cord winds in your tummy. 

You clench and pulse against his fingers, a signal that you're going to cum for him. He works even harder, diligently worshiping your precious cunt until you toss your head back and sob. 

Your body trembles, thighs twitching in time to your walls squeezing around him. He moans with you, watching your pretty body in the throes of pleasure. 

When it becomes too much, you weakly reach down and bat his hand away. He slips his fingers out, watching you clamp your thighs shut. 

As you lay there panting and collecting yourself, he pops his cum-covered fingers into his mouth. He moans at your taste, slipping his tongue between them to catch every single drop of sweet cum he can get. 

By the time he finishes off the delicacy, you're watching him with lidded eyes and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. 

“More?” he asks, a crooked grin on his face. You nod and he chuckles, “That looked like a good fuckin’ orgasm. Sure you can handle more?”

“If I can't,” you whisper, sitting up to tug at his belt, “You can make me.”

“Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to help you open his pants, “Want me to make you take it, baby? Make you cum on my cock until you can't even think?”

“Please, Johnny,” you whimper, not tearing your eyes off the sight of him stripping himself bare. 

His cock was fat and heavy, a thick patch of hair scattering the base with thick, full balls to match. You felt your mouth fill with saliva at the sight of his hand wrapped around his big cock, stroking himself languidly until enough precum had dripped out to slick himself up. 

“Let me hear it again, doll,” his eyes are heavy lidded as he looks at you laid out beneath him, breathless and sweating from the orgasm he’d worked out of you.

“Please, Johnny,” you whisper, needily reaching your hands out towards him. 

“Shit,” he grunts, “Alright.” 

He scoots closer to you, spreading your legs open for him. Your sticky folds part, exposing your swollen, sensitive clit and clenching hole that’s still drooling your creamy release. 

He slips the tip of his cock through the gooey mess, tapping it meanly against your little bud. Your knees flinch at the stimulation and your jaw drops open when he starts to push inside. 

It burns and you arch your hips away instinctively from the pain. He slips out and curses.

“You gotta relax, sweetheart,” he mumbles, hoisting your hips into his lap with an iron grip. 

“Can’t,” you pitifully whimper. 

Soap clicks his tongue, purses his lips and lewdly spits on your clit. You whine, hands covering your face when he uses his cockhead to smear it all over. 

When he starts to push in again, the burn starts but a rough thumb finds your clit. 

“Shh,” Soap soothes you, watching as the furrow in your brows vanishes. 

He works your clit in tiny circles as he carefully saws his cock in and out of your tight hole, inching a little bit more in every time. Your body grows pliant and soft, slumping against the couch until he finally buries himself to the hilt. 

“Thaaaaat’s it,” he praises, still rolling your hard clit under his thumb, “Good fuckin’ job. Take your reward, sweetheart.” 

He remains completely stuffed inside you, grinding his hips up just a little until he prods at that gooey little spot inside you. His thumb continues to swirl around your clit and he watches your eyes grow wide, a grin stretching across his face.

“C-Cummin’-!” you manage to gasp before you throw your head back. 

He groans, jaw falling open as he works you through the orgasm, rubbing your clit to ease you through every pleasurable wave. It’s only when you reach down, grabbing his wrist to stop him that he ceases. 

“Fuck,” you pant, pupils blown wide as he looks at you coming down. 

“Feels good cumming on cock, huh, sweetheart?” he asks, once again wearing that crooked grin on his face. 

You nod your head, still too fucked out from your orgasm to properly formulate words. He chuckles, carefully pulling back until only the thick head of him remains nestled inside. With a swift, experienced roll of his hips, he stuffs every single inch right back in. 

You wail, grappling haphazardly against his shoulders for stability as he starts to really fuck you. He punches so deep, makes you feel him in your tummy. The friction burns and feels incredible at the same time. 

It feels so fucking good that you can’t stop any of the sounds that are forced from your lungs with every mind-numbingly pleasurable thrust of his cock. You’re soaking him, dripping all creamy down his cock in a way he knows you’ve never done before. No way your own fingers could make you cream like this and he doubts you’ve ever sat this pretty cunt on any stupid toys. 

He groans, grinding against your clit every time he reaches as deep as he can, “Not gonna have shit to sell now, huh?”

You whimper, shaking your head as you stare at him wide eyed, drool dripping over your lips because you can’t close your mouth for even a second. There’s no way for you to quiet yourself, you’re loud, you wear every pleasurable experience on your face with no ability to hide or perform. Every reaction is real and authentic and he loves it. 

“Don’t think I can ever let you go after this, sweetheart,” he coos, slowing his thrusts so you can focus on looking at him, “That alright with you?”

You swallow thickly and shakily nod your head, “O-Only want you, J-Johnny.”

He snorts, sharp canines glinting at the predatory grin he gives you, “You only sayin’ that because you’re got your cunt stuffed full of my cock?”

You whimper at the punishing thrust he gives you, the pain of him battering your cervix making you tremble, “N-No! L-Liked you when I first saw y-you. I-I swear, Johnny. Please!”

“Alright, quit fuckin’ beggin’,” he snaps, leaning out of your reach, making you whine. 

He takes a mean grip of your hips, using just his strength to yank you onto his cock like a fleshlight. You wail, head tossed back against the couch as he really fucks you. Every thrust is too deep but gives you nothing but pleasure. He grinds against your clit every time he sinks in, making sure to also aim for the gooey little spot that gets you creaming around him. His fat, heavy balls slap against your ass every time he stuffs that cock into you. 

It’s all just too much. He should know better, really, treating a little virgin pussy so meanly. You’re too new to this, don’t know how to take such cruel, deep strokes. You’re squeezing tight, staring at him with wide, glassy eyes. He can’t stop the moan that tears from his throat at the sight of tears trickling down your cheeks – proof that this is all too much. 

But he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Not when he feels how tight you’re squeezing around him, how much wetter you’re getting as you get closer and closer to what he knows is going to be the best damn orgasm of your life. 

“Cum,” he whispers, shocked at how fucked his voice is from pleasure, “Cum right fuckin’ now.”

“W-Wait, Johnny-!” you wail, feet kicking as you fight against his iron-tight hold on you, “I-It’s…It feels w-wrong!”

“Stop fuckin’ runnin’,” he snarls, easily pinning you to the couch. He folds you up, knees to your chest as he presses his body weight down on you. He can feel the air being forced out of your lungs under the weight, “I said cum.”

You open your mouth, wanting to say something. But you can’t get the words you, only whimpers and tears. He doesn’t care what you had to say, though. All he cares about is feeling your tight little cunt cum around him so he can have his own orgasm. 

You still try to fight him from how intense the build up is. You slap against his shoulders, squirm and try to kick him off but he easily holds you down. Even as you fight, you never once tell him to stop. 

After a few, long seconds, he feels it. 

Fuck, does he feel it. 

You gush. It splatters all over his cock and stomach. He curses, slamming into you over and over, every thrust forcing another squirt out of you. You’re sobbing, fat tears falling down your cheeks and you’re moaning the prettiest damn symphony that has ever blessed his ears. 

The orgasm is too much, it’s intense and all consuming. You can’t come down, every time he stuffs you full, your orgasm continues to wash through you. 

“J-Johnny-!” you sob, “N-No more!”

“Fuck!” he snarls, cutting his own orgasm off when he pulls out of you. 

He pushes himself off of you and you curl in on yourself, softly sniffling and shaking in a little ball. He licks his dry lips at the sight of you covered in your own squirt. 

“C’mere, darlin’,” he coos, panting and breathy, hoisting you up and into his lap. 

He cradles you in his arms as you’re wracked with trembles and twitches, your nerves zapping through your body from the pleasure. He shushes you, cupping your chin to make you look at him. Your eyes are red-rimmed and wet from your tears, pupils blown out wide. He clicks his tongue and wipes his thumb underneath to swipe some away. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos, “Just get some breaths. Got a little overwhelmed, huh?”

You nod, slumping against him with a sigh when you finally feel like you’re back in your body. Johnny is solid and sweaty beneath you, warm and comfortable as he cups the back of your head and strokes his hand over your body. 

“I-I’ve never um…” you clear your throat, cheeks burning hot.

“Knocked your damn socks off, huh?” he jokes, a crooked smile on his face. 

You giggle, endorphins still rushing through your body. You shift on his lap and catch the pinch in his brow before he can school his expression back into place. You look down, biting your lip at the sight of his cock still hard and twitching, smeared in a creamy mess of your cum.

“Ah, it’ll go down on its own, darlin’,” he assures, no irritation to be seen or heard from him. 

One look in his eyes shows you that he’s perfectly prepared to go without his well-earned orgasm – just for you. 

But you don’t want that, you realize. He had made you feel incredible, given you an orgasm that you’ve never been able to experience in your life. You doubt anyone else will ever be able to make you do it again. 

“I-I want to help, Johnny,” you whisper, trying to swallow down your nerves. 

His brows raise in interest, “What did you have in mind?”

You slide off of his lap and slowly sink to your knees. You place your shaky hands on his thighs to steady yourself, looking up at him with wide, too-innocent eyes. 

He lets his head fall back against the back of the couch, a breathless, “steamin’ blood Jesus,” following. 

“I-I’ve never done this,” you confess, though he’s not surprised, “Is that okay?”

“Is that-” he laughs softly, “darlin’ any man who isn’t appreciative of you willin’ to swallow his cock is a man you kick in the balls, got that?”

You giggle, nerves dissipating as he wraps a hand around the base of him. You scoot a bit closer when he holds it out for you, waiting for you to do what you please with it. Your tongue falls from your mouth and Soap feels like he’s suspended in air as he watches you get closer and closer to the sensitive, leaky tip. 

The first contact feels better than he could have imagined. He’d gotten so fucking close earlier, buried in your cunt as you came around him, squealing for him and all. He knows it won’t take much to send him over the edge this time. 

Perfect practice for you, he thinks. You won’t have to be on your knees for too long or do any real work to get him to cum for you. 

You’re clumsy and it’s clear you’re unsure about the taste of his cock. It’s not just his precum, it’s your own cum mixed with it. He can’t blame you for being unsure.

He reaches down, a soft, gentle hand resting atop your head to encourage you. When you look up, he smiles so softly at you that it makes your heart jump in your chest. You suddenly feel like you’re the center of his world. Those baby blues never once waver from you as you sloppily lick and slurp on the tip of him. 

“Take a little more,” he whispers, lashes fluttering and chest rising as he takes a deep breath when you eagerly follow his directions. 

Your pretty lips stretch around the girth of him, taking just the head inside your hot little mouth. The flared glans are greeted by your curious tongue, making him whimper when you lick. Your mixed taste lingers on your tongue but you quickly grow accustomed to it. 

Feeling braver from Johnny’s unfiltered reactions, you take a little more into your mouth. Then more. And a little more until you suddenly choke, gagging around him. You pull your head off, sputtering and coughing a bit. 

Johnny coos at you, thumbing away some drool on your chin, “Not too deep, darlin’. You’re not ready for that.”

You hum, not at all discouraged from taking him back into your mouth again. You don’t take him as deep, accepting that you have your limit – for now, judging by Johnny’s subtle promise of more to come. 

“Just suck, watch your teeth,” he whispers, not caring about the way his voice cracks, “Move your head like this. Go at your own pace, alright?”

You lazily blink up at him, hoping he understands your agreement. You do as you’re told, folding your lips over your teeth to keep them away from his sensitive skin. Bobbing your head feels awkward and it makes your jaw ache but the sounds Johnny begins to make makes you temporarily forget about your own discomfort. 

