#so i could catch my breath and keep from doubling over or whatever

[apuzzledprince]

very hard to work when your organs are pretty much digesting themselves because you forgot to read the fucking ingredients on the food you bought

[joonie-beanie]

Doctor's Orders | [Wriothesley x Reader]

Summary: “Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.” In which a simple tea time turns heated, and you get caught up in the consequence of Wriothesley not listening to his doctor. Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Aphrodisiacs, fem!reader Word Count: 7.9k

Sigewinne is evil.

You would have never suspected that such a tiny, cute body could contain so much malevolence. (Although, Sigewinne would personally argue that you’re confused, and that the word you’re looking for is actually benevolence. But, you digress.)

It all starts a few weeks into your employment at the Fortress of Meropide.

You’d spotted a job listing for a “personal assistant” in passing one day, and had immediately become interested thanks to the very generous salary listed on the paper. Seeing the job was located in Fontaine’s unofficial prison had, of course, caused you to have some second thoughts about applying, but at the end of the day, money is money.

Which is how you’d found yourself down on the ocean floor, waiting with a few other candidates outside the Duke’s office.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous—waiting there to meet the head honcho of the prison. That when he stepped out to call you inside for your interview—all tall and beefy and scarred—your heart didn’t nervously flutter inside your chest.

…but to your surprise, he’s actually much softer than he appears.

“So,” he says, sitting down across from you at his desk. He folds his arms and smiles at you. “Why should I hire you? ”

Having been through this process before, you had immediately rattled off your qualifications and experiences. A few of which Wriothesley had proceeded to comment on and inquire about further. But it wasn’t until he asked—

“What benefit will I receive from picking you specifically?”

And you’d responded with—

“Errand girl.”

“What?”

“I can run errands for you. I’m sure the guards can be slow, going back and forth. But if you’re my direct employer, I can do whatever you want. Drop documents off, check in on things…pick up more tea.”

—that Wriothesley finally makes up his mind.

“Hmm. Very convincing.”

The next day, you receive a letter with the terms of your employment, and your official start date.

So, since then, you’ve been working for Wriothesley. Which is actually kind of…nice.

Your job mostly consists of going back and forth between the prison and the surface, so that Wriothesley can stay in the Fortress and better monitor his domain. The autonomy the job grants you is very rewarding, and in the same breath, Wriothesley also feels rewarded by how you take care of things without him needing to ask more than once.

Safe to say, the two of you get along.

…which Sigewinne notices.

You, of course, meet Sigewinne on your first day. Wriothesley makes a point of introducing you and showing you where the nurse’s office is located, in case you get hurt, or need to drop something off.

The human-like melusine enthusiastically welcomes you, and, at first, you see her as…someone sweet, and caring. A treasure of the prison.

However, over time, your opinion of her slowly starts to change.

Because she keeps looking at you. Specifically, whenever you’re standing next to Wriothesley.

“Why is she doing that?” you ask him one day, nudging him gently with your elbow. He immediately looks up from his meal, over to where Sigewinne is waiting in the lunch line, her pink eyes boring into you.

“She’s probably just double checking that you’re healthy,” Wriothesley responds, paying her no mind. “I often catch her staring at me, too. You must be growing on her.”

Despite his reassuring words, you can’t help but feel a little…put off…by the look in her eyes. Like she’s plotting something.

The second weird thing you notice is when you walk into the infirmary to drop off some herbs she’d asked for, and find her drawing. At first, you assume she’s doodling, since she seems kid-like a lot of the time.

But instead, when you lean over her shoulder and look, you see that she’s writing words. A big, black “DO NOT DISTURB”...with pink hearts and a few flowers drawn around it.

“What’s that for?” you ask her, forcing a smile.

“Oh! It’s just for a project I’m working on,” she responds, swiveling in her chair to face you. She happily kicks her feet, her eyes darting to the herbs you’re carrying with you.

“Ah, are those what I asked for? Thank you!”

You hand her the small bundle of dried flowers and grasses, watching as she immediately turns and places them on her desk next to some string, and cheesecloth.

“You’re welcome,” you respond, taking a small step backwards. “If that’s all, I’ll keep working on the rest of the tasks on my list—”

“Wait,” she says, grabbing your wrist. You instantly freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn back to face her. There’s a serious look on her face.

“How do you feel about Wriothesley?”

Her question makes your heart skip—heat rising on your skin.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother elaborating or giving you context, just waits for you to respond. You cough a little, feeling awkward, and wondering what kind of answer she’s looking for.

“Well…I mean. I think he’s a good boss. He’s friendly, and devoted to his job. He runs the prison well.”

Sigewinne nods, but doesn’t comment. Just keeps…staring.

Feeling pressured, you force yourself to think of more to say.

“Um…he’s deserving of his title and the respect he garners. I…enjoy speaking with him? Like when he invites me to partake in tea breaks. I dunno…he just kinda reminds me of a big, fluffy puppy. He looks scary but he’s actually pretty��cute, y’know?”

Finally, Sigewinne smiles. She takes your hand in her tiny ones, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you for answering my question. You can go now.”

You blink at her dumbly, but nonetheless excuse yourself from the room.

Two days later, Wriothesley invites you to his office for tea. And to your surprise, when you walk in, you find Sigewinne waiting there as well.

“Thank you for coming!” she says as you enter the room. You flash her a smile, taking a seat in one of the open chairs around the table.

“Of course!”

“Sigewinne has a tea she wants us both to try,” Wriothesley explains, a fond look in his eyes as he watches the resident nurse flit around—pouring hot water into the teacups that have been set out.

You nod.

“I see.”

“Although, I don’t know why you won’t just steep the tea in the pot,” Wriothesley complains to her, just as Sigewinne places individual tea bags in each cup. “Are we not all being served the same tea?”

She cutely huffs.

“For your information, no we are not. Your and Y/N’s tea is unique.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley leans forward to look into the teacups as the colors from the herbs begin to bleed into the water. “What’s so unique about it?”

“You’ll see,” she responds with a playful look, one that causes Wriothesley to amusedly raise his eyebrows. However, he doesn’t say anything more—simply waiting for the tea to appropriately steep.

“...are you using the herbs I brought you?”

You can’t help but notice the smell wafting from the cup in front of you is a little familiar. Sigewinne nods.

“Wow! I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Ah, so this must be the reason you wanted me to lend you Y/N for a task the other day,” Wriothesley chimes in, his icy blue eyes once again shifting to Sigewinne. 

“Do I get to know what herbs you requested Y/N to bring you, exactly?”

The resident nurse shakes her head, quietly laughing when Wriothesley sighs and deflates back into his chair. 

“It’s meant to be a surprise! I want to see what you think about the taste without knowing the ingredients.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Folding your hands on your lap, the office descends into silence for a brief moment, the three of you intently watching the teacups in front of you. Then, Sigewinne finally claps her hands and declares—

“Okay, they’ve steeped long enough. Go ahead!”

“Finally,” Wriothesley happily mumbles, reaching forward to pick up the pristine little plate on which his cup of tea resides. He brings the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply, and then takes a tentative sip.

“Hmm…”

He frowns, his brows pinching as he tries to discern the flavors he’s tasting. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you take a sip from your own cup—wincing as the hot liquid accidentally burns your tongue.

“So?” Sigewinne prompts, staring excitedly between the two of you.

“It’s…pleasant,” you respond, clearly not as big of a tea connoisseur as the Duke. “It has a hint of sweetness.”

“It tastes like a Rainbow Rose smells,” Wriothesley adds, taking another sip. His gaze slides to you. “Did you pick some for her?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn’t. Or…at least I didn’t pick any fresh ones. I did go to a vendor and purchase something in a bottle that looked like crushed, pink dust.”

Sigewinne cutely laughs. 

“As expected of you, Your Grace. Yes, one of the ingredients is dried Rainbow Rose petals. Do you like it?”

Wriothesley makes a pleased sound.

“I do. The taste is light, but pleasant—like Y/N said.”

“Good! I want both of you to drink up.” 

Sigewinne finally picks up her own tea, and you can’t help but notice the difference in color when compared to yours and Wriothesley’s. She really is drinking something different…but why?

“Aye aye, captain,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne laugh. You smile at the cute interaction between them, and have some more of your tea as well.

Together, the three of you engage in friendly conversation—catching up about recent topics while indulging in tea and a few different snacks that Wriothesley had pulled out for the occasion. As you drink, you can’t help but notice you feel…warm. A heat that spreads out from your stomach, and slowly creeps into your limbs.

You’ve never felt this way before but…maybe the tea is just extra hot today? 

You glance up to Wriothesley and notice that he’s a little flushed as well. Which is…reassuring? You think. Since you’re obviously not the only one affected.

“Oh! Y/N!” 

Sigewinne’s sudden call of your name draws you from your thoughts, and you look over at her. She smiles.

“I forgot to ask, but are you dating anyone?”

“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley gently scolds. He leans forward and sets his teacup on the table, the cup now empty.

His tone practically says “It’s not appropriate to ask questions like that” without actually saying it. Sigewinne pouts.

“Aww, c’mon. We’re all friends here! I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Hearing that the melusine considers you to be a friend, you decide to grace her with an answer—ignoring the tingling of the taste buds on your tongue.

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you inform her with a polite smile. Sigewinne nods happily at your answer, which makes your smile waver.

Is she happy you’re single?? Ouch.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I’d feel a little bad, otherwise.”

You blink in confusion at her words, watching her as she pops off her chair and heads towards the door. Wriothesley raises an eyebrow at her.

There’s sweat beading on his brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” she responds. “To give you two some privacy.”

You and Wriothesley glance at each other, mirroring each other’s confusion.

Your tummy starts to ache.

“Why are you leaving us alone, exactly?”

Stopping just in front of the office doors, Sigewinne turns on her heel to face the two of you. There’s a smug grin on her face. 

“This is what happens when you don’t follow doctor’s orders.”

You frown, raising a hand to your chest, wondering why your heart is suddenly racing. 

What’s this about doctor’s orders?

You glance over at Wriothesley…only to see that he’s frozen in shock—his eyes wide with realization.

His pants feel too tight.

“Sigewinne, you did not—”

There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks, his eyes narrowing. He plants his feet on the floor and prepares to stand and confront her, but before he can blink, Sigewinne has drawn her pistol—a tranquilizing bullet hitting him square in the chest, where a little patch of skin is showing. 

He makes a noise of surprise, and quickly flops back into his chair to avoid falling on the floor—his limbs immediately going numb.

“Sigewinne!” you gasp. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the fact that she’d just shot Wriothesley is…

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sigh. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. And…I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain…”

She holsters her gun and smiles at you, trying to calm you down.

“As the nurse of the Fortress of Meropide, it is my duty to look after all residents, including Your Grace. And over the last few months, I’ve noticed him becoming more… irritable.”

“Sigewinne…,” Wriothesley mumbles, but the girl waves him off.

“After observing him for a while, I realized that his stress levels were getting high. And as his doctor, I recommended him a way to manage his stress, but he refused. He insisted tea was enough to soothe his nerves, but that’s simply not true. So…when you started working here, and I saw how well the two of you were getting along, I…got an idea.”

Sigewinne glances over at Wriothesley, noticing how he’s begun to shift his boots against the floor. 

Her tranquilizers won’t be in effect much longer. They never work as well on people Wriothesley’s size…

So, she decides to cut to the chase.

Reaching into her pocket, Sigewinne pulls out the DO NOT DISTURB sign you’d seen her making the other day. She holds it in front of her, and beams at you.

“Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.”

“You…you drugged us?” you gape, completely thrown by everything she’s just told you. She immediately gets defensive, her cheeks puffing.

“I medicated you,” she corrects. “And in the end, I’m only acting as a doctor. This all could have been avoided if Your Grace had just taken care of his own needs, as I’d insisted. Since he didn’t, I could only logically assume it's because it’s his preference to have a partner, rather than going at it solo. So, if you want to blame anyone for this, please blame him.”

“Sigewinne—” 

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wriothesley breathes out a heavy sigh and begins to push himself up. You can’t help but notice his face is much redder now, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, the effects of the drugs, or both.

Seeing that Wriothesley has nearly regained his strength, Sigewinne hurries to exit his office.

“Anyway! The effects of the tea should wear off in a few hours, but only if you relieve yourselves. Otherwise, it will last much longer. So I suggest you let loose and indulge yourselves. You like each other! Enjoy this time!”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, but his words catch in his throat the second Sigewinne opens his office door. He doesn’t want anyone outside of his office walls to hear him or know what’s going on.

“I’ll hang this sign on the door,” Sigewinne continues, her voice hushing. “So no one comes in while you two are…busy. Just remove it once you’re done, okay? Have fun!”

With a supportive little fist pump, Sigewinne then closes the door, leaving you and Wriothesley alone.

A few long beats of silence pass, then Wriothesley finally sighs.

"I…apologize for this. I never meant for you to get roped in."

You turn to look at him, only to find that he's standing with his back to you, his hand raising to rub at the back of his head.

You can see his muscles flexing as he does so, and you hate to admit that it causes the heat inside you to grow.

"It's…not your fault," you respond, laughing a little awkwardly. "I doubt it's easy to follow directions when your doctor tells you to jack off to rectify your hardass-ness."

Wriothesley glances at you over his shoulder.

"Have I been acting like a hardass?"

"You've been a little snippy at times," you tell him, smoothing your sweaty palms down your legs. Seriously, your clothes are starting to make you feel claustrophobic…

"Not to me, specifically. But I've noticed it towards some of the prison residents."

"Shit," he sighs, rubbing his temples. You continue to watch him, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back. For a second, you don't understand why he won't face you. Then it clicks.

"...are you…hard? Is that why you're not turning around?"

"It's…pretty bad," Wriothesley admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat. "I don't know what all was in that tea but…as an aphrodisiac, it's doing its job."

"Yeah…," you agree, swallowing heavily. You can feel wet arousal pooling on the fabric of your panties. His office has also started to feel like a sauna, but you're not sure if it's the air that's hot, or your body.

However, you're still not willing to breach the topic of "relief" with him. You haven't reached that level of desperation…yet .

So, you think of something else to carry the conversation in the meantime.

"So…Sigewinne said you like me?"

"Ah, you caught that."

He laughs a little, and begins pacing around the room, still careful to keep his back to you. You can't help but notice his stride is a little…impeded.

"If I'm being frank—yes, I do. You've been…a pleasure to have around, since I hired you. Actually, one of the reasons I picked you in the first place was because of how you acted during your interview. Most people are scared of me and therefore talk cautiously. You're certainly respectful, of course, but…you're a bit playful, as well. And I found that quality to be attractive."

"Ah, so I charmed you," you respond playfully. "Remind me to add that point to my resume later. "Managed to woo the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide". That sounds pretty good—"

"And there you go again," Wriothesley laughs. He steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in previously, and then finally turns to face you—the back of the chair tall enough that his lower half is out of sight. 

"Although, if I recall her words correctly, Sigewinne stated that we "like each other". So, is there something you'd like to say as well?"

Your eyes go wide, and you feel more blood rush into your head. Wriothesley smiles, wide enough to show teeth. 

"C’mon now. It's not fair that I praise you and get nothing in return."

You pout.

"To be fair, I didn't know why Sigewinne suddenly asked me what I thought of you…"

"That’s understandable, but still. I'd like to know what you told her."

Wriothesley maintains his playful demeanor, despite the way his knuckles begin to turn white at his sides—a deep-seated need slowly sinking its claws into him.

You sigh.

"I just…told her that you're a good boss, and are deserving of your titles and the respect you garner…"

You trail off, suddenly remembering the last thing you'd told Sigewinne during that conversation. Wriothesley clearly notices there's something you're leaving out, one of his eyebrows raising.

"And?"

You take a deep breath.

"That you're a cute puppy."

He blinks in shock.

"...excuse me?"

Oh god, you wanna phase through the floor.

"I said that even though you look scary, you're really just like a big…cute…puppy."

For a moment, Wriothesley can only stare at you. Then, he throws his head back and laughs. 

Embarrassed, you plant your palms on your thighs and push to your feet, instinctively wanting to run away…only to realize that your legs have gone weak. 

With a distraught noise, you flop back into your chair. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wriothesley notices.

He coughs, pulling himself back together.

"Well, I've certainly never heard myself described in such a way before. I can't say I totally hate it, but I'm not sure if I agree with the term "puppy"."

You force an awkward laugh, finally losing steam as the arousal inside you begins to cloud your thoughts. Sigewinne obviously wasn't messing around when making her aphrodisiac…you've never felt so horny before that it has literally hindered your mental and physical faculties.

The office is silent for a few tense moments, but finally, Wriothesley heaves a heavy sigh. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his shoulders slumping as he hangs his head.

"You may revoke your good opinion of me, considering how inappropriate it is for a boss to even consider such a thing, but…I think my dick is gonna explode soon, so I'll just come out and ask."

You swallow, anticipating his next words.

"Would you be…interested in having sex?"

Your body shivers in excitement at the idea, the lustful part of your brain screaming at you to jump him already.

"I…would," you admit, managing to keep it together. Wriothesley's entire body jolts impatiently at your words, but he’s able to keep himself grounded. 

"I don't think I'll be able to survive…this without some relief. And…I trust you. So…"

"So we're in agreement," Wrioslethely supplies, waiting for your confirmation. You nod your head. 