His eyes are rolling back in his head and he starts to stroke the rest of his cock that your mouth can’t handle yet. You can’t tear your gaze away from the sight of those thick, veiny fingers wrapped around himself, getting covered in a slick mess of your cum that he had so generously fucked out of you earlier. Drooling all over him like this only gives him more of a mess to work with. It’s gross, frothy and dripping down your chin and neck, slicking up your tits.

It makes your cunt tingle selfishly. You think you could make yourself cum, slip your hand between your legs and stroke your clit until you find release. But you don’t – you focus on Johnny and his pleasure. He’d already given you so much that you don’t want to come across as greedy by making his moment about your own pleasure. 

Johnny’s free hand grip around the back of your neck, squeezing and caressing your skin as encouragement since his mouth is too busy moaning. You take his sounds as signals, sucking and moving at whatever pace makes him cry out the loudest. 

You had no idea men like him were willing to be as loud as he was. Usually, the masculine type of guys like him would be online whining about how moaning was ‘gay’ or some stupid shit.

Johnny didn’t seem to give a fuck. If he felt good, he was going to let you know. It made you feel more at ease, like you were doing a good job even though you knew you were still clumsy and it probably didn’t feel as good as head he’s surely gotten in the past. 

But it encouraged you to work harder to please him, to earn more of those beautiful, unfiltered moans that he was so willing to give you. They were your reward for the intense ache in your jaw.

“F-Fuck,” he groans, suddenly, eyes opening from when he had closed them at some point, “I’m gonna cum. Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

His words are slurred, like his brain’s oozed down to his cock, too stupid to think of anything except how heavy and full his balls felt. 

“Shit, shit, shit-!” he whimpers, an honest to god whimper, “Off, pull off!”

You do as you’re told, releasing his cock from your mouth. Strings of frothy drool connect your lips to his tip and you don’t dare break it, the sight making you clench around nothing. 

Johnny strokes his cock, another loud moan erupting from his lips as he cums. It spurts out, splattering against your cheek, making you flinch in surprise. You can see the way his balls throb in time to each rope of cum that his fat cock spits out. More splatters on your cheeks and lips and across your nose until it tapers off to slow, thick oozes that dribble over his knuckles. 

When he lets himself go, he sags against the couch, staring dazedly at the ceiling as his erection flags and grows soft. 

When he finally looks at you, you can see his eyes widen almost in alarm. He leans forward, cupping your cheek, messily swiping some of his cum off of your cheek.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles, still sounding breathless, “Didn’t think you were gonna get splashed with it.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, feeling his cum still lingering on your lips.

You can’t resist sticking your tongue out to taste it. His eyes darken at the sight of you licking up his cum. You don’t make a face of disgust like he expected, instead he catches the way your thighs clench together.

“Is that right?” he mumbles, cock twitching in interest, “Isn’t that an interesting development? You like to taste cum, sweetheart?”

You whimper when he swipes more up onto his thumb, bringing it to your lips for you to suck off, which you eagerly do. You suck his finger clean until he pulls it back out, pupils blown wide, making his blue eyes look black.

“You ever had that pretty cunt eaten before?” he asks, a predatory grin splitting across his face when you shake your head.

His hand wraps around your throat, ripping a moan out of your throat. He easily manhandles you onto your knees, tits pressed against the cushions of the couch with a nasty “stay.”

You never thought you’d enjoy being manhandled and ordered around like a dog but fuck if you’re not learning more about yourself tonight. 

Soap smacks your thighs apart, and slips his head between them. You take a glance down and nearly choke at the sight of him laying on his back, staring hungrily as you cunt drips gooey, sticky strings right onto his waiting tongue that he holds out for it. 

The sight is so fucking filthy. 

But it’s nothing compared to the sounds he makes when he gets that tongue on your cunt. He slurps between your folds, groaning at the taste of your cum on his taste buds. He swallows your clit, cheeks hollowing out as he sucks. 

You’re already a moaning mess, crying out into the cushions which you claw desperately at. Your eyes roll up into your head when you feel him pop your clit out of his mouth, spit on it, and then slurp it right back up. 

He eats so fucking dirty, it’s disgusting and sloppy. But it makes you rut your hips against him. 

Soap chuckles, pulling back to watch you work your hips over nothing before you realize he stopped and whine.

“Fuck yourself on my tongue then,” he whispers, earning him a relenting whimper in response. 

You can feel the flat of his tongue, hot and thick, against your clit. The little bud’s so hard, swollen and pulsing against the muscle. 

With his order ringing in the back of your head, you clumsily hump his tongue. You drag your sensitive little clit back and forth along the surface of his tongue. It feels so fucking good that you actually sob. The sound tears from your chest and makes his cock twitch. 

You rut faster and faster, not caring about the way you’re messing up his face when you move too high or too low. You know there’s a mess on his chin, cheeks and nose but you don’t care. His tongue is there for you, for you to cum all over. He’s so good to you, holding it out just so you can use him as you please. 

As you grow closer and closer, your moans change in pitch and he suddenly reaches up, stilling you. You groan, an irritated sound that makes him laugh. You frown at that but it’s quickly wiped away when he grips your ass, spreading your cheeks apart so he can stuff his tongue into your creaming cunt. 

You shout, sitting straight up in surprise, your weight falling onto his face. He moans at that, rewarding you by pushing his tongue even deeper. It feels odd, different from his fingers and his cock. It’s soft and almost slimy, not long enough to quite reach any pleasurable place. 

But just the fact that he’s got his tongue buried in your pussy is enough to have you clenching on it. He watches you through heavy lids, waiting to see what your next move is. 

He’s enjoying your little show, he must admit. He likes seeing a sweet, clumsy virgin experience these things for the first time. He likes the fact he’s breaking you in, tearing your walls down and seeing you lost in mind-numbing pleasure. 

You surprise him by resuming the motion of your hips. You hump back and forth, riding his tongue like it’s a little toy just for you. And he supposes it is, he’d be a toy for you if you so wished. He’s addicted to this sweet, creamy little pussy and he’s not afraid to admit it. 

You reach down, swirling your fingers around your sticky clit. There’s lewd clicks that accompany the movements along with the sound of his tongue sliding in and out of your hole. 

You meet his gaze, he’s staring so intensely at you. It spurs you on, makes you fuck yourself on his face more confidently. 

You tap your fingers against your clit, slapping the little bud and pulling your fingers back to show Soap the sticky strings of slick that connect them to your cunt. He can’t stop himself from reaching down, wrapping his hand around his cock, jerking himself off to the sight of you smacking your clit and fucking his tongue. 

You’re pulsing around it, dripping down his face and mixing with the drool that's pooling out of his mouth. His face is a mess, it drips down his cheeks and under his neck. He’s sure there’s a pool beneath his head that will need to be cleaned up and fuck, he’ll lick it from the floor if you let him. Just as long as he gets to taste you again. 

You gasp, tossing your head back. His cock fucking aches, harder than it was before and more sensitive now that he’s already had an orgasm. He knows he’s leaking, drooling sticky precum all over himself like the horny mutt he is. 

You cum spectacularly, twitching and trembling, rubbing your clit and clenching around his tongue. It’s like a reward, swallowing down your cum straight from the source. He pulls his tongue out of your hole and wraps his lips around your clit again. 

You wail, shaking and throwing yourself face down against the couch again. You try to wrench your hips away from his punishing mouth but he wraps his arms around your thighs and continues to slurp and slobber all over that tender little bud. Your eyes roll back in your head as another orgasm tears through you, far too soon after the other. It almost hurts from how sensitive you are through it, not even able to make a sound as it washes over you. 

Only when you’re left twitching and trembling does he finally relent. There’s tears falling out of your eyes and drool dribbling down your chin. The picture of fucked out.

He laughs, folding himself over your back. 

“You still with me?” he asks, kissing your shoulder.

You whimper, “Fuck, you’re so good, Johnny.”

He chuckles, “Think you can take more?”

You eagerly nod your head and he doesn’t waste any time. He sinks his cock into you in one deep thrust. You choke on a moan, arching your back so you can feel him even deeper. 

He doesn’t start slow like he did before. He knows your little cunt is fucked nice and open for him now. You’re still dazed, drunk on endorphins, any attempts to meet his thrusts are sloppy and clumsy. It’s cute so he doesn’t bother stopping you. 

“Spread your legs,” he orders you but doesn’t wait for you to do it. 

Instead, he meanly knocks them apart, opening you up even more. His balls slap against your clit and you wail, the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“There you go,” he laughs, “You liked slapping that little clit earlier. How’s this?”

“So good!” you cry, kicking your feet against the floor as pleasure washes through you. 

You feel like a live wire, every movement forcing you closer and closer to your next orgasm. Soap isn’t far behind you, too sensitive and worked up to draw it out for long. 

He clasps the back of your neck, pinning your face to the cushions as he fucks. He takes and takes, using your sticky, gooey cunt. He’s pounding into you, hips slamming against your ass and his balls slapping your clit. 

You can’t even say anything as the orgasm washes over you. He only feels it, the rhythmic clenching of your walls and the gush as you squirt. You’re silent, completely still against the couch as he saws his fat cock in and out, squirt after squirt of cum splattering all over his thighs until he inevitably reaches his own end. 

This time, he fills you up. Seats himself as deeply inside of you as he can before he moans. His cock pathetically spits only a few strings of cum but the orgasm lasts far longer, encouraged along by the clenching of your cunt as you’re coming down. Or maybe you’re still cumming, he’s not sure. 

There’s a faraway look in your eyes, a wet spot of drool underneath your cheek on the cushion of the couch. You’re panting and glistening with sweat. When he pulls out of you, you drop to sit on the floor, the measly load he had given you drooling out of your cunt as it continues to clench and throb around nothing. 

Fuck, he’s never felt so proud to fuck someone brainless before. He knows you’re gonna need a good bath and cozy arms to sleep in. 

And his are the best around, if he does say so himself. 

He kisses up your spine, curling himself around you as you finally start to come back to yourself, pliant and soft. The both of you sit there, holding one another and sharing soft kisses until he decides it’s time to move. 

He’s in no rush, though. He’s wrapped around your finger now and you’re never getting rid of him. 

do not modify, translate, repost, or use for c.ai. reblogs OK!

[3motionally3xhausted]

Redesigning the Fentons!!

Hi yes this is for yet another Danny Phantom AU of mine it has nothing to do with the Apprenticeship AUs but unlike that batch I actually wanna turn this AU into a fic eventually once I get through a few other big projects I have *sobs*

Anyway individual files for each character under the cut along with my obligatory rambling about all the choices I made ;)

Jazz! Honestly, when I was a kid, I always thought she was 18 not 16 so it was kind of a shock when I started rewatching the show about a yr ago and heard that. Anyway, she's 17 in this AU but already moved out to college on a scholarship bc living in FentonWorks is kind of hell and she has that Older Sibling Guilt for leaving Danny there. For her clothes, I wanted it to be a mix of tactical and preppy.

Danny! (Fenton) The effects of FentonWorks hell is much more visible on Danny than Jazz because she got out of there as soon as she could. Because of that though, a lot of the chores in the lab got pushed onto Danny, without passing on many safety tips, like replacing the ecto-filtrator, cleaning contaminated tools, organizing ecto-weapons, etc. And because he doesn't know any better when it comes to safety, he has many symptoms of radiation poisoning: visually, this comes through in the discoloration/scarring on his skin (Jazz has some slight scarring on her face and hands as well), the cataract on his left eye, as well as burst blood vessels in that eye. For his clothes, I wanted them to look a bit ragged and worn through ripped seams, tears in the jeans, & duct tape around his shoe.

Danny! (Phantom) I don't actually have a lot to SAY about my choics, but I am really happy with it. There are still a few things. I wanted his hair as Fenton & Phantom to be different but still reminiscent of the simplistic rendering of the original show: Fenton is kind of timid so his hair falls over his face, & Phantom is more active/aggressive so his hair is pushed upward. The only other thing I want to comment on is his skin: it's kind of about how I usually stylize Phantom (and I mentioned this when I redesigned Dani a while back) but a "healthy" Phantom in my style would have more bright cyan skin and an unhealthy Phantom has a more dull/zombie green. And lastly, as a ghost, the radiation poisoning kind of cleans up into more neat scarring rather than the muddy/bleeding look as Fenton.

Maddie! Now, I'm gonna be honest, real vulnerable here,... I hate Maddie's canon haircut. It's ugly, I'm not sorry. But I can modify it, so it's fine: now it's curlier, a bit darker, and has a few grey streaks bc she's a genius and constantly pulling long working hours. And, it didn't come across as much as I wanted, but she's got some biceps, strong lady. Now, I'm not really sure why, but I wanted to shift the color of her and Jack's jumpsuit, making hers much more desaturated.

Jack! Big guy. I don't have many thoughts about him either, but I did give him glasses and some stubble for a little bit more dad energy (?) I mainly changed the color of his jumpsuit bc Orange is an extremely hard color for me to render for some reason, so now it's the classic Hazard Yellow. Finally, the most notable difference is the coat I put on him for a bit more scientist energy but my main reasoning for it is the potential visual of him being an absolute tank jumping from overhead with the ghost gauntlets and his coat flapping behind him. Also, I generally like the idea of him presenting himself as a big, dumb teddy-bear, always smiling, but completely unhinged below that facade: dropping the smile or not while towering over you in shadow. Wild imagery.

FINAL THOUGHTS: Do not count on any actual steps towards creating this fic in the near future, it's just on my mind right now, but I NEED to finish my other projects first 🙏🙏🙏 That said, I will (eventually) get around to a handful more character redesigns for this AU including: Vlad, Sam, Tucker, Valerie, Paulina, and maybe Lancer & Dash

[sukunasteeth]

Sukuna Dyes His Hair

You were just teasing him.

"Pink like a petite little rose."

"Shut it."

They were just play-fighting words. Part of an attempt to poke the bear that never seemed to bite at you.

"Pink like a sweet strawberry."

"Strawberries are red."

Sukuna had had you in his lap, lazy with a long day of work weighing on his bones. He watched you dote on him with a tired smile, too exhausted to mind your fingers lovingly brushing at tufts of his hair. Usually he'd swat at a touch as careful as the one you were giving him, but there were moments, like this one, where he seemed to soak up your tenderness.

"Pink like a baby kitten's nose." You cooed.

"Jesus." He groaned, rolling his eyes. 

Maybe it was the ending boop to his own nose that made him finally snatch you up and tackle you to the mattress.

Maybe that's why one day later, you're staring at him standing outside of a restaurant, leaning against his motorcycle with stark black hair.

He's grinning at you, knowing that he's won the little game as he always does, with overkill.

It was a promised date night, one you had been planning for a few weeks now. Sukuna never had the same days off that you did, but the stars happened to align for you to go out to dinner together and you leapt at his invitation.

After he spots you from across the parking lot, Sukuna stubs his cigarette beneath his boot and starts over to you. You can tell in the way his eyes devilishly glimmer that he's excited to see your expression. 

You're in too much shock not to give him exactly what he wants.

"Hi~" He purrs when he nears you, reaching a hand out for one of your own. You offer it subconsciously, moving automatically since your brain seemed to be sputtering. His rings are cold against your fingers, but even their icy bite is not enough to stir you back to the present. He tugs you into his embrace, looping an arm around your lower waist and pressing you into him. He’s warm despite the chill on his fingertips. When he's got you secured to him, he tilts his head at you, waiting for your response.

"Hi." You whisper, blinking up at him.

You know he thinks you're going to hate it. You know he thinks you're going to give him a pout- tell him how heartbroken you are to see his natural hair go. That was undoubtedly the punchline of his stupid joke. You've told him numerous times how much you loved his hair and every part of him that made him Sukuna... So why is your mouth suddenly watering?

“What d'ya think?” He runs his fingers through it, showing it off to you as if your eyes aren’t already glued to the newly darkened locks. 

It suits him just as well as his natural hair color does, but the black brings out the deep, rich color of his eyes and makes prominent the tattoos framing his face. People always tell you that Sukuna’s stare intimidated them, and you never felt it yourself until then. 

You swallow past your heartbeat, which you can suddenly feel in your throat. Sukuna notices, and his mischievous grin turns wolfish.

"Oh, you like it. Don't you?" He murmurs. Reaching up, he presses your slightly agape mouth closed so that he can place a chaste kiss to your shell-shocked lips. The smell of tobacco and expensive cologne has you in an even more intoxicated daze, rendering you boneless in his hold. His next words are a heated whisper, for your ears only.

"I usually only manage to take the words out of your mouth when you're strapped to my bed. This gotcha that good, little doe?" 

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. coming home from university has both stressed and tired you out — causing you to forget about satoru’s birthday. maybe your boyfriend could help you remember.

word count. 4.7k-ish

note. was supposed to come out on his (our) bday but writer’s block was ruthless :p hope you enjoy anyway x

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x sub!female reader. p.orn with plot. fluff to smut. age gap (reader 20 - early 20’s, satoru’s in his early 30’s). p in v -> unprotected, size difference, missionary, creampie, breast play, dirty talk, body worship, hickeys, praise, you f.uck in the kitchen, aftercare-ish, reader gets called ‘princess, sweetheart, baby, pretty.’ i present to you soft dom&older bf!gojo satoru. he’s absolutely smitten with you btw.

“lookin’ tired, sweetheart.” satoru comments with a subtle grin as he welcomes you home. home being his apartment that you had basically moved into. why? because it was close to the university you attend.

and maybe because your lover had coaxed you into it.

you sigh, eyes half closed and glazed over. the stress of exams, assignments and whatnot has been too much for your brain, “yeah, i’m sorry. i probably look like absolute shi—”

a pair of lips were quick to shut your negative remark up. satoru pulls you closer to him by the small of your back. his fluffy bangs brush over his closed eyes, the hairs lightly grazing your forehead as well. he smells and tastes sweet. like those strawberry flavoured candies he always carries with him in his pockets.

a faint string of saliva hanging between your two mouths was all that’s left after the intense kiss. it snaps, causing the small bit of liquid to cling onto your bottom lip.

“what’d i say about apologising when you did absolutely nothing wrong?” satoru asks in a gentle and hushed tone. his thumb presses down on your bottom lip to get rid of the transparent trail of saliva. his gaze is soft and loving — like it always is when he looks at you.

that man had once again rendered you speechless. it’s the small things that make you fall for him over and over, “that—uhm—i shouldn’t apologise for something i don’t have any control over.”

satoru’s dimples show as he looks down at you fondly. a large hand settles on the top of your head, messing up your hair whilst his lips lock yours in for another kiss.

“exactly,” your lover nods in approval before grabbing your bag and placing it aside. he also helps you take off your coat and even bends down to undo your shoes for you.

you wonder how you’ve even managed to land such a man.

satoru’s long fingers work quick to undo the laces on your shoes. your tired eyes can’t help but steal a glance at the veins that run down his slender hands — up his forearms and. . .

“somethin’ on your mind, princess?” his voice calls out as he massages your feet for a split second to ease the accumulated tension from all the walking. you simply shake your head ‘no’, though satoru knows you better than you know yourself.

with a light-hearted chuckle, he raises to his full length and leads you through the hallway. his footsteps were light whilst yours were the exact opposite: heavy and exhausted.

maybe a shower or bath would help you refresh and relax. thus, that’s exactly what the sorcerer recommends;

“why don’t you go take a nice shower whilst i prepare you a hot meal, hm?” satoru comments and stops in his tracks right before the door to the bathroom. his gaze lingers on your pretty face—his hands never leaving your skin.

the idea of taking a shower did seem like the ideal solution to your problems at the moment, “okay i will, but err. . .”

your voice trails off as you look up at satoru. his knuckles run over your cheeks lovingly and his warm gaze tells you that he’s smitten with you. totally. utterly. he makes you so nervous without even realising it in the slightest.

“you don’t have to cook me something. i know work has been hard on you too.” you finish your sentence with an apologetic little smile. one that makes satoru want to squeeze your cheeks together.

you had always been a bit selfless and it’s an admirable trait, but your boyfriend also has this gnawing urge to take care of you in any way he can. maybe it’s because he’s a few years older than you and knows from experience how tough things could get at your age.

satoru smirks and pokes your sides playfully, “don’t you worry your pretty little head ‘bout that. now let’s get you in that shower.”

a little yelp leaves your throat as you feel yourself get hoisted over his shoulder. the white-haired sorcerer opens the door with one hand, the other protectively placed on your waist to keep you from falling.

he settles you back on your feet in the middle of the room—eyes now filled with a playful glint. you could probably already guess the next words that leave his mouth.

“need help undressing? i’ll gladly do it for you,” satoru laughs. you roll your eyes and teasingly shove him towards the door. he puts his hands in the air to show his surrender, though doesn’t miss the opportunity to look you over one last time.

you’re like the embodiment of beauty even when your eyes have lost their usual spark. even if you barely have any energy left to do anything. he loves every side of you, no matter what.

resisting the urge to pull you into his arms for the nth time, your boyfriend eventually leaves you be and closes the door as he steps out. his mind, however, was still overly full with thoughts of you.

“ah, what a woman.” satoru mutters in pure amazement under his breath after departing from the bathroom. there’s a visible spring in his step as he walks to the kitchen—happy to take care of his girl.

. . .

you finish your much needed bath after about half an hour. you look in the bathroom mirror whilst wrapping a simple white towel around your torso. the bath sure did help to clear your mind, though there’s still one thing bothering you. something you’ve forgotten.

you can’t really put your finger on it, but it must have been something important. there’s an iffy feeling in your chest as you walk out of the bathroom — instantly heading towards the kitchen. surely, satoru could help you remember it.

“toru,” you call out before stepping into the kitchen. your lover is standing at the counter, his back towards you and his hands working fast to chop up some vegetables. the many pans and stoves scattered around the area only further prove his determination to prepare you a nice hot meal.

“yeah, princ— oh.” satoru eventually turns his head, looking over his shoulder to see you standing a few steps behind him. he couldn’t believe his luck; to have his gorgeous, gorgeous girlfriend in his apartment was one thing—but having his girlfriend in front of him with only a towel on was another thing. the remaining waterdroplets running down your skin made you all the more attractive.

he grins as he puts the knife down and quickly dries his hands. he couldn’t wait to put his hands on your body, “c’mere, pretty.”

you grunt the moment satoru envelopes you into a tight hug with your face squished into his chest. he nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head—over dramatically acting as if he hasn’t seen you for days.

his hands teasingly find their way under the material of the towel. the tips of his fingers are cold in comparison to your warm and damp skin. he drags the pad of his thumb up and down the curve of your ass; sighing in content as he feels the plush flesh.