"We are."

In the next beat, he's is crossing the space between you, a "thank god" barely making it past his lips before he crashes them into yours.

Immediately, you’re groaning into him—your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands finding the backs of your thighs. He lifts you from your chair easily—your chests pressing together as he holds you close.

You’ve always been acutely aware of how large Wriothesley is, but you don’t think it fully sinks in until now—as he manhandles you with ease, quite literally carrying you with one arm as the other sneaks beneath your shirt and tugs it over your head.

You’re forced to break the kiss as he does so, but the second the fabric has been discarded, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and dragging him in for another. 

Your action evokes a pleased little rumble inside his chest.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbles, his palm roaming over the exposed skin of your back. The warmth of his skin against yours makes you ache.

“It’s probably the aphrodisiac,” you reply breathlessly, a shiver raking your spine when you feel his fingers toy at the waistband of your pants.

“Hmm, shall we posit your theory?”

Before you can even think to ask what he means, the room is spinning—too many things happening at once. However, it’s nearly impossible to miss the feel of your pants being shucked down your legs.

When everything settles, you find that you’re no longer chest to chest with Wriothesley, but rather, face to dick.

“Wh—”

Your cheeks heat up as you finally digest the position he’s put you in—your ass in his face, and his crotch in yours—his body now firmly planted in a chair as he spreads his thighs and makes himself comfortable.

“Wriothesley!” you say in shock, your palms gripping his legs for support as you attempt to turn and face him. However, you quickly realize with the position he has chosen, you’re fairly helpless to do anything—completely at his mercy as he locks his arms around your legs and grips your ass in his hands.

“Hm?” he responds nonchalantly, one of his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties. You shift a little, trying to glare at him, but only succeed in having his clothed dick poke you in the cheek. He tenses at the sensation, and you feel his cock strain helplessly against the fabric of his pants—begging for more friction.

“I’m just testing your theory, like I said,” he continues, a surprised mewl tearing from your throat as he leans his head forward and nuzzles his nose in the damp fabric of your panties.

“If you think it’s the aphrodisiac making you sweet, let’s see if it’s also having that effect elsewhere—”

Before you can protest, Wriothesley is tugging the crotch of your underwear aside—his tongue licking a hot, languid strip between your folds. You gasp at the feeling, your nails digging into his thighs through the layer of clothes that he wears.

Above you, the Duke makes a pleased sound, repeating his previous action—noting the way your body writhes against his hold. His fingers grip your ass tighter, his brows furrowing as he presses his tongue inside your entrance—your arousal quickly coating his taste buds.

“Yep,” he mutters after a moment, his voice tight and his throat bobbing as he harshly swallows. “You taste…addicting.”

His words have your cunt squeezing around nothing, although he quickly dives back in and rectifies that problem—stretching your walls out around his tongue. 

“Fuck…,” you pant, your head dropping as your strength wanes. Your muscles progressively start to feel like jelly, thanks to his ministrations. Especially, when he moves his mouth to your clit and begins rolling his tongue around it—a whine escaping you as the desire inside of you sears white hot.

And yet, despite the way Wriothesley presses on—groaning into your pussy as he eats you out—you���d be remiss to forget about the fact that he’s currently affected by the aphrodisiac as well, and has his own needs that need to be taken care of.

So, gathering what strength you have, you manage to push yourself up onto your forearms—your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You frantically work open the button and zipper of his slacks, and then hook your fingers under the elastic of his underwear, tugging the band down.

…only to have his freed cock immediately spring up and smack you in the face.

Your eyes go wide, and in normal circumstances, you’d expect Wriothesley to laugh at the comedy of what has just occurred. However, too immersed in the way your cunt tastes and feels, and the way your body continues to twitch in his hold, he doesn’t even notice. And, too amazed by the sheer size of Wriothesley’s dick as you finally lean your head back and get a good look at him, you don’t bother saying anything.

No, instead you simply part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth—sucking lightly, your tongue teasing at his slit. The groan that’s immediately torn from his throat is involuntary—the sound becoming muffled by your pussy as he momentarily stops to savor the feeling of your mouth on his dick—your tongue flattening on the underside of his shaft as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

Then, he goes back to eating you out with renewed fervor—your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull when he sucks at your clit.

The room quickly fills with the sound of sloppy and messy oral, your head bobbing up and down Wriothesley’s cock. Saliva drips down his length, his pre-cum smearing against your tongue, and you can’t help but moan.

Everything feels so good—from Wriothesley’s tongue on your cunt, to the way his cock fills up your mouth…

“Fuck,” Wriothesley growls. His fingers move to pull at the folds of your pussy, spreading you open wider. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he moves his mouth back to your clit, where he then stays—his tongue flicking rhythmically against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pace and motion he settles on is one that you know will very quickly damn you, and he figures this out as well based on the way your thighs begin to shake in his grasp. Your body attempts to jolt away from him—trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure he intends to give—but he leaves no wiggle room. He holds you tighter, enjoying the feeling of your mouth on his cock, and how your efforts slowly start to crumble along with your sanity.

“I…,” you mumble the word around dick, trying to warn him of the orgasm you can feel quickly approaching. Your entire body swims with arousal, your head feeling light. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “Let’s cum together.”

You feel his cock throb against your tongue, and, dutifully, you do your best to continue sucking him off—your lips once again suctioning around his shaft. Your actions immediately evoke a pleased groan from the Duke, and you feel his thighs tense in your grasp—his own orgasm quickly approaching.

However, despite your best efforts to continue, everything falls apart the second your climax finally crests.

With a cry, you come undone—your body writhing in his hold. You go brainless almost immediately, the strength in your arms wavering, and Wriothesley’s cock stuffing into your cheek—your hot breath fanning over his length.

Luckily, the vulgarity of the entire situation is enough to push Wriothesley over the finish line—his dick painting the inside of your mouth with his cum. And to his surprise, once he’s spent, you actually pull your head back, close your lips, and swallow.

Shit, he thinks. 

His dick is just starting to soften, and yet somehow, it’s also already getting hard again.

There’s a few beats of quiet that are filled only with the sound of you and Wriothesley panting. Then, once he’s caught his breath, he says—

“Let’s get you right side up.”

—and the world spins again.

Honestly, the fact that he can manhandle you this easily is criminal.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting you on one of his thighs. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face, staring at you with a hint of concern.

You nod your head, grateful that the carnal desire you’ve been afflicted with is clearly less, now that you and Wriothesley have both gotten off. But…even despite that, you still feel hot and tingly. Like you want more.

You glance down at his lap.

“Mmm. Seems like you’re in the same predicament as me.”

“Think you can handle another round?” he asks. You meet his eyes, playfully raising your eyebrows.

“I’m almost tempted to say no, and see what you do.”

Wriothesley rolls his eyes, his hands grabbing your waist, and in the next moment, you find yourself slung over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you protest, attempting to look at him, but he only caresses your ass with his free hand.

“If you have that much spunk left in you, you can handle another round,” he says, carrying you down the nearby staircase, to the floor below his office. “But, I’ll be kind this time and make you more comfortable.”

His boots echo against the metal floor as he walks, and for a second, you wonder where exactly he’s taking you. But, soon after, Wriothesley pushes through a nearby door, and you find yourself in a moderately sized bedroom.

It must be his, you realize, feeling a little silly that you’d never pondered before now where the Master of the prison actually sleeps.

“Here we are.”

Wriothesley gently deposits you onto his bed, and then immediately reaches for his tie. You watch him with bated breath, your heart doing a tiny flip as you realize that he’s finally stripping out of his clothes. He opts to leave on the leather belts encircling his arms and neck, instead focusing the bulk of his time on shedding his suit, and undoing the many buckles on his boots. 

By the time he’s finished—his erect cock once again sitting heavy between his legs—you’re practically drooling at the sight of him.

His lips twitch into a little smile.

“I’m happy to know that you like what you see. However, in the time I spent undressing myself, you couldn’t be bothered to remove what little clothing you have left? C’mon now, are you waiting for me to wrestle you out of them?”

Still feeling cheeky, you flash him a grin.

“Hm, I’d like to see you try.”

Wriothesley immediately cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting at the challenge you’ve just issued, and your attitude wavers, realizing what it is you’ve done. You open your mouth to say you’re only teasing—your hands already raising behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra—but it’s too late.

In one swift motion, Wriothesley grabs your ankle and twists you onto your stomach—his weight settling above you as he kneels onto the bed. You shiver when his knuckles brush against your skin—his fingers swiftly undoing your bra.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you…” 

He speaks the words fondly, with a hint of amusement, and yet, they still go straight to your cunt. 