“perv.” you mutter under your breath, though can’t deny that the light touch makes you putty in his hands. satoru responds with his usual ‘only when it comes to you’ comment before pulling away to take in your embarrassed expression. he lives for those physical reactions you have to his advances.

you slightly turn your head to the right, purposely avoiding his gaze. you face the door of the fridge that you stood in front of. your eyes fall onto the sticky notes. there’s one standing out from all the others.

you had placed it on there a few weeks ago so you wouldn’t accidentally forget that oh-so-important date.

turns out you did just that.

your face drops and you instantly go into panic mode. how could you fail to recall that today is satoru’s birthday? you don’t even know how to explain yourself. no amount of excuses would ever make this right. or so you thought.

satoru is an attentive lover; he is aware of almost everything that’s going on in your head. perhaps he is good at reading minds. or perhaps it’s just that your body language and facial expressions disclose everything he needs to know about your current mood.

“hey, i’m not upset.” satoru breathes out, eyes closed as he slides ticklish kisses down your neck. it is a sign of reassurance; he doesn’t want you to conclude that he’s angry with you for forgetting such a thing. besides, he understands that being an university student is a struggle by itself, “having you here with me at the end of the day ‘s all that matters to me, okay?”

you sigh, both in frustration and content. you’re frustrated with yourself for being too caught up with your studies, though you’re also appreciative for satoru’s empathy and lenience. he is so kind and mature; always optimistic about everything. your mindset is the opposite of his. your age gap sure did explain those cognitive differences.

despite satoru’s consolation, you still feel like you owe him something. you tilt your head back so you’re able to look him in the eyes. you give him the cutest pout ever and that man is—once again—feeling light-headed. satoru can’t decide whether to continue consoling you or to tease you about forgetting his birthday.

you are adorable when you sulk.

“i’m still.. well, sorry.” you sniffle, cuddling up to your lover to show your genuine remorse, “i know that you wouldn’t ever forget about my birthday - no matter how busy you might. . . .”

blahblahblah. you are babbling on and on about how inappropriate it is of you to forget his birthday, but satoru is hearing none of that.

his coherent thoughts shut down the moment he felt your tits press up against his chest. it is meant as an innocent hug on your part, however apparently couldn’t be interpreted as one.

your visible cleavage and the way the towel is doing a bad job at hiding the volume of your breasts increases the lewd thoughts gathering in his mind. there is no way that he can survive any more physical contact between you two without taking some action.

“..so, i was thinking that i could make it up to you somehow.” you conclude at one point in the conversation. satoru’s body subtly jolts as he snaps out of his dazed state.

he gives you a sheepish smile and tries to play it off by continuing the conversation, “make it up to me, huh?”

you nod in response and give him your best puppy eyes. your lover sighs in defeat; satoru couldn’t keep his emotions and carnal desires in check anymore. his hands are twitching, aching and longing to touch you all over.

the rational part of his mind told him to continue comforting you. to tell you that there was no need to compensate for failing to remember his birthday. the lust-driven part of him craves to take you up on the offer and give a different and more sexual twist to it.

satoru takes a deep breath and puts some distance between you two. not because he is annoyed or irritated by your behaviour, but because he might lose control of himself.

you can’t guess the intentions behind your lover’s actions, thus confusion follows; “satoru? you okay?”

maybe he actually is displeased by your lack of remembrance—deep, deep inside. you bite your lip anxiously, reaching your hand out to hold satoru’s in attempt to try and get him to look at you. his vision is obstructed by his own bangs, a dark shadow casted over his eyes, one that prevents you from gauging his mood.

you feel a light electric shock go through your body the instant your fingers curled around his hand. your boyfriend’s body stiffens and it’s like time stilled.

“fuck, i tried.” satoru mutters under his breath.

then, before you knew what was happening, you’re pinned to the door of the fridge. there are efforts made to articulate proper words, but the shock has overtaken all your senses. it isn’t like you could speak either—your lips are sealed shut by your lover’s.

his hands didn’t waste a single second now that they have free rein. they fondle you everywhere; from cupping your cheeks, to sliding down your neck and lower. his fingers rub up against the area where your nipples would be, sensually stroking them through the towel. his feverish kisses combined with his constant touches make you shiver in exhilaration.

you’re trying to keep up with his sudden burst of lust and that’s adorable to the white-haired sorcerer. he can feel you struggling to keep yourself balanced on your toes, your arms wrap tightly around his neck so you’d be inseparable. you feel him grin against your lips for a split second—the gesture alerting you of what might be coming.

“mmh,” satoru grunts once he frees your bare body from its confines. he finally breaks the kiss—the sole reason being to admire the sight of you.

it feels like he just unveiled a heavenly painting. his eyes don’t know what to focus on. if he is to properly and completely appreciate your nude body, it’d take him days or even weeks, “god, have i ever told you how lucky i am to be yours?”

your heart stutters in your chest as all attention is on you. the gentle yet hungry touch of your lover, his hands caressing everywhere they can reach and his half-lidded eyes that are focused on your most intimate parts—you don’t know how much more you can take.

satoru’s breathing becomes even heavier than it was moments ago. he leans his head down to your level, lips hovering above the space between your neck and shoulder. his mouth latches onto your skin after taking a moment to try and keep himself from rushing into things. but alas, he is a simple man.

his lips work precisely and diligently to leave hickeys on every inch. his teeth gently sink into your flesh here and there, his warm saliva coating the faint markings left. your body is his canvas for tonight and the many other nights that are yet to come — for as long as you give him permission to.

“ngh— t.. toru,” you stammer, almost squealing. the sloppy kisses left on your sensitive skin resulted in you whining for more. satoru feels a rush of satisfaction like no other; the frequency of his touches only increasing with each sound erupting from your throat. his tongue slides over your plump breasts, his fingers flicking the nipple he isn’t sucking on.

he eventually detaches from your tits, leaving them both covered in his saliva. he hums in delight at the erotic view and gives both your breasts a last kiss. satoru looks up into your eyes again—a sense of want in them, “you look like you have somethin’ to say, baby.”

you do, but, don’t know how to bring the message across. it is embarrassing to say all of your thoughts out loud; all that you actually want him to do that you. you know satoru would love it if you do, however you do not have the guts to.

your body does all the talking anyway. there is a pool of slick forming between your thighs, your bodily fluids showing just how aroused you are. you aren’t the only one in that state; satoru has had a raging hard-on the entire time.

“i want you,” there it goes.

you avert your eyes, though not for long. gentle fingers hold your chin up, forcing you to stare at your lover. his face is intensely close and your heart is in your throat. satoru grins at your shy behaviour, finding it all the more endearing.

“awh, my little princess wants me?” he pouts, almost mockingly if you didn’t know better. his gaze flickers downwards, “where d’ya want me? show me, baby.”

if you aren’t embarrassed already, you’d sure be now. satoru’s teasing words and the sultry tone of voice he uses eventually urges you to comply. your shaky fingers wrap around his wrist, bringing his hand down towards your tingling cunt, “here.”

the older man hisses at the direct contact his hand makes with your pussy. it is so wet and ready — he wanted nothing more than to bury his fat cock between your folds and feel your sweet little cunt cling onto it.

he cups your cunt delicately, grazing his thumb against your clit. he traces faint circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves to make you squirm and whimper in pleasure. his other fingers spread your folds apart so he can collect your wetness on them.

“how naughty,” satoru sighs. his index finger prods at your entrance, but your thighs clamp down around his hand before he’s able to push it in.

he snickers in amusement and retracts his hand. he licks your juices off of his long fingers in a painfully slow manner, “well.. who am i to deny you? what the princess says, goes.”

satoru lifts your body up in his arms, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist. he kisses you passionately again—his tongue swirling around yours. you exchange soft moans as your hands lift his shirt up and over his head.

you cut the kiss short to appreciate the sight of your lover’s well-built upper body. that drives him utterly insane. that look you give him.

satoru curses under his breath and pulls you down onto the carpet below. he carefully places you on your back and—once you are settled—instantly rushes to undo his grey sweatpants.

his eyes are darting from his clothes to your naked body under him. god, he wants to fuck you so bad. the view of you spread out and patiently waiting for him to take you had him weak in the knees. it’s a sinful scene, yet the pleading and almost innocent-like look in your eyes is a complete contrast.

“don’t worry, i’ll give it to you in a second, baby.” satoru grins once he pulls his boxers down to his knees—revealing his hardened cock. he strokes it slowly and the pre-cum drips down the shaft, his thumb smearing the droplets all over his pink tip.

after getting a couple strokes in, he grabs the base of his dick and guides it to your wet cunt. satoru rubs his tip up and down your slit. what he didn’t expect is for his cockhead to slide into you so easily. he didn’t even have to put in the slightest of effort.

your back arches due to the feeling and your nails dig into the carpet below you. the mixture of your slick and his pre-cum is all the lubricant you need.

“shit. seems like she doesn’t wanna let go any time soon.” satoru addresses your cunt with a groan whilst he slips his fat cock deeper into you. his eyes roll back as he feels the warmth of your pussy engulfing him, “. . .not like i was planning to leave her empty anyway.”

you moan and shiver at both satoru’s dirty words and his dick that’s currently stuffing your insides full. your mouth hangs open, your eyes remain shut and your brain takes in all the granted sensations. adjusting to his lengthy size takes you a few seconds and when you gave your boyfriend permission to continue— that’s exactly what he does.

his hips thrust in an almost hypnotising rhythm: back and forth, back and forth. every interval between the firm movements is the exact same. the thing that differs and makes the experience all the better, is the difference in strength behind each thrust.

one moment he’s carefully sliding in and out of your sopping cunt and in the next he’s forcefully slamming his cock all the way in and out. satoru stifles his moans by attaching his lips to yours—capturing them in a sloppy, rough kiss.

“satoru—satoru, ah, please.. right there,” you mewl into his mouth. his tongue finds yours and your salivas mix.

your lover answers your pleas by holding onto your hand, your fingers interlocking with his thumb soothingly rubbing your skin. satoru never fails to make you feel loved during intimate acts like these. no matter how filthy, nasty and rough he’s fucking you.

you arch your back and your chest presses against satoru’s, causing him to groan against your lips. a cocky grin appears on his face after he moves his head to the crook of your neck. he leaves a couple hickeys along the area of your throat—his hips not giving you a break. even as you continuously whimper and look like you’re about to lose your mind from pleasure.

that’s what satoru wants; to have you come undone beneath him. it’s the most beautiful thing in the world to him. others may call it perverted, but the older man always aims to make you reach as many orgasms as you can in one night. it fuels his carnal desires to see you convulse and shake after every intense climax.

his baby feeling good is all he wants to achieve.

“mhm, i know, princess. i know.” satoru breathes out and returns his lips to yours. he can’t go on long without tasting you. you’re like a drug he’s addicted to. every reaction—small or big—gets him going, “take it easy—fuck, you can do that f’me."

you reply with incoherent noises of agreement. there’s not a thought going on behind those watery eyes of yours. that much is obvious to your boyfriend.

your legs lock his cock inside of you by wrapping around his hips. your eyes are glazed over; a cockdrunk look. one that would make any man cum on spot.

“princess, wait,” satoru whines. he can’t stop himself, yet he’s telling you to wait. his body refuses to come to a halt as it strives towards a satisfying orgasm. he can feel it, his balls tightening and ready to spill everything they have, “if you continue looking at me like that, ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

he isn’t lying. you’re nearly driving him over the edge with everything you do. your legs that tighten their grip around his hips in fear of him pulling out is his favorite thing to experience. it’s like you’re desperate to continue.

your hands play with his sweaty body, fingers caressing his hard chest to feel his heartbeat. you’re drooling. your head is spinning as you think of your lover claiming you. fucking his precious cum into you, “inside—want it inside. all of it.”

satoru chokes on his spit. you don’t know what you do to him. muttering such erotic words causes the older man to malfunction every time. without fail. his hips are painfully ramming against yours.

“you sure? ah, shit.” satoru curses. his brows are furrowed, his hands holding you by your jaw. the view of you with your head tilted back and your teary eyes looking straight into his is pure perfection, “can’t deny you when you look so hot begging me to cum inside your greedy little pussy.”

the room is spinning. your nails claw into satoru’s back, leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. you shudder the instant he slides out of you until all that’s left is his pink tip prodding at your entrance.

it’s like he gets off on it. to see you whimper, quiver and struggle to contain your pleas for permission to cum. your boyfriend drags his tip up and down your slit, tapping it against your clit repeatedly.

“cum f’me, baby.” satoru coos. he knows you’re right on the edge. before you can reply, he shoves his cock back inside your spasming cunt—ruthlessly pounding you until you scream his name.

your eyes roll back and all you can do is hold your breath the moment the intense orgasm washes over you. your hips buck, your legs tremble and your pussy gushes all over his cock.

spurts of clear liquid cover satoru’s thighs. you squirting isn’t something he had expected to see, but it is a pleasant surprise regardless. it all gets too much for your lover and it drives him to his own climax as well.

satoru hugs you tightly to him. your chests press together with one of his arms holding your upper body up—his nose buried into your hair. a muffled grunt escapes his mouth and that’s when you know that he's reaching his finish.

“please—take it, take it, take it,” satoru stutters and stammers. he can’t form any proper words the moment his cock twitches and releases a huge load of sperm into your womb. it’s an overwhelming amount; globs of transculent white liquid ooze out from between your folds.

his sticky cum slides down to your asshole and onto the carpet, staining it. satoru bites his bottom lip whilst his body is still recovering, cock going soft once he pulls it out. he doesn’t know what to do or where to look, yet somehow his gaze always darts back to your dripping cunt.

“fuck. . . that’s hot.” the older man takes in a deep breath. it’s too soon to get hard again, he figures. the way you’re still trembling and struggling to catch your breath tells him enough. you need a break. and a well-deserved one it is.

your weak taps against satoru’s shoulder snaps him out of his dazed state. he takes your hand in his and gently squeezes before helping you into a sitting position. his blue eyes flash with worry,

“hey, hey, baby—you okay?” satoru asks. his voice is raspy, though obviously filled with concern. he rubs your back and encourages you to take deep breaths. small kisses to your temples help calm you down too.

your breathing eventually returns to normal. you chuckle tiredly and lean your head against his shoulder. your attentive lover wipes the saliva from the corners of your lips and does the same with the tears around your eyes. you sniff, “y-yeah. just felt amazing, hehe.”

satoru sighs in relief. he was scared that he hurt you somehow. your confession makes him laugh and squeeze your body against his. he cups your face and kisses you twice out of pure adoration.

you’re always ten times more adorable to him after you’ve had sex.

“aw, glad it did.” satoru smiles, his dimples showing. your eyes glisten and you smile back out of reflex. you pucker your lips and your lover takes the hint. he presses his mouth against yours once more; this time playfully swiping his tongue over your bottom lip.

you pull back and teasingly swat his bicep. satoru tickles your side as a response. and that’s how you once again end on the floor, with a heavy weight pressing onto your front.

satoru nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and breathes in your scent. you’re the best thing to have happened to him. you, the love of his life.

“the best present i could have ever gotten.” the white-haired sorcerer mumbles to no one in particular. though, you heard it. faintly.

you rub his back. you’re sure you made it up to him. he’s clinging onto you, nearly suffocating you by laying on top of your smaller body, but you don’t mind. you play with his hair and your fingernails graze against his undercut to which satoru reacts with a low purr.

you’re happy. he’s happy. that’s all that matters;

“happy birthday, my love.”

[devilishcupid]

CARBON COPY | Miguel O'Hara

☆ premise: trying to find miles morales in earth-42, he encounters you. or at least, a version of you.

☆ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!alt universe!reader

☆ warnings: across the spiderverse spoilers, pregnant!reader, clueless!reader, angst, hurt no comfort, miguel's pov, some swearing

☆ a/n: oh my god. across the spiderverse is literally a masterpiece. into the spiderverse already is, but the spiderverse team said, "we can do better." they didn't have to, but they did.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Jessica asked through the commlink. "This is risky, even by your standards."

"It doesn't matter. The quicker we find Miles, the quicker we get out of here." Miguel muttered into his earpiece as he walked through the busy streets of Earth-42's New York.

"Yes, but blending in? For all we know, a version of us exists here."

"Which is why you need to stop talking and start looking, Jess." Miguel hissed a little too loud, earning looks from a few passerbys. He winced. Jessica had a point. If a version of them did exist in this universe, it would be best not to bring attention to themselves.

"Miguel!"

And... that was now thrown out of the window. Cursing under his breath, he turned around reluctantly to face the person who called him—only to find that it was you.

His eyes widened, and his lips parted at the sight of you. Never in a million years did he expect to see her again. But here you were, the absolute spitting image of her. Your clothes were exactly the same things she would wear, your hair and makeup done the same way.

Finding different versions of people in different universes was not uncommon. There's literally a society uniting the different universes' own Spider-people, for God's sake. But Miguel didn't expect this. He didn't expect a carbon copy of his dead wife on a universe where Spider-Man did not exist.

He should've said he wasn't Miguel, that you were mistaking him for someone else. Hell, he shouldn't have stopped and turned around in the first place. He didn't know what came over him, but in a second, he had his arms wrapped around your body.

"Miguel, hon, are you okay?" You asked, your voice laced with surprise and concern. You had no clue that the man who was hugging you was not your husband. At least, not your husband in this universe.

Miguel grunted in response, his ability to string words together to form a sentence rendered broken by your presence. He squeezed you tighter. He couldn't believe he was holding you in his arms.

You weren't the same woman he fell in love with. He knows this. But he couldn't help himself. You looked exactly like her. Felt exactly like her. Sounded exactly like her. Shit, you even smelled like her.

"Damn it, Miguel, keep it together! She's not your wife!"

Hearing Jess' voice snapped Miguel out of his stupor. Remembering his mission, why he was there in the first place, he pulled away from you. He didn't want to. He wanted to hold you longer. But he knew that if he did, he wouldn't have been able to stop.

"Honey, what's wrong?" You asked, cupping his face in your hands. God, how he missed feeling the warmth of your palms. "You're acting weird."

"I'm fine, sweetheart." He gave you a small smile, his hands wrapping around yours and his lips pressing a kiss on each of your wrists. "I just missed you, that's all."

You laughed. "What are you talking about? You saw me this morning."

Miguel could only chuckle in an attempt to hide his sadness. What was only hours for you was months for him. "Right. I did."

"Are you sure you're okay, though?" You asked again, eyebrows furrowing and the corners of your lips downturned.

"Don't worry about it, darling. I am."

He wasn't. But you didn't need to know that. You didn't need to know that in another universe, the two of you were married. You didn't need to know that you had a daughter together. You didn't need to know that he loved you and your daughter more than life itself, only for him to lose you both.

"Listen, I have to go. I'm having lunch with a friend. But I'll see you later at Doctor Nguyen's, okay?" You placed your hands on your stomach, a smile forming on your face. "I can't wait to see her again."

Miguel swallowed the lump in his throat before forcing himself to smile. Only now he noticed the bump on your stomach, carrying a different Miguel's Gabriella. "Yeah, me too."

With a kiss goodbye on his cheek, you walked away, blissfully unaware that he was not your Miguel. He watched as you disappeared around the corner, knowing it was the first and last time he was ever going to see you again.

But that didn't matter. He'll find Miles. He'll make sure the canon isn't destroyed. He'll make sure another version of himself wouldn't have to suffer the loss of his family the same way he did. He'll make sure you and your kid were safe.

[peachsayshi]

// brutally soft // I.

baby daddy!sukuna x reader

tags: non curse au; fluff; tension; reader and sukuna are co-parents; girl dad sukuna; mentions troubled past with sukuna; alludes to significant size different | wc: 1,653 | read this for more context

note: I hope I got the honorifics right lol please correct me if I didn't

dni if your blog is blank / ageless / or are a minor

You didn’t think it was possible for a five year old to render you speechless, nor did you think she was capable of making your former lover blush the deepest shade of tomato red. You part your lips in surprise, stunned as you look down at her innocent expression. She’s sitting on your living room floor, her face perched on her palms with her elbows resting against the coffee table. Her wide eyes drift between you and Sukuna sitting on the sofa, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she tilts her head slightly out of intrigue.

“Mama?” She presses, begging for an answer.

Your mouth moves but no words come out. You’re trying to formulate a proper response that’s palatable for her, one that will be enough to subdue any further questions.

Except you’re not quite sure how to answer: “why don’t you and daddy ever kiss?” without making her pry even more into your history with her father.

Sukuna runs his large palms back and forth nervously over his thigh, the muscles on his inked forearms tensing up.

“We kiss,” you fib, because what else are you supposed to say, “of course we do!”

Your daughter’s face falters, and she quirks her brow as sassily as her father when they both mirror the same expression to look at you.

You glance back at Sukuna, giving him an awkward smile because at least you said something all the while he just sat there. 

“No, you don’t…” your daughter insists.

“Yeah, yeah that’s right…we do…of course, we do…” Sukuna pipes in with a mumble, finally catching on to your attempts as he reverts his attention on to his precious girl.

“I’ve never seen it,” she points out with a pout, scolding her father playfully in return.

“That’s because we don’t do it in front of you,” Sukuna remarks. “Besides, who wants to see their parents kiss?”

His daughter rolls her eyes, “all other mommies and daddies do it, except you guys. It makes no sense…”

She’s got the tiniest voice and the softest lisp, but her attitude is entirely her father. She’s bold and blunt, never afraid to say exactly what she’s thinking or to point the obvious.

“Oji-san kisses oba-san in front of Shiro…” she mumbles, dropping both her hands onto the coffee table and crumpling the paper that she is using to draw her little family portrait.

At the mention of his younger brother Sukuna can’t help but grimace. Yuji was incredibly affectionate towards his wife, wearing his heart on his sleeve entirely which just makes Sukuna grumble with annoyance. He’s always been a little envious of his younger brother, who never had to face the world as harshly as Sukuna. With an eleven year gap between them, Sukuna witnessed his parents becoming actual parents. They were young when they had him, and therefore had no clue what it took to raise or take care of a child. Sukuna was caught in the middle of their relationship for most of his childhood, all the while Yuji got to see the peaceful harmony once they finally made up.

“I’m just saying…” your daughter adds on, “…it’s weird.”

You breathe out a sigh in defeat, knowing full well that she won’t let go of the subject until she gets some consolation.

So incredibly stubborn just like her dad.

Without considering the repercussions, you reach your hand out and clutch Sukuna’s chin delicately between your fingers. You tilt his head towards you, noticing the slow register of your touch wash over his face as you lean up to kiss his cheek.

However, you misjudged your aim, because Sukuna tilted his head down in return, and you wound up leaving a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth instead.

Your lips lingered for only a few seconds, three to be exact, before you retracted and turned towards your daughter.

“See?” You insist, holding onto Sukuna’s chin like it’s evidence between your fingers. “We kiss!”

Your daughter’s mouth forms into a line, clearly unimpressed. The older she’s getting the more she’s picking up on the little things that you guys were hiding so well.