“Don’t say things like that,” you respond, instinctively raising your hips when Wriothesley hooks his fingers on your underwear and begins tugging them down your thighs. He stares intently at your backside as he does so, an idea popping into his mind.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

He discards your panties on the floor along with the rest of the clothes you’d both shed, and then grabs your knees, forcing you to spread your legs, so he can properly settle between them. 

Another blush rises on your face at his words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. At your lack of response, Wriothesely continues.

“In my understanding, brats tend to like it a little rougher, so…” 

His hands ghost up your thighs, to your hips, and he grips you tightly—forcing your lower half off the bed until you’re propped up on your knees—his cock sitting heavy against your ass.

“...what say we continue like this, hm?”

Bracing yourself on your forearms, you turn your head back to look at him—your body tensing as you watch him fist his cock and drag it downward, between the lips of your pussy. 

His icy eyes catch yours.

“Any objection?”

“...no,” you mumble, your fingers anticipatedly fisting in the sheets. 

Wriothesley nods—

“Good.”

—and then presses the head of his cock inside you.

Immediately, you drop your forehead against the mattress—willing your body to relax for him as he slowly inches inside of you.

His tongue had certainly been enjoyable, but this? Fuck. Nothing compares to the sensation of him slowly stuffing you inch by inch—the girth of his cock positively delicious as he forces your cunt to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s so much that by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your body is shaking—your breath coming out in quick, desperately little pants.

Seeing your reaction, Wriothesely soothes a hand up your spine, his warm palm settling between your shoulder blades. He decides to start slow—to give you a little more time to adjust to him. 

And honestly, he’d love to take his time in general—to really savor the sight of you beneath him, your cunt swallowing his cock so perfectly, but alas. The effects of the aphrodisiac make him impatient with need, and it’s not long before he’s moving faster—little gasps and whines finding their way past your lips as he begins fucking you back onto his cock.

“Ahh…seriously you’re…so fucking tight,” he curses. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip—his jaw clenching, and his racing heart pumping lust through his veins.

Your cunt clamping on his dick seriously might be his personal slice of heaven.

“Wrio, I—,” you can’t even get the words out, your brain short-circuiting. You can’t think straight anymore—not with his cock rubbing you in all the right spots, making a mess of your insides, and quickly rocketing you towards another—

Wait, no, it’s only been a minute—!

“Fuck! ” 

You choke the word out, your spine curving and your knuckles turning white as your second orgasm of the night is unexpectedly forced out of you—your pussy spasming around Wriothesley’s dick.

The last of your strength officially drained, you collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek smushing into the covers.

…however, Wriothesley doesn’t allow your lower half to fall along with the rest of you—his hold on your hips keeping your twitching pussy firmly planted on his still-hard dick.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his cock continuing to languidly drag between your walls, drawing out the tail end of your pleasure.

You can’t help but whimper at his words, already feeling a bit oversensitive thanks to two consecutive orgasms. Wriothesley does his best to soothe your frayed nerves.

Leaning over you, he gently tangles his fist in your hair—coaxing your head off the mattress so he can kiss you. 

The kiss is messy, but sweet—the angle of your bodies forcing his cock deeper inside of you, his hips completely flush against your ass.

“You’re doing so good,” he tells you, peppering a trail of kisses against your cheek, and across your jaw. His praise causes you to whimper, a shiver raking up your spine when his tongue drags across your skin—his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

His actions successfully get you to relax—your body becoming more pliable in his grasp as he once again begins to move. And soon enough, the wet sound of sex fills his bedroom once more.

Wanting to help him cum (and to feel his seed fill you), you do your best to help Wriothesley along—purposefully flexing the walls of your pussy as he fucks you. However, in doing so, you accidentally start yourself down the path of yet another orgasm…

Feeling the familiar, aching pleasure beginning to build inside of you once again, you quickly stop what you’re doing. You think that a third orgasm honestly might kill you, but…it’s too late.

Wriothesley has already noticed your growing arousal, and decides that he likes it better when the two of you cum together.

So, he sneaks one of his hands between the apex of your legs, and begins rubbing at your clit.

The garbled, desperate cry that leaves your mouth immediately becomes seared in his mind for a long time to come.

“No, Wrio, I…I can’t. I—”

Your words come out jumbled, tears beading on your lash line.

Momentarily removing his hand from your clit, he once again reaches forward and grips your hair—pulling your head back so he can kiss you. His lips swallow up your worries.

“You can,” he insists, his voice whispering in your ear, and his hot breath fanning over your skin. 

“I want you to cum with me, pretty girl. You can do it.”

You give no protest aside from a cute little whine, and that's good enough for Wriothesley.

Releasing your hair, his hand finds your clit once more.

He then proceeds to fuck you into the mattress—pursuing his orgasm with abandon. A groan leaves his mouth at the way your pussy starts clamping on his dick once again—tightening up with each pass of his fingers across your clit—your pussy slick and messy with your own arousal.

Unable to think straight, you can only hold on for dear life—clinging to his sheets like a lifeline. You can’t even process the sounds that are coming out of your own mouth—a damned, desperate symphony moans.

To Wriothesley, it all sounds like a siren's cry—beckoning him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he pants, feeling his cock throb, and his balls tighten. The motion of his fingers on your clit quickens—your toes curling as the coil of pleasure in your tummy continues to wind—so close to snapping.

Sweat beading on his brow, Wriothesley leans forward, curling his body against yours. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his husky voice sending goosebumps across your skin.

“So good for me…,” he breathes, his hips smacking into your ass. His broad strokes deteriorate into needy rutting, and the sensation has you quite literally sobbing—his cock now incessantly grinding into your g-spot.

You can’t take it anymore.

Shoving your face into the mattress, you bite the sheets and scream—your entire body shaking as you cum for a third time, your cunt milking around Wriothesley’s cock.

He curses at the feeling, his face burying in your neck. Wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you to his body—fucking inside of you a few more times before finally joining you in ecstasy. 

His teeth sink into you as his orgasms peaks, a heady groan muffled against your skin as his balls empty—pumping you full of his cum.

It’s not until the intensity of his pleasure has died down that Wriothesley ultimately releases you from his hold—your lower half immediately flopping down onto the bed, and his softening cock slipping out of you.

The Duke takes a moment to simply look at you, and how fucked out you are. Your eyes bleary, skin flushed, and the imprint of his teeth engraved in your flesh.

He grunts at the sight, and settles in beside you—his arm curling around your waist as he tugs you back against him. His tongue immediately begins lapping at the bite mark he’d inflicted, attempting to soothe the sting.

After a few seconds, you begin shaking, and Wriothesley immediately pauses, scared that he’s hurt you in some way.

…only to realize that you’re laughing.

“...puppy…”

He props himself up, glancing at you.

“What?”

“You really are like a puppy,” you giggle, your finger lifting to brush a stray tear from your eye. “The way you bit me, and then immediately started licking at it in apology. So cute…”

You break into another tiny fit of laughter, and Wriothesley rolls his eyes, yet can’t help cracking a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I didn’t break you, at the very least.”

His hand rubs against your waist.

“...right?”

Finally getting ahold of yourself, you roll onto your back and smile at him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I’m not broken, no. Just…sore. And gross. And sweaty.”

Wriothesley chuckles.

“Well, I think I can rectify some of those issues. I do have a bathroom, with a tub.”

“Wow,” you respond, watching him as he scoots to the edge of the mattress and gets to his feet. He waits a second for you to join him, but you don’t move.

“My…limbs feel like jello,” you admit, raising your arm and flopping it back down bonelessly for emphasis. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, but nonetheless leans over the bed and scoops you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his chest, admiring for the first time how soft it really is.

“Whatever shall I do with you,” he playfully sighs, carrying you into the adjacent bathroom. He sets you on the vanity, moving over to the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. You hum.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things you can do. The first of which is helping me into the bath once it’s ready.”

Wriothesley quietly chuckles. Returning to your side, he takes your hand, and brings it to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the tub has filled, the Duke keeps true to his word—once again carefully cradling you in his arms as he seats himself in the tub basin, before positioning you in the space between his legs.

The steaming water immediately soothes the ache of your body, and you sigh in relief—sinking back against Wriothesley’s body. He lightly wraps one arm around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the tub.

For a few long minutes, the two of you bask in silence, simply enjoying the refreshing feel of the bath. 

…then, you start to notice something beginning to grow—pressing at your back.

“...really? Is the aphrodisiac still getting to you that much?”

“No,” he admits after a beat, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “I think this one is actually all me.”

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless crane your head to the side—allowing him access to more of your skin as his mouth begins to wander.

“I thought I made it clear that my limbs are jello right now.”

“I can work with that,” he responds, and you feel him grin. His hand slowly trails down your stomach, and between your legs.

“I’ll do all the work. You just get to make pretty sounds and feel good.”

His fingers slide between the folds of your pussy, and you jolt as he passes over your overly-sensitive clit. But seriously…how are you going to say no to him?

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh, echoing his earlier words. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs your chin with his free hand—turning your head so he can kiss you.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things.”

The next morning, you find yourself in a back in your clothes, standing beside Wriothesley just inside his office door.

“I’ll go first,” you say, to which he nods. “I have some errands to run anyway. You can wait a minute and then come out after me.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before you finally square your shoulders, and reach for the door handle. 

Before you can twist it, Wriothesley catches your wrist. When you look back at him, you find that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“So, I’ll…see you later?”

His suddenly bashful demeanor causes you to smile. Pressing onto your toes, you cup his cheeks and softly kiss him. He immediately grabs your waist—deepening the kiss.

“You’ll see me later,” you promise. 

With that, the two of you finally separate, and you disappear through his office door.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath at your departure, combing a hand through his hair as he waits for the right moment to make his own exit.

To be safe, he decides to wait a good few minutes. But finally, he opens his door—preparing to venture into the main area of the fortress, and make his normal rounds.

…however, he only makes it a step before remembering the sign Sigewinne had made.

With a sigh, he immediately backtracks and tears the DO NOT DISTURB sign off of his door, crumpling it between his palms.

When he turns back around, he nearly jumps—Sigewinne standing right in front of him.

“So,” she says, a pleased grin on her face. “How’d it go?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wriothesley only stares ahead, and walks past her. She easily follows after him.

“The fact that you’re out and about this early in the day means something likely happened between you and Y/N.”

“No comment,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne giggle. They pass by a few prisoners as Wriothesley makes a B-line for the elevator to the production zone. Once there, Sigewinne squeezes herself in along with him.

As the elevator begins to descend, only a few seconds pass in silence, before Sigewinne asks one last question.

“As your doctor, it’s my recommendation that you continue to regularly relieve your stress. So, are you going to be dutifully carrying out my orders from now on?”

Wriothesley makes a little face, glancing away from her.

“...maybe.”

Sigewinne smiles. 

That’s good enough for her.

[A Dragon's Constitution] ->

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。take my time (i’ll spend it all on you) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.6k

summary: gojo sees you in lingerie for the first time. 

contains: f!reader, suggestive almost nsfw (they make out… maybe a bit steamy), 18+ just in case, reader is in lingerie, shy feelings!! gojo down bad!!

a/n: i hc that the first time gojo sees you in lingerie, it’s like seeing you walk down the aisle—he’s a bit sappy like that! i also think that he’d love seeing his lover in pink! idk! it’s just the vibes! (col reader would look cute in pink too i think hehe complements the personality!); takes place later on, around col #4 (wip)

collection masterlist: conversations on love 3.5b. —will i ever bring you peace? <- you are here -> +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) + 04. these traces of love, they outline you

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

There are few things in life that have earned Gojo’s double take: 

A sign for a newly-opened gelato shop with ‘exclusive flavors for the first 30 customers!’ written in fine print; Megumi, back in middle school, being confessed to with a sweetly handcrafted box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day; a small cut, right at the tip of his nose from that time you sparred with him and he let you get too close (or so he says). 

And now you. 

In something pink—

—that if he backtracks just a bit, steps one foot behind the other to glance again at the space left open by the bedroom door, and squints—

He’s certain, 200% sure. 

It’s lingerie. 

He blinks once, twice, rubs at his eyes even as his mind attempts to catch up to whatever it is–you–he just saw. This must be what wires feel when they short circuit. 

You know he’s home, right? You have to, you just told him to rinse the dishes after snacking.

And he was in the middle of doing that—walking across your apartment from couch to kitchen, stopping only to do a double take at the sight of pink in his periphery, at you, once he looked again, clearly. 

Or were you doing this on purpose? Did you want him to see you? 

He gulps, warmth spreading from the tips of his ears down to his neck, lingering. 

There’s only one way to find out, really. 

He walks down the hallway leading to the bedroom, keeping his footsteps light so as to not startle you.

If he’s being honest right now, his mind is full to the point of feeling empty—too many thoughts swirling around the fact that behind this very door, he’s about to find you in pink lingerie. 

And when he takes a deep breath, fingertips pushing on wood very slightly as he calls out, “Bab—“

“S’toru!” you squeal from the other side, panicked as you instantly push it back closed.

So you didn’t do it on purpose. 

“Sorry, give me a minute!” you call out, and he can hear your footsteps from the other side, frantically walking around for what he can assume is you looking for something to cover yourself with. 

But he doesn’t want that. 

Not when he already has the visual of you, pretty in what he suspects is pink lace.

Not when the way you said ‘S’toru’ sounded so much like ‘‘Toru’, your ‘‘Toru’, the way you usually say it pressed against bed sheets, under him, expression blissed out from—

Do you have any idea what that does to him? 

“Are you wearing lingerie?” 

You freeze. Gojo can tell from the other side of the door, and you think, damn it, because he isn’t supposed to know you bought a set, much less see you in it. Not yet. 

You could try to lie, but Gojo always sees through you, through every change in inflection, the way your eyebrow twitches before speaking. 

“Can I come in?” he asks softly, almost hesitantly. 

How can you possibly resist him when he speaks to you like this? Asking permission as if this space you live in isn’t as much his?

You sigh, flustered at being caught this way, “Can you close your eyes first?” 

He follows, laying one hand over his eyes for good measure before knocking on the door. You open it slowly, wood creaking as he steps inside. 

You feel a little naked right now despite how he isn’t even looking your way, opting to face the side opposite from where you’re standing. It’s on purpose, you know, he can tell where you are—Six Eyes and all. 

There’s a smile that he’s hiding, biting his lower lip to stop it from showing. His toes are wiggling from the excitement coursing through him.

You know Gojo will like you in anything; in fact, he’s made it very clear that he prefers you in nothing—but still. Your stomach feels queasy and you can’t get rid of how nervous you’re feeling. 

And you guess, it’s really just because this was meant to be a surprise for him—the design you’ve chosen, how it looks on your body, how it looks to him, especially. You’d ordered the lingerie set months in advance to leave a lot of time for returns, whether it turned out ill-fitting or just unflattering.

You didn’t expect him to catch a glimpse of it now, months before his birthday, before you were even ready. 

“I’m waiting…” he teases, voice sing-song in that way he usually does to annoy you. It always makes you smile though, and it’s an odd form of comforting with how it dulls your jitters right now, just a little bit.

“Okay, you can look.” 

As soon as he turns, you squeeze your eyes shut, hands on your sides as you fiddle with your fingernails. Seeing, knowing his reaction in real time is still nervewracking, regardless of every reassurance you tell yourself—because, what if this is the off-chance that you’re wrong, and he doesn’t like it? 

Or worse: what if he has to pretend he likes it?

You frown a bit—it doesn’t help at all that Gojo isn’t saying anything.

But—

How can he, when there are no words, no adjectives, no possible descriptions to articulate what he’s seeing—what he’s feeling?

If he didn’t die then, in every instance he’s brushed with death: by Toji’s hands, locked up inside that box, in that final moment with Sukuna, nearly halved—

He thinks he might have just died right now. 

Because this? You? In lingerie as pink as all he’s feeling—his cheeks, his nose, flushing down his neck, maybe even his chest if it were exposed. 

It’s heaven. 

You’re a sight. 

While Gojo has certainly seen you in much less, and done with you things much more than just stand with you like this, he’s never seen you in lingerie.

And you’re so pretty. Sexy. All his, he can’t believe it.   

He’s noticing all the little details on it–on you–its shade, almost salmon with a bit of baby pink; its material: sheer net as the base for everything—it’s practically see-through save for the delicate floral lace running across the bra cups and panty front.

The set itself is nice, sure, but he knows he only likes it this much because it’s on you. And he knows he’ll always like anything on you. 

The heat in his stomach is building, spreading, to the single part of him that—

“Is it that bad?” you scrunch your nose, eyes still closed. He looks at you confused, before he realizes: he hasn’t said anything.

He chuckles and you open your eyes, pouting. 

And God, he wishes you didn’t do that. That look on your face—what it does to him.

“I ordered it in advance for your birthday,” you start, pout deepening as you ramble on, “it was supposed to be a surprise, but if you don’t like it, I can still–” 

That’s enough. 

He can’t believe that you actually think he doesn’t like it. 

Gojo steps into your space, close enough to grab you by the waist as his other hand reaches up to slot itself in the area between your ear and your jawline, tilting your head up slightly as he leans in to kiss you. 

It’s rushed at first, almost desperate—hungry, the way he releases his breath only to take you in; your lips, soft in the way he knows them to be, his hand on your waist squeezing. Your fingertips trail to his cheek, almost cupping as his kisses turn deeper, more languid, lips moving against yours slowly, savoring. 