But it’s still way too complicated, and you and Sukuna haven't even discussed how to approach this yet.

“I guess,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders, before returning to her drawing.

You didn’t even know that Sukuna has his focus still locked onto your lips tuntil you turn to look back at him.His gaze is soft, the muscles of his handsome features melting between your touch. There’s a hint of sorrow that twinkles in his eyes, and when you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth apologetically, you notice that you left a lipstick stain in your wake.

“Sorry,” you mouth, and carefully use your thumb to swipe over the mark.

But your heart seizes quickly, your spine growing still when Sukuna mildly inches forward like he’s about to go in for another kiss.

You remember what it was like to kiss him. He was an exceptionally good kisser, even though he probably doesn’t know it himself. You’ve spent hours losing time locked against those lips, allowing his tongue to taste every last drop of you.

There’s a twitch in your chest, everything around you going quiet. Heat pricks the back of your neck when his lips draw just a breath away from yours, and you swear to yourself that he grazed over your mouth with a featherlight touch.

But Sukuna stops suddenly, catching himself.

“Be right back,” he whispers, his voice dipping so low you can’t help but clench your thighs together.

He shoots up from his seat, detangling quickly as he brushes you off, and leaving you to stare aimlessly at his broad back and overbearing muscles. Your sofa suddenly appears a lot larger with all that free space.

You press both hands to your cheeks, licking your lips as the apprehension runs through you as a cold chill. You can’t even remember when was the last time you kissed the father of your child, but you didn’t think that such a small act would have such a lingering effect.

You thought you were over this. Over him. That chapter was closed a long, long time ago.

You look up at the cause of this unexpected interaction, your daughter’s short attention span keeping her focused on her doodle while she hums to herself.

Sukuna returns with his head held high a few minutes after, and plops down on the sofa with his weight prompting you to bounce lightly in place.

That’s when you felt it, a hint of cold hitting your brow like a tiny droplet of rain.

Your furrow your brows then notice that your Sukuna’s hair is actually damp, with little tears trickling down the back of his neck.

The tips of his ears are still burning red.

You part your lips in awe.

Sukuna is a master at making you blush. At making any woman blush, frankly. But you don’t think you’ve ever actually seen that reaction on him.

It stuns you how much it suits him, and surprises you even more of just how cute he looks trying to hide it.

“Daddy, can you help me?” Your daughter asks, finally focusing back on the two of you while her finger draws out an outline of what appears to be two arms.

“Whatever you want, Princess…” Sukuna responds, and obediently gets up from his seat.

He perches himself on the floor, the size difference between him and your little girl doing nothing to help the sudden hammering in your chest.

He’s so, so gentle with her.

She crawls onto his lap, holding the sheet of paper in her hand, before setting herself back up while sitting on his thighs.She points to the drawing with her index finger, “I don’t know how to draw your tattoos…”

Sukuna chuckles, a glimpse of his smile making you to scratch the warmth off the back of your neck.

He picks up a black pencil, “you’re a better artist than me, kid,” he states honestly, “not quite sure what I can do to help…”

She wraps her arms around his neck, leaving her dad to carry on the effort.

“I’ll explain the shapes and you draw it!” She says with a kiss to his cheek.

It’ll never cease to amaze you how easily he bends to her will. Sukuna had no interest in any of this, and was obstinate in every sense of the word. Nothing could turn that man into a docile cat except when it comes to your little girl. He’s present with her, this part of him just so different, and even after five years it still feels a tad unfamiliar.

There’s a slight tightness in your throat because this is all you wanted when you were together. After the break up and surprise pregnancy, you didn’t realize how hard he took it when you told him that you have zero expectations of him being involved in your daughter’s life. You were just informing him out of moral obligation, but something switched on inside him after that.

It may not have been for you, but he made that change for her, and seeing them together now, you recognize just how much that man loves his little girl.

That fact alone makes you undeniably happy.

So happy you wish you could give him a real kiss for it.

Your daughter moves to pat his head in gesture of a good job as Sukuna follows her instructions to the T, but her faces scrunches with disgust when she threads her fingers between his locks.

“Daddy, why is your hair wet?”

Sukuna brings his free hand to massage the back of her scalp, “Pay attention to the drawing, missy…and stop asking so many damn, I mean uh-darn questions…” he responds, leaving a kiss on her brow and doing everything in his power to make sure that he avoids looking back at you.

tag: @selarina @yuujispinkhair @blush-bambi @tojislittleprincesss

[phant0mth1ef]

this boy’s too young to be singing the blues.

-

katsuki never really knew why he hated the rain as much as he did, it was like everytime it rained, his mood quickly turned sour as he went upstairs to his room, trying to distract himself from the gloomy weather that overtook the outside world.

he never knew why he hated it so bad, at least, not until now.

not until your unconscious body was tossed aside by shigaraki, like you were some piece of trash that he had to dispose of in order to fully gain the power he desired.

the boy was already on the ground, slipping in and out of consciousness when he turned on his side, seeing you lying there with your eyes closed. bruises and bloody cuts littered your face, your beautiful face. the rain hitting your body with soft taps, smudging every liquid covering your face. all he wanted to do in that moment, where he couldn’t move his body more than a couple inches, was to touch your face, hold it in his hands and whisper to you how everything would be okay. how izuku would make everything okay.

his hand never fully made its’ way to your face before it fell onto your body, the boy being rendered fully unconscious as one of his forearms rested on your collarbone, so close and yet so far at the same time.

katsuki now had a reason to truly hate the rain.

[seattlesellie]

Jealous. 🎀

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

cw: mean dom!ellie sub!reader, jealous kinda toxic ellie, eating it through the panties, orgasm denial, spit play (literally spits down ur panties like), exhibitionism, some dude named michael.

an: pls be gentle, i haven’t written in a long time! 💗 credit to angel gbc for the mod used in the picture above <3

something we can all agree on is the importance of aftercare — right?

Ellie is big on that obviously, as she should. Caressing her slim fingers down your body, planting wanton kisses on your shoulders, running her palms across your shaky thighs, whispering words of encouragement in your ear;

“Did so good for me, babe”

“I love you, so much”

“Need anything? hm?” She’d murmur against your skin whilst cradling your body from behind.

And she always insists on cleaning you up. She consistently renders you nothing but an achy mess, dried up juices staining your wobbly jelly thighs, combined sweat on your breasts and ribs, back of your neck. The ritual of bringing a wet towel to bed, swiping it’s fabric across your inner thighs, your face, your behind — is a sacred one for her. Not solely because she loves hearing your sweet, exhausted sighs of relief as she cleans the soil away, but also not solely because she gets to see your naked body in all of its glory again.

It’s the act of taking care of what’s hers. In a way, when she wipes your cum away, she’s taking care of herself — too.

Here, lays a solid proof that she can break things apart and put them back together again. She’s not a total fucking fuckup.

The ability of making you scream and cry, then moments later have you whisper in that saccharine voice of yours an airy “love you s’much, Els…”

It’s fucking exhilarating.

She loves it every time, she does it every time.

But today… today you pissed her off. You poked the bear, for real this time.

There’s this new Michael guy in Jackson. He’s handsome, tall, has coal black curls that somehow stay soft and shiny even in this apocalyptic hellscape. He told Ellie and you where he was from, what he did, why he came. Ellie didn’t listen to a thing he was saying. It was like he turned into a fly and started loudly buzzing in her ear. He kept looking at you weird. Smiling at you, smirking, laughing at your jokes, even the ones that weren’t all that funny. She knows you have this affect on people, that damn charm, hell — you have this affect on her.

And she’s usually just playfully jealous, manages to keep it relatively tame and simple by tightening her grip on your waist.

But you just wouldn’t stop bringing him up. “Michael” this, and “Michael” that, “Michael invited us for dinner”, “Michael said this funny thing earlier”,

For all Ellie knows Michael could die in a ditch and she wouldn’t give a fuck.

You're on your way back home from the Tipsy Bison on a chilly Thursday night. Jesse was there, Dina, Maria... and Michael. She thinks of his name and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, tart, pungent.

"Meh, I'm more of a Tequila girl, Whiskey tastes like shit" you announced with a giggle. Michael rested his hand on your thigh, and agreed with a nod and a chuckle. For you, it meant nothing.

For Ellie, it meant everything.

Her blood pressure was usually low, steady, healthy as a bull. As of now, Ellie felt like she just ran a marathon. The blood rushed to her head and her brows furrowed without intention. She cracks her neck and moves it left and right, takes a long and burning sip out of her Whiskey and shuts her eyes. She repeats a mantra in her head; "I'm not angry, I'm not angry, It's fine."

But you're so damn intuitive.

"Els? y'tired?" you murmur towards your auburnette girlfriend. She suckles on her bottom lip and considers saying no, but she lies.

"Exhausted"

You leave the humble bar hand in hand, wrapped up in her big coat that smells of mint and wood and Ellie. She prays you won't mention his name, prays you could just go home and forget about this whole thing, but you do, innocently.

"Oh, Michael said one of the horses is sick, I'm thinking of helping out in the barn tomorrow an—"

She stops you mid sentence with a scoff and a tightening grip on your hand. "Oh, mhm, Michael said that?"

Her voice mocks your own a little.

You stop and shift your gaze towards Ellie who has her lips tucked in a tight line. Internally, she's cussing herself out. You don't deserve her anger, but she can't help herself. Your answer is an unsure hum. Her grip tightens even more, and it hurts your palm but you keep on walking side by side, quietly. Five minutes manage to pass with no words being muttered by no one. That's until she shakes her head and lets go of a husky chuckle.

"Did I do something?", you mutter doe eyed. Ellie stops in her tracks and inhales. She grabs you by your waist and walks towards you, making you have to clumsily pace backwards until your back meets a cold grey brick wall with a resounding thud. "Uhg!" You hiccup, breath catching down your throat. You even sweetly giggle, thinking in your head that this could possibly be just a sweet attack of PDA.

But her eyes are dark, gone from emerald to pine, pupils pitch black as big as a button. Her warm whiskey breath meets your nose and your top lip, you gulp. Why isn't she laughing? teasing?

"El?" your voice is still candied, always. Ellies mouth is agape, scarred eyebrows scrunched and furrowed as if she's confused, or pissed, or provoked. Her forehead meets yours so automatically, you attempt to connect your lips with a kiss but she backs away meanly. Albeit her taunting position, how intimidating and truly scary she looks whilst you're caged within her frame, your'e still smiling, you're still thinking she's just teasing.

You're not used to this, she knows, but god knows she yearns to teach you a lesson.

You don't fuck with what's hers.

She licks her bottom lip before she starts speaking.

"Take off your skirt"

Her voice nearly renders you drunk, It's huskiness, gruffness, it's depth, and really, you've only had one shot. Your cheeks heat up and your ears feel as if they're nearly burning. Her lips are so damn close to yours and she still won't let you kiss her.

"Wh... we're in public, we can't—" you stutter, eyes shifting downwards towards the knee she has shoved near your barely covered crotch. When she brings it upwards just to brush delicately on your inner thigh, you let go of a small gasp.

She responds to your gasp with a barely audible "Mhm?", her eyes sharpening with intent.

"Yes we can", she tsk's, and her voice taunts. Her eyes graze over your face, and you expect her next sentence to bite like the last one did, but her voice goes softer. "For me?", she cocks her head to the side.

And it simply pushes you over the edge.

You peel your skirt off of your body, asscheeks plastered over the brick wall as her body squeezes you further back, and you're left half naked with a piece of fabric scrunched below your knees, resting on your shoes. She eyes your body up and down, meeting your pleading and still confused eyes — and for a moment, thinks of just carrying you home and taking care of business once you get there. No jealousy, none of that.

But it's still bitter down her throat, and she can still picture his disgusting hand meeting your soft thigh, her soft thigh — as your body is hers, so that thought is ever so fleeting. It's either now or now.

Her cold as ice finger traces faint circles on your lower tummy, making the fine hairs of your body rise like soldiers. You whimper quietly as her finger snaps the elastic band of your panties and lets it smack down your pelvis. You rub your thighs together, but you're ever so pliant as she makes your legs spread wide with a boot covered foot opening up your calves like a gate.

She whispers in your ear. "Are you wet?", it makes you shiver.

"M'cold" you whine.

She scoffs.

She kneads your bra cup with her palm, squeezing an erect nipple with her thumb and middle finger. "Didn't ask that"

Her eyes meet your gaze and again she reconsiders this whole thing — because you truly look so needy, and your lips are so pouty and sweet and red with cold, you look as if you'd die if she didn't kiss you right now so how can she even be worried, let alone be jealous?

She knows how much you love her, how much you yearn for nobody but her, how her touch leaves you speechless time and time again.

But it's like something takes over, a dark figure, a figure that's thirsty and starving and wants to prove a thing it already knows.

It's an internal struggle, she doesn't want to be possessive,

She can't help it.

Your panties are striped with pink and white, and she looks at them as if they're the most expensive lace in the whole entire world. Her breathing gets heavier as she curls her fingers inside the cotton fabric, pupils darkening when she notices a sweet clear string of your arousal clinging from the entrance of your cunt to the bottom of your underwear.

She chuckles, followed by a sigh of relief that you notice. You are wet, right in the middle of the street where an innocent soul could catch you at any given moment. "Didn't answer cause you're shy?" She knows you so well. You bite your lip and nod, butterflies fighting in the pits of your stomach. A chaste kiss on the lips is all you get from her, and you deeply whine into the air. "At least kiss me!" you beg, — god, you're so cute when you're pissed.

Before landing on her knees, Ellie looks from side to side in order to check that there's truly nobody around, and no — not because she's scared to get caught, but because she'd die before she let someone see her girlfriend half naked with her skirt down her thighs.

Ellie is face to face with your quivering, pantie covered cunt. A wet patch greets her — a fuckin' pleasure, one she can't help but swipe her tongue across. Your choked up, terrified sound of a moan is a symphony to her hears, fuck Mozart. Her eager muscle of a tongue is so warm against your pussy you nearly forget it started snowing yesterday.

You buck your hips inwards, she groans. "No moving", she warns — simply to assert a dominance that has already been asserted. She kisses your little clit, coo's at the way it slightly pokes out of the fabric, erect and pumping on her tongue. "Ellie... Ellie... Ellie", you babble like a prayer, which she nods to. "S'my name, that's fuckin' right", she groans as her husky voice is muffled by your soaked panties.

"Ellie..." you repeat, thighs beginning to ache as you try and spread them further apart, almost sitting on her face.

Ellie, not Michael.

She smiles, greedy, triumphant.

She flicks her tongue on your clit, once, twice, three times before biting on your meaty pussy lips. You bite your knuckles in order to keep your voice down, but she glares up at you. "Do that again n'I swear to god I'm stopping" she growls.

You're not used to this side of her at all, but her voice makes your hole leak a small stream from deep inside. She feels it's wetness on her tongue, eyes closing in ecstasy as she audibly suckles your sweet, tangy, heavenly juices from the now sheer fabric. Her own spit runs down her chin, she doesn't even bother to wipe it off. All you can hear are your breathy, whiney moans, tiny begs of "take 'em off, please", regarding your panties, and Ellie's throaty groans. You're so wet from your own juices and her saliva it nearly gets uncomfortable, but then again you're so goddamn close to cumming.

You try taking matters to your own hands, attempting to peel off your panties from your waist with a shaky hand but she snarls and slaps your wrist away.

"Nuh uh, pussy's fuckin' mine, don't touch it"

With relentless sucking on your drenched clit, and soiled panties, she opens her eyes to merely glare at you again with a warning look. "When you're close, you let me know" she bites.

You don't respond.

A stinging slap meets your pussy, which makes your thighs shake, whole body jolt, and throat ache with a high pitched yelp.

"You're not listening" Ellie warns.

"You listen when I talk" she warns again. Her tongue meets your clit and it pushes it further and further up. You shake, eyesight gone blurry, you're close, you know it by the way the coil down your stomach threatens to snap, and by the way it tickles down there so damn bad.

"M'close" you brokenly wail.

She grunts deeply and stops completely. your heart nearly breaks, no no no no no. "Ellie, Ellie, Els, no!" You try and buck your hips forward but she holds you in place with an iron like grip. You buck them again and she peels off the fabric of your underwear, slightly rising up as she stares inside at the mess she made of you. There's a devilish smirk that creeps up from her lips, apple of one cheek rising. You let out a sigh of relief, thinking that perhaps she'll actually fucking eat you out properly instead of letting you suffer inside a warm, wet material of a mess that truly doesn't look like something wearable anymore. Instead, she audibly spits inside with a "Ptu'", letting the band snap shut. Her saliva mixes with your warm sleek. You're so confused she nearly feels bad, but she's such a cunt that she really doesn't.

"Were going back inside," she murmurs so casually as if she didn't just fuck you up in the middle of the street, as if her chin isn't shiny with your precum. "N'if Michael puts his hand on you again, I'm eating it in front of him"

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 1 - Betrayal

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, betrayal, mean!Bucky,

Hi! This kinda came outta nowhere lmao. Apologies for the angst, I just needed to do an angsty/sad fic cos I'm in my feels. As always, I appreciate your comments and reblogs. This is a two part series (standalone, not linked to any of my other fics, not the same characters as in Sweet and Sour) second part coming soon...

Wordcount: 3.7k

💔

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me, Doll. After everything we’ve been through? Was it all a lie?”

“Don’t deny it! That’s your voice on the recording! Banner proved your phone was there, it pinged there – we’ve got the proof. Even now you’re lying, you just can’t help yourself, can you?”

You had read about people being too stunned to move or speak, but you always thought it was a little embellished for dramatic effect in books. Surely, you could just push through? Surely shock did not have such a profound effect on your body that it rendered you temporarily paralysed and mute?

But you had calmly walked down the stairs towards the lobby of the house twenty minutes ago and hadn’t moved since. You just stood there now, rigid and dumbfounded, trying to understand how your entire world had just collapsed around you mere minutes beforehand. Now, you got the ‘stunned’ thing. You understood.

The aftershocks of Bucky yelling at you echoed around your head. What had just happened? You’d been sleeping peacefully just before he stormed in your shared bedroom, roaring at you before your eyes had even opened. You’d never seen him like that before. This wasn’t your Bucky, this was work Bucky. The one he’d always worked so hard to keep you from.

Why wouldn’t he listen? What did he mean, the recording? The phone ping? Your skull ached as you tried to make sense of it all. You would never do a thing like that to him. You loved him. You’d die before you purposefully tried to hurt him. Why didn’t he understand that?

You briefly considered going back upstairs, finding him wherever he was in the labyrinth of this house and straightening this whole mess out. Telling him you loved him, and he had to listen. Taking him in your arms, kissing him softly.

But the memory of the look in his eyes, the sheer rage they contained, the hatred that lay there, stopped you.

There was nothing to go back for.

You managed to pull yourself from your paralysis and move towards the hall closet near the front door. Well, it was more like a small room than a closet. An overflow from the walk-in closet just off the master bedroom upstairs. A huge space packed with a selection of Bucky’s jackets and shoes. He liked keeping some of them downstairs, getting the staff to rotate them when he wanted a change. Some of your things sat in there too - a few high-end coats, beautiful shoes. 

Correction, past tense - they were yours. Not now. 

“You’re a liar! You lied to me…Bet you loved spending my money too, didn’t you? Laughing all the way to bank as you sucked me dry…”

You screwed up your face as the memory of his voice flooded you. He was just so angry…he just wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t believe you…

You pushed it all aside and opened the closet door, darting and shuffling through the combined thousands of dollars at your fingertips - the Dior, the Gucci, the Prada. You knew it was in here somewhere.

Then you spotted a flash of red behind one of the shoe racks in the far corner. There she was. 

You moved towards it, grabbing at the red fabric and tugging. It squeezed past the luxury shoes and revealed itself as you pulled it toward you - your faithful red backpack.

A relic of your former self.

No designer labels here, just a bag that had followed you throughout your life - high school, college before you’d dropped out, various apartment moves and vacations. The once-bright crimson colour had faded over time, but it was still sturdy and strong, still TARDIS-like in how much you could pack inside. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the closet against the glamour and opulence. 

You knew how that felt.

You unzipped it and dug through the contents. A pair of jeans, a sweater, a couple of T-shirts and your beaten-up old sneakers. Some pairs of underwear and bras. A few other simple garments. All polyblends and cheap textiles. No fancy labels to be found. No fine silks or luxe fabrics that Bucky had liked to spoil you with. 

This backpack was all you had to your name when you’d moved in here. Funny how life went in circles, because once again it was all you had now.

At the time Bucky had taken it from you and insisted you throw it away - you wouldn’t need it! He’d buy you a whole walk-in closet full of clothes! 

And he did. 

A dizzying amount. More than you could ever wear. A mix of designer labels and custom pieces that fit you perfectly. Fine tailoring and exquisite details. Dresses. Blouses. Pants. Jeans. Organic cotton t-shirts. Skirts of every length. Winter coats that had cost the same as two months of your rent in the city. Underwear sets so pretty and delicate that you were almost too nervous to wear them. 

And accessories, too. Handbags. Jewellery. Shoes. Oh, the shoes. Heels, flats, boots, sandals, sneakers and slippers. Shoes for fancy parties and shoes for hikes. Shoes for the grand vacations. Shoes for just lounging around the house. Shoes you only wore for sex.

All gone, in an instant.

It didn’t matter, anyway. You always told him you didn’t need any of it. And you weren’t lying. You’d never lied to him, despite what he believed now. You were always happiest in sweats and loungewear, you just liked being comfortable and yourself. You just liked being near him.

At the time you’d talked him round about letting you keeping the backpack - nostalgia, you know? You’d had it years, after all.

But he didn’t think you needed it. That was then, this was now. Why keep an old bag when you could get anything you’d ever want? He’d buy you a hundred backpacks, he said, he’d get your initials embroidered, he’d let you design your own, he’d have your favourite designer make you one - especially for you.

But that wouldn’t be your bag. The bag that had seen everything. Your constant companion. 

You persisted. What was one little backpack in a big old house like his? It would take up no space at all. He wouldn’t even know it was there.

He relented eventually, he’d always loved how down to earth and low-key you were. He was fond of your sentimentality. You’d never been interested in his money; you’d kept the love notes he wrote you - not the shopping receipts - but he still liked to spoil you. You deserved it. 

Or so he’d told you then. But it was a different story today. 

The bag had been hastily stashed here in the closet the first day you moved in and had been there ever since, languishing amongst the Italian tailoring. 

Until now.

Part of you wondered if deep down you had always known this day would come. Maybe your gut had sensed it was all too good to be true, and you knew you needed to store a parachute for the inevitable fall. 

You sniffed, wiping away the threat of more tears. There would be time for that later. 