Gojo is a fast learner, and he shows it best in the way he kisses you, as if he’s memorized every way to build that familiar heat within you. You lay your other hand against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt as he pulls you closer. 

You bite his lip and suck, just a little bit, the way he likes it, and he moans, lowly, vibrations rippling through your mouth as he holds you steady. He’s hard already; you can feel it pressing against your lower belly. 

And you realize, as a small laugh tears itself away from you, how ridiculous it was for you to even worry. 

You break the kiss, leaning your forehead against his as you keep your noses touching. It’s impossible to tell how Gojo looks, but you have a hunch with how he’s breathing so heavily; the skies in his eyes must be darker, almost gray, turned on by desire—the same one settling deep in your stomach, aching, needy. 

“It’s perfect,” he whispers, lips grazing yours. He traces hearts by your shoulder, something born out of the many times you’ve lain in bed together, playing with the strap of your bra before pulling, a short snap! as he lets go. 

“You like it?” you whisper back, a lilt in your tone, teasing. Your fingers come up to trace his lips and he holds them in place, nipping. 

“Mhm,” he grins, smoothing his hand over the lace details on your bra, his thumb rubbing, “so pretty.” 

He leans in again, a small peck, before asking, “Does this mean I can get my gift now?” 

You laugh, hitting his chest, “It’s not your birthday yet!” 

“Yeah, but what is time anyway?” 

And you know, with the way he’s trailing kisses down your neck, licking and sucking—you’re going to have to find another thing to surprise him with on his birthday. 

.

Later that evening, with your head lying right on his chest, you remember. 

“Oh yeah, the set also came with one of those belt things. Garter, I think? But I wasn’t sure if you’d be into–” 

You’ve never seen Gojo get up from bed faster.

thank you notes: for that anon that asked about whether col reader wears lingerie! + @stellamancer @soumies @crysugu for validating me that pink is in fact col reader's colour ᰔ i also just luv u guys 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[prettynpinkputhy]

One night stand

Summary: y/n is forced to do some after hours training with König

🎀Warning🎀: 18+NSFW, Oral sex, raw sex, breeding, rough sex, fluff, slight angst,praise/degradation kink, size kink etc…

ClingyKönigxreader💗

Part 2.

Part 3

Word count: 4.k

“That was good but you’re leaving yourself open.” A gloved hand takes hold of your wrist. He lifts both arms, protecting your face. Your eyes dart up catching a brief moment of eye contact before he quickly looks away. Green. His eyes were green, you hadn’t noticed till now. König was sweet but he made sure to keep his distance from people—the fact that you were this close to him at all was a shock. Sgt. Ghost didn’t take kindly to your recent mistake on the last mission. He doubled your workload and put you on probation, because most of the Barracks were close friends of yours, he assigned you the quietest person on the team. Now you and König spend three hours a day training after hours. While your peers train together, you're mopping floors and cleaning toilets. Ghost doesn’t let you train during work hours in case your colleagues distract you. This was a punishment and he made that clear. “I’m sorry you have to do this with me everyday. This is my punishment, you shouldn’t have to suffer on my behalf.” He shakes his head at your apology.

“I don’t mind…I know how Ghost gets.” He places both hands on your hips, rotating your body. The truth is he really didn’t mind, most days he looked forward to seeing you. “Keep your core strong.” He instructs. His fingers travel up the curves of your body as he repositions you. His large hands warm up your waist as ungodly thoughts intrude your mind. The mask made it impossible for you to read his emotions, any expression came from his eyes (which he often hides). The only change you could see was the way his breath hitched as his finger accidentally grazes your breast. He was always so respectful when touching you, the last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. Once your body is angled correctly he lets go, taking a few steps back. It almost seemed like he was avoiding the closeness. “Now attack me and defend.” He orders. You lunge forward —jabbing left, right,left,right. He blocks every punch effortlessly, guarding his face. He dodges, dipping low and charging at you. His arms wrap around your thighs hoisting you up. Your fingers interlock beating down on his back, trying to break his iron grip. He stumbles, arms loosening just enough to break free. Your feet hit the ground, König grunts as your fist connects clean with his jaw. “Uhn that one actually hurt…good job.” He waves a hand of surrender while rubbing his cheek through the mask. You run over to help. “Are you alright I’m so sorry-“ his hand shoots out, snatching your arm, spinning you. His solid arm tightens around your neck trapping you in a chokehold. His breathing is shallow, body tensing as your ass presses against him. You reach up and caress his forearm. He hadn’t realized just how small you were compared to him till now, his body engulfed the entirety of your frame. He notes how perfectly you fit in his arms and how easy it’d be to break you. Your head rests just below his pecs, the smell of your hair product wafts up his mask, he inhales the sweet scent. His bicep flexes, tightening his grip, your eyes flutter and a quiet moan falls from your lips. You loved that light headed airy feeling of being choked.

“N-never let your guard down.” He let’s go, gently pushing you away, putting a giant gap between the two of you. “Even if you think someone is done, be prepared to attack…” he trails off getting distracted by how sexy you look after an intense workout. How fast your breathing is, how your hair is messy with sweat, how your lips part as you catch your breath. He wanted to be the one to work you out.

“Oh whatever you cheated .” You laugh squatting down as you catch your breath. König crouches, grabbing his flask from the ground. His large, veiny hands twist the top off in one swipe. Unconsciously, he lifts the bottom of his mask to drink, showing you a glimpse of the lower half of his face. His jaw tenses, a trickle of water spills down his chin as he swallows. His adams apple bobs with each gulp. You gawk at the scene in front of you, thinking it has to be a daydream.

“Water?” He holds the flask to you.

“S-sure.” You ease to a sitting position on your knees reaching for the bottle. You stare at the rim that just grazed his lips. Does this count as an indirect kiss? You think. He watches you place your lips in the exact spot he’d drank from, flushed with excitement. He wonders if your lips were as soft as he imagined they’d be. How they’d feel melding with his…how they’d feel wrapped around his dick. He doesn’t dwell on it too long, knowing that would never happen and that you didn’t see him that way.

“Have you eaten?” He asks, looking at you with big green eyes.

“Sergeant told the cafeteria to only feed me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, so I haven’t eaten anything of value.” Your stomach grumbles on que.

“You must have really gotten on his bad side huh?” He offers you a hand,helping you to your feet.

“Unfortunately.” You dust off your pants and begin collecting your belongings.

“Since we wrapped up a bit early, how about I take you somewhere you can get real food.” He offers, packing his duffle bag.

“You know how tight ghost keeps the kitchen locked up…” you say with an annoyed tone.

“Who said anything about the kitchen?” His voice sounds mischievous.

“You don’t mean-?” You shake your head, stuffing your hat and jacket in the bag.

“Come on, he’ll never know I’ve worked with him long enough to know his blind spots.” He tilts his head expressively.

“Fine but if we get caught, you ordered me to go.” You hike your bag onto your shoulder, walking past him. He smiles behind you.

~

“Puedo pedir dos margaritas?(may I have two margaritas) Sí…un bistec nacho y un burrito de pollo(one steak nacho and one chicken burrito)Eso es todo, gracias(that's all thank you).” He says expertly, the waiter nods thanking you before going to pin the order up.

“Wow I’ve been deployed here longer than you and my Spanish is still choppy.” You toy with some lime slices on the table to keep yourself busy. König watches you closely, an amused look in his eye.

“I can speak a few languages but I’m not good at them all.” He looks you up and down, the lights from the club area illuminates your skin. Your hair is pulled in a now messy bun. Cute strands stick out from your training session. He is especially drawn to your lips, the way you lick and nibble your bottom lip when you’re nervous. His eyes dart away when you feel his gaze lingering and look up.

“What other languages do you speak?” You stare out into the dance floor, watching the locals swing and jump to the music. They looked carefree and happy, it’d been so long since you’ve felt good or even had a good time. Ghost saw a lot of potential in you so he stayed on your ass 24/7. Tough love is what he liked to call it.

“German is my first language.” He reveals.

“German? That’s so cool , say something in German.” He chuckles at your excitement.

“Ich möchte dich über diesen Tisch beugen und dich dazu bringen, mich ganz zu nehmen (I want to bend you over this table and make you take all of me)” he leans forward, green eyes boring into you as he says this,making sure you can hear him over the music. You had no idea what he just said but it made your thighs clench under the table.

“W-what does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you one day.” He shrugs. You toss a lime, it smacks his vest with a small thud.

“I thought friends don’t keep things from eachother.” You tease. The server brings out two large glasses with salted rims, there was no way you could finish this entire thing. He places the margaritas on either side of the table along with straws. König tears open his straw taking a long pull from his drink.

“Whoa it’s strong.” The fruity syrup barely covered the 3 shots of liquor . You indulge, sucking a mouth full of the frozen drink. It tastes strongly of strawberry slushie and tequila, the salted rim balances all the flavors with a sour finish. The alcohol must have been hitting him pretty fast because all he could imagine is him being that straw. How good the inside of your mouth must taste and feel.

“You’re right…I see why everyone is having such a good time.” You joke, taking another sip. A hearty laugh rumbles in his chest, he loved the way you always spoke your mind. It’s one of the qualities that always got you in trouble with ghost. Nothing made him laugh more than watching you stress ghost out with your witty personality.

“I guess we’d better join the party.” He raises his glass for a toast before chugging half.

The server brings out hot plates of food, everything looked and smelled amazing. Your stomach growls at the sight of real food, the liquor (coupled with only eating sandwiches for a week) takes effect making you absolutely demolish your burrito. König shyly slips a few chips under his mask, he never ate around people since it usually required the mask to come off.

“This is soooo good.” You say having another bite.

“I love this place. I come here often.” He slides in another chip.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to leave base unauthorized or maybe that’s just me.” Ghost had a tendency of giving you extra rules for your troublesome rap sheet.

“We aren’t but if you don’t get caught, did it ever happen?” He laughs, taking the final sip of his drink.

“And they call me the troublemaker.” You say glancing at the dance floor again.

“Do you want to?” He asks.

“Want to what? Dance?…no I don’t uh I don’t dance.” You dismiss quickly.

“ I’ve seen you knock grown men out y/n, dancing can’t be much harder than that.”

“You know you’re much more social than usual.” You observe.

“Only when I’m with you.” He grabs your hand leading you to the crowd.

The music thumps with bass, shaking the ground beneath your feet. A sexy song plays through the huge speakers near the DJ station. People couple up, swaying their bodies to the beat. König slips an arm around your lower back pulling you close. You struggle to find the tempo, moving left to right awkwardly. He takes your hand, spinning you around. His eyes trace the line of your body before pulling you back into his chest. You giggle at how ridiculous you look compared to his smooth rhythm. Your foot slams down on his toe as you try to find the beat “I’m so sorry! I’m so bad at this maybe I should sit-“

“Let’s try this instead.” His knee forces your legs apart, giving him control of your movements. The feeling of his thigh pressed firmly against your heat makes your head spin.

“Follow my lead.” He commands.

His waist sways back and fourth, rocking your bodies in unison. You copy his actions, grinding your hips together, the grip on your waist tightens. The fabric of your pants rub creating friction between your legs, his cock reacts to the closeness, beating as if it was dancing along with them. finding the rhythm, your body starts to move on its own.

“Scheisse (Shit)” he groans as you turn around and twirl your ass on him. His head falls back as you start to swirl your hips down and back up slowly. His big hand slides over your stomach holding you as close as possible, his rock hard member strains through his thick camo pants. Your eyes close as you grind into him, his finger grazes the exposed skin peeking from under your shirt. He trails that same finger up your torso, between your breast and up your neck. His hand rests at the base of your throat keeping hold of you as your bodies whirl around the dance floor. He spins you back around to face him, for once he demands eye contact and you’re the one shying away. You stare at the floor, giant hands cup your face pulling you to meet his feverish gaze.

“Don’t look away from me.” König’s voice sounds different, More rugged. His shoulders hunch as he leans down to your height as he speaks. “Bitte komm mit mir nach Hause” he whispers in your ear.

“What’s that?”

“Please come home with me.” He breathes.

~

“How the hell did you convince Ghost to let you room by yourself ?” You ask, stepping past the threshold.

“ My social skills and big personality helped with that.” He jokes sarcastically. König wasn’t required to room with anyone thanks to his close connection to the sergeant, leaving the two of you completely alone in his quarters.

“Well I guess if you don’t talk much there isn’t much you could say to get in trouble.” You ponder.

“Yeah you should try it.” He chuckles at your shocked expression.

“Try what exactly?” You ask appalled , holding your chest dramatically.

“Not talking. That mouth of yours is dangerous.”

“Give me one example where I said something worth getting punished for.” Your arms cross.

“If I recall correctly you said and I quote ‘why would I listen to a dude named Simon?’ ” he says in a high pitch voice mimicking yours.

“First of all he wasn’t supposed to hear that, wrong place at the wrong time on his part and secondly Simon is a funny name, the jokes practically write themselves.” He pauses for a second before doubling over with laughter.

His keys clatter on the kitchen counter as he wipes his tears of laughter away. You set your bags near the couch and sway on your heels nervously, unsure whether to sit or stand. Strong hands settle on your shoulders working away the tension you’ve been holding for god knows how long. Your head rolls back into his touch, he kneads your muscles like dough relieving any and all stress. “That feels so good, König.” You groan, closing your eyes.

“Come with me.” He grasps your hand leading you down a hall , stopping at a closed door. He twists the knob revealing a very plain bedroom, a queen sized bed with black sheets, a desk, and stacks of paperwork are all that decorate the space. There are two extra doors, one leading to the closet and the other to the bathroom. You laugh at his clumsiness. He’s clearly tipsy as he staggers to the door.

He slips his gloves off and opens the cabinet below the sink, rummaging around and pulling things out onto the bathroom floor. Finally, he emerges with a pink topped bottle. “Baby oil” the label reads.

“Strip.” He says, unbuckling his bulletproof vest and laying it on the desk chair.

“S-strip?”

“Yes, so I can massage you. That is what you want isn’t it?” He removes his thick camouflage jacket revealing the snug black material of his undershirt.

His muscles bulge veiny and tight, stretching the fabric. It was true, you did want his hands all over you. Ever since you two started training together, you found yourself fantasizing about being split by that monster of a man. Your hands fumble with the buckle of your pants as you kick your boots off. He advances, towering a wapping 6'6”. You shift with anticipation, looking up at him with gleaming eyes. The tips of his fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, swiping it over your head. Your scrunchie is taken along with it, freeing your hair (for my fellow natural haired girlies let’s just say you have braids or a wig). If you’d known you’d be stripping for someone tonight, you would have picked sexier underwear. He’s silent as he takes in how perfect you look in your plain gray and white bra/pantie combo.

“Lay on the bed.” He instructs unscrewing the baby oil top.

You listen, climbing up into the comfy cotton sheets, using your arms as pillows. He’s flustered at how obedient you are, since that wasn’t a side of you he’d seen before. The military couldn’t break you…but he would. He stands at the side of the bed admiring every dip and curve of your figure. Flipping the bottle upside down, Slick cool oil slides down your back. His thumbs rub circles along your spine, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. His long fingers slip under your bra strap, he huffs in frustration.

“In the way-“ he unclasps it skillfully. Your face is burning with embarrassment, there was no way you were laying in Königs bed half naked. A shiver runs down your leg as he slides down the elastic waist of your panties. He begins working and kneading your lower back, squeezing the plush skin of your ass. The crotch of your panties were soaked, leaving a huge wet spot on the gray fabric. He inhales, your arousal was palatable, his dick pulsates at the scent of your glistening womanhood. Your panties glide down over your ankles as he slides them off, tossing them into the corner.

“Flip over.” He grunts, tossing you around.

Your breast fall from the unclamped bra, hard nipples on full display. König doesn’t hesitate yanking and pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“On your knees.” His voice is breathy and low.

your eyes stay on him as you shift onto your knees, hands holding your chest shyly. Gently he pulls them away, slipping the straps down and off your arms. Because of his height, you’re at perfect eye level with his throbbing erection. His breath hitches as your elegant fingers undo the zipper of his pants, his earthy green eyes flutter. His big hand cradles your cheek as he watches you work to release him from the shackles of those annoying pants. His cock burst free, slapping his lower stomach. Although you couldn’t see his face, the state of his arousal was evident. Veins root from base to tip, beating rhythmically along the upward curve of his sex. His tip is blushed and oozing with pre-cum, his breathing accelerates with need. You run your tongue up the length of his rock hard shaft, he grunts head lolling back. Your lips wrap around the tip, tongue swirling and teasing him before opening nice and wide.

“Scheiße (Fuck)” he pants, caressing your cheek pulling your warm wet mouth down on his cock. It was even better than he’s imagined, his hand sets the pace rocking your head back and forth. Tears prick your eyes as he begins moving faster, fucking your throat. Each thrust deeper than the last, his hand moves to the base of your neck feeling how deep you can swallow him.

“You look so fucking pretty sucking my cock.” He wipes a stray tear with his thumb.

You gag as he pushes further, your throat muscles contract around him before he pulls back.

“Oh naughty naughty girl. You almost made me cum.” He teases, lightly pushing you back onto the bed. The mattress creaks from his massive size as he climbs between your legs, peering down at you. Your hand reaches under the mask, he firmly grips your wrist forcing it to the bed.

“Ask nicely.” He orders.

“Can I touch you…please.” You beg.