You looked down at the slip you wore, the slinky, silly nightie thing he’d bought you that you’d worn to bed. Not very practical now you’d be out on the street. 

Your brain suddenly switched into survival mode, most likely in an attempt to stop yourself from falling apart, but you couldn’t think about it all now. You needed to find somewhere to stay. And you couldn’t do that in a silk nightdress. 

You quickly shrugged the gown off, leaving it in a tangled pool on the floor of the closet and mentally apologising to Martha who would have to pick it up tomorrow. You grabbed the backpack and pulled on the jeans, a bra, one of the tees and the sweater. You rolled the Dollar Tree socks onto your feet. Kicked on the sneakers. It was all a little musty from being folded up in the bag for so long. But it would do. 

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the closet mirror and gasped. Aside from the wild eyes and tear-stained face, you looked like a version of yourself you hadn’t seen in a long time. Another life.

Hello again.

Next: where to go. The obvious places were Wanda’s or Nat’s homes. And you’d go there. Either would work. Either would welcome you with open arms, being the true friends that they were. Bucky’s betrayal had made you question everything you knew about love, but not the faith in your friends to catch you when you fall. That was unshakeable. 

Maybe you could alternate who you stayed with until you got back on your feet, so you weren’t too much of a burden to either. You just couldn’t face either of them tonight, you needed to be alone. 

You frantically rummaged through the backpack again until you found what you were looking for at the very bottom. You let out a little yelp of relief.

The battered old wallet had seen better days, but it was hanging on. You opened it up and breathed a sigh of relief that you’d never transferred your driver’s license into the Gucci wallet Bucky had given you on that first day. Thanks, lazy past self. It wasn’t like you’d driven much anyway, not with his all drivers on the payroll and the Uber account he’d loaded onto your phone. 

The wallet also contained debit and credit cards you’d never cancelled but hadn’t touched since Bucky gave you your very own black card. It was funny how you used to obsessively count every penny and now you could charge whatever you wanted without a second thought.

Not now, then, you corrected. You needed to get used to your life with Bucky being referred to in the past tense.

“You were working with the feds this whole time, Doll? Is that it? You were all laughing at me? Laughing at how easy it was to let you in? The cute little waitress doing her ‘oh shucks!’ routine, catching me hook, line and sinker?? God I’m such a fucking idiot…”

You stifled a sob, but continued hunting through the wallet.

You thought about your purse sitting out on the side table by the front door. You could take that with you and charge a hotel room it. He probably wouldn’t even notice such a small charge amongst his wealth, and even if he did, he wouldn’t begrudge you a few bucks for a roof over your head for one night. Would he?

No. Enough. 

He had ended it. He had implied you were a leech. He didn’t listen, he didn’t trust you. He didn’t believe you. If he truly thought you’d done what he said…he couldn’t ever have loved you. Not really. 

No more spending his money, even though you never really felt comfortable doing so anyway. The showdown tonight had confirmed your biggest fears - he’d always resented you for spending his cash. You couldn’t live like that anymore. 

Besides, you didn’t want him to know where you were. Not that you thought he’d come after you…but still. 

Fortunately, the wallet had a ream of stale bills stuffed in one of the sections. You exclaimed in excitement; you remembered them now. It had been your last day at your waitress job. You’d quit right before you came over to this place to move in, and Lou had given you the rest of the week’s pay plus tips. You had fought him on it, insisting you didn’t need it - but Lou had asked you to take it. For his sake.

“I want you to be happy, hon’,” he’d told you kindly when you had shared your plans. “And I know you’re a smart girl. But you’re getting mixed up with…a different kinda world. A…different kind of guy. You never know when this might come in handy”.

You’d frowned at him at the time, not quite sure what he meant. But as you stood there in the closet clutching the cash, you sent him a silent thank-you for his foresight. God bless Lou. He was exactly right.

You shoved the money and the wallet back into the red bag and moved from the closet into the hallway. The house was completely silent. If Bucky knew you hadn’t left yet, he’d made no effort to stop you. You admitted that a tiny part of yourself had hoped he’d come after you and admit he’d made a terrible mistake.

But he wasn’t coming. 

You slung the backpack over your shoulder as you headed to the front door. As your hand curled around the handle, you turned and took one last look at what had been your first real home. What you’d hoped would be your last home. 

You looked over at your phone which you’d tossed onto the dresser next to the closet in your panic. You briefly pondered taking it, but it wasn’t yours anymore. You’d buy a burner in the morning and get a new cell plan once you were back on your feet. 

Wow. You were surprising yourself with this pragmatism. But you also knew you were hanging on by a thread.

But the fact was - you’d survived before Bucky, and you’d survive after him, too. You always kept going. You’d been dirt poor before, you could do it again. You’d been alone before, too. You’d been alone most of your life. 

You could do it again.

‘Tenacious’ - that’s what Nat had called you once. You weren’t sure if you agreed with her at the time, but now you wanted to prove her right. You wanted to be the person she believed you to be. 

You already knew it would be much harder now, as you’d had a taste of the other side. How the other half live, as they say. Before, you didn’t know any different - you didn’t know what you were missing. Now you absolutely did. Not just the money…the comfort…but being cared for, being loved. 

On some level, you’d always known this wasn’t going to be your happy ending. You knew deep down that the house of cards would eventually fall, because it always did. 

You just wished you weren’t always right. 

You opened the door and stepped out into the dark.

💔

You walked for thirty minutes towards the city. Bucky lived on the outskirts and most of the journey had been leaving his estate along the single, winding road that led up to his property. None of his men paid you any mind. Not the ones with guns pitched up along the perimeter. Not those waiting in cars half a mile from his house, keeping an eye out for any potential threats as they did every night. They all knew who you were, so word must’ve spread fast. Otherwise they would’ve been falling over themselves to check on you and find out why the boss’ girl was out walking by herself at this time. 

You wondered if Steve or Sam had put a message out on the comms. ‘They’re over. Don’t worry about her anymore’ or words to that effect. Something cold but concise. That’s how this operation worked. 

You’d developed friendships with some of these men. Chatted to them and even brought them coffee when they kept watch on cold nights. You would watch then from the windows and tell Bucky you were worried about how freezing it was out there, and he’d laugh it off and say it was part of their job and they were fine. But they were always grateful when you came out with a thermos, always told you how much it meant to them. 

All of it forgotten in an instant, you were disposable as anything else in Bucky’s empire. You understood that now. Just like when he wanted a new car or a new watch, he’d toss away the old model - then find himself something newer and shinier. 

You walked a little further as signs of civilisation starting to appear and Bucky’s acres of land disappeared behind you. A gas station. A boarded-up strip mall. You were a little frightened walking alone by yourself, but the sheer adrenaline your situation propelled you forward. 

You breathed a sigh of relief when you eventually found a tired-looking Holiday Inn up ahead. A few of the lightbulbs on the neon sign were out, meaning it spelled out H LIDAY INN. A leaky drainpipe dripped a steady stream of water over the entrance. Oh dear. 

But it would do for now. 

You took a deep breath as you went inside and checked in at the front desk, paying for a basic room with your waitress cash. The disinterested receptionist gave you the key card and sighed with boredom, barely looking at you as she barked the directions to your room and resumed Candy Crush on her phone. She didn’t seem surprised to see a lone woman turning up in the middle of the night, arriving to a roadside hotel on foot, paying for two nights in crumpled bills. She didn’t even ask to see your ID. That all gave you a pretty clear idea of what the staff were used to here.

You passed an ancient-looking PC that guests could use, which surprisingly, as it looked like it was last updated for Windows 95, had WiFi. You made a mental note to log on tomorrow to message Wanda and Nat on social media and fill them in …and hopefully get one of them to come pick you up. 

You grabbed some chips and soda from the vending machines then walked towards the elevators. Not quite the glamorous dinner you’d become accustomed too, but it would do. For now.

You hit the button to call the elevator as you slumped against the wall, the exertion of your long walk and the evening finally catching up with you. The elevator creaked and spluttered but it finally got you to your floor. 

You scanned your keycard and swung the room door open, dumping your backpack and snacks onto the wood-veneer desk before flinging yourself onto the double bed. The no-frills basics were worlds away from the fancy hotels you were used to staying in with Bucky, but it was clean and comfortable. And most important of all, it was private. 

“Just get the fuck out. We’re done here so save your tears. Over. Finito. I don’t need some liar in my bed, being sweet to my face then sticking a knife in my back – then not even having the guts to admit to it when she’s caught red-handed”.

Finally alone, you allowed yourself to weep. To mourn the end of your relationship and the man you thought Bucky was, versus the man he turned out to really be. To grieve, to bid farewell to the life you thought you had (and would continue to have) with him, and the way you thought he saw you. It wasn’t just about losing him and tarnishing your memories, it was also grieving for a future and a life you thought you were going to have. 

“I don’t care. You’ll figure something out, sweetheart. You’re just lucky this is all I’m doing after everything you’ve pulled…”

Large, wracking sobs took over your body as you curled up on the hotel bedspread and allowed yourself to feel it all. You ate the chips and drank the soda, barely tasting either. You turned on the TV and let the black and white movie on the one working channel serve as background noise. Fatigue eventually swam over you, smothering you like a weighted blanket.

Soon there were no tears left and the well had finally run dry. Mercifully, sleep finally came for you, and you gave into it without a fight. 

And you slept. And slept. 

💔

Bucky was at his desk looking at paperwork when Steve came back into his home office. He was doing his best to ignore the nauseating rush in his gut, trying his hardest not to think about you and the way your face had crumpled as he confronted you. Most likely it was just your guilt, anyway.

“Barton said the shipment arrived right on schedule, everything accounted for,” Steve advised as he poured himself a shot of bourbon from the small bar setup in the corner of the office. “And Sam’s out at the shipyard, running through the plan with Rumlow”.

He was desperate to address the elephant of the room and ask Bucky how he was holding up, but Bucky had previously insisted nobody bring your name up. So he didn’t. 

“Good,” Bucky replied curtly. “And Stark?”

“All on board. Said we can iron out the details next week”.

“Perfect, thanks”.

Steve nodded, downing the last of his glass as he placed it on the ornate tray and headed to the door.

“Oh, and Steve?” Bucky called out to him.

“Yeah, Buck?” He turned to face his friend.

“Do you….you uh know…where she went? After…what happened?” He asked, the tiniest hint of hesitation in his otherwise firm tone. Most people wouldn’t have spotted it, but most people didn’t know Bucky like Steve did. 

Steve shook his head, “No, Buck. Some of the men saw her leaving on foot a little while ago”.

Bucky swallowed but his face betrayed no emotion, “On foot?”

“Yeah. I guess she didn’t have a lot of options…” Steve shrugged.

Bucky nodded, “Yeah…I guess I just assumed she’d book a cab…or call one of her friends…” he said wistfully as he looked back down at the papers across his desk.

“She left her phone. Scott found it by the front door, next to her purse. I’m not sure she took anything with her, actually,” Steve mused.

Bucky frowned, “No…phone? No…money?”

Steve shrugged, “I don’t think so. But that’s good, right? You said yourself she was probably just playing a long-con to get your money too…”

Bucky’s gaze dropped back to the desk, his grip on the fountain pen he was holding tightened, the nib shaking from the force of his strength.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked tentatively as he watched the way the pen shook.

Any hint of vulnerability was immediately snuffed out as Bucky’s eyes snapped back to Steve. 

“Of course. Fine. Let me know what Sam says”.

Steve nodded, “Right. I’ll call him now”.

As Steve closed the door, the pen snapped in Bucky’s hand.