He releases your hand, it finds the bottom of the mask, sliding underneath to find the stubble of a 5 o'clock shadow and soft lips. Your finger strokes his lower lip, it is plump and warm.suddenly, his mouth opens nipping and sucking the skin of your curious finger. “Ah what are you-“ you moan arching your back. Pushing your hand away once more, he leans down, capturing your parted lips. Your lips dance in perfect harmony, melting into one another. He moans into your mouth, his jaw tenses as your tongue pushes through savoring the flavor that is König. The head of his dick pokes at your slippery slit begging for entry, you can feel how hot he is all over causing your temperature to rise.

“Open up for me, I’m gonna give you everything I have.” He groans, plunging inside with a flick of his hips. Your hands claw at the smooth skin of his back as you stretch around him, his girth almost too much to handle. You cry out as he thrust deeper “Just alittle more baby, you’re taking me so well…s’good s’fucking good.” He pants filling you to the brim. He stays still for a moment letting you adjust to his large size, the pressure in your pussy nearly makes you cum right then and there.

“I feel you twitching around me princess, you can’t cum yet, I’m not done breaking you.” He pulls back before slamming back in, hitting the back of your cervix with each thrust. There is a delicious ache in your belly as he impales you, the curve of his dick reaches places you didn’t even know existed.

“Ah ah s’to big I-I can’t I can’t.” You cry biting the skin of his chest to hold back your screams.

“You’re gonna take what…I…give…you.” He pounds with each word. He sits up pushing your knees to your chest forcing even deeper inside your velvety walls. This position gives him access to your stiff wet bud. With two fingers he spreads your creamy folds watching his dick pump in and out of you. Every thrust his cock emerges more coated than the last.

“Your pussy is so fucking gorgeous , look at that needy little clit.” He flicks your bud, rutting into you with all his strength. His long fingers grab your throat, your tongue lols out as he chokes you. He alternates the pressure taking you up and gently bringing you back down. “That pretty mouth isn’t so dangerous now.” Your quivering walls clench around him threatening to overflow.

“P-please I’m gonna…ah!” He pulls out, gripping your waist as he throws you around, roughly raising your ass to him. Before you can register the change he splits you apart once again, slapping your plush ass, leaving hot hand prints on your skin. Those giant hands push and pull you back on his cock, using your pussy to make himself cum.

“You have such a cute tummy.” He reaches around pressing on your lower belly feeling how full it is with his cock.

“You would make such a pretty mommy.” He praises fucking you faster and harder. That throws you over the edge, your body convulses and clamps down icing his dick with your sweetness.

His teeth clench with an inhuman growl as his rod twitches and throbs before shooting your insides with his hot seed.

~

“Late again huh, rookie? That’s an extra week.” You jump, turning around. Ghost stands over you. It was true last night’s events made it impossible to wake up at 5 am with the other soldiers. You ended up sneaking out of Königs bed in the middle of the night, hoping you could sneak back into your barracks undetected. The mission was success. You slipped into your bed at 2 a.m before anyone could realize you were gone. Unfortunately, that means you overslept, waking up three hours late.

“I was…sick.” You lie scrubbing the bathroom tiles diligently.

“Sick? You were fine yesterday.” He says with a flat tone.

“Must have eaten something bad, all those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches must have taken a toll.” You grunt, rubbing your stomach.

“Next time you’re sick. You report it to me in advance.” He orders.

“How can I predict when I’m gonna be sick?-“

“Don’t question me.” He spins on his heels walking out the bathroom.

“Okay Simon.” You mock.

“What was that rookie?” He calls back.

“Nothing Sargeant!” You exclaim.

He walks away finally, leaving you with the smell of bleach and toilet water. Your arms ache from scrubbing. throwing the sponge in the bucket of cleaning solution, you sit back against the wall thinking about last night. All morning you avoided seeing König, ducking and dodging him in the halls. Every time you thought of him, your face burned with embarrassment, there is no way you could look him in the eye after that. For now your plan is to just lay low in hopes he was too drunk to remember anything. It was nothing. Just a drunken one night stand.

“There you are.” He charges forward looking down at you.

“H-here I am whats up König…do you need a copy of that report-“

“Why did you sneak out last night.” He interrupts.

“Psh me? Sneak out I didn’t sneak out. I just went for a walk…and ended up in my bed.” You reach into the bucket with gloved hands wringing the sponge out.

“Why couldn’t we sleep together?” He asks.

You fly to your feet in a panic “Shhh! What if someone hears you?”

“So what?” He tilts his head in confusion.

“Superior and subordinate relationships are strictly prohibited!” You whisper/yell.

“Right…hm, okay in here then.” He takes your hand leading you into the stall furthest from the door, The lock clicks behind you.

“Can’t this wait till after hours.” You say with an annoyed tone.

“I want an explanation.” His arm rests on the wall above your head.

“This. This is why I snuck off, to avoid whatever this is. Now I’m stuck in a bathroom stall talking about…feelings.” You hold your stomach making a pained face.

“This isn’t funny.” His voice is low.

“You’re right it isn’t but it is complicated .”

“Y/n? You in here?” A voice calls.

You mouth shit, covering what you assumed was his mouth through the mask.

“Yeah! I was just cleaning!” You call back.

“Who were you talking too?” She asks her foot steps advancing.

“No one! Here I come!” You let him go squinting your eyes.

“This isn’t over.” He whispers sharply, moving to the side.

“I can see that.” You grumble walking out the stall to greet your friend.

…to be continued?

[little-diable]

The Right Stuff - Hangman/Jake Seresin (smut)

I had this idea on my flight back home, so I simply needed to write it. It’s super self indulgent, but I ain’t sorry. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader meets Jake on her flight back home, a man she's instantly drawn to. Over the course of their flight both seem to be getting tangled in the clear attraction they feel for one another. An attraction they give in to on their following date.

Or: The first time (y/n) lets a man touch her on a first date while feeling like she has met the one she wants to spend forever with.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, car smut, somewhat public, teasing, slight choking, dom!Jake, strangers to lovers

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader (3.5k words)

Music rang in her ears, guiding (y/n) as she squeezed past people while trying to bite down her exhaustion. Airports had never been her favourite spot, too many people, too many noises – a mixture she tried to run from at any given chance. Her eyes flickered down to her phone, opening her boarding pass again to double check the number of her gate before she allowed herself to find an empty bench near the boarding era. 

For a moment, her eyes fluttered close as she deeply exhaled. Soon she’d be back home, allowing herself to relax while processing the past few days of her trip. As much as she loved travelling, she loved coming home even more, fully focused on her time to wind down. 

After a few more deep breaths, (y/n)’s eyes fluttered open again to take in her surroundings and the people who sat on the other benches. Within seconds, her gaze was drawn to a man who was approaching the sitting area. Even though he wore sunglasses, (y/n) could instantly tell that he was handsome, more interesting than all the other people she had looked at so far. The man sat down two benches from her, looking down on his phone while she tried to find something else to focus on. 

But no matter how hard she tried, her eyes were drawn back to him every now and then. There was something to him that seemed to pull her in, perhaps it was the way he sat all too straight or the way his jaw muscles kept ticking whenever he looked up from his phone to study those who walked past him. Whatever it was, (y/n) couldn’t find it in herself to stop looking at him. 

Only as the boarding process finally started did she manage to get a grip, turning her back to the handsome man while she made her way to the plane. She couldn’t help but silently hope that he’d sit close to her, giving her the chance to solve the mysterious aura he exuded – a good way to pass the upcoming hours of her flight. 

With a sigh, she plopped down in the middle seat while fumbling with her bag, knowing that she’d most likely have to stand up again to let somebody pass. She kept her eyes focused on her phone, at least until a slightly raspy voice caught her attention with a simple, “Excuse me?” 

Heat shot through her as she stared up at the handsome man from earlier. She didn’t say a word as she stood up to let him pass, trying to stop her heartbeat from spiralling. The expensive scent of his cologne instantly wrapped itself around her as if it was trying to lure her closer. (Y/n) allowed herself to look up at him for a moment, catching his gaze with a soft smile before averting her eyes again. 

She needed to find something else to focus on rather quickly before she’d make a fool of herself, fighting against the need to look at him to get lost in the bright eyes that were now exposed, perfectly matching his blonde hair. With trembling fingers she pulled her book from her bag, letting it rest on her lap while she put her phone away. 

“Are you enjoying the book?” His voice caught her by surprise, drawing (y/n)’s gaze back to him. A soft smile was playing on his lips, he let go of a chuckle as he showed her the cover of the book he was holding, “The Right Stuff” – the same book she was currently reading. 

“I do, even though I didn’t really expect to like it.” (Y/n) silently thanked her lucky stars for this very moment, proud of herself for keeping her voice low, not carrying any trembling syllables. “ It’s not your first time reading it, is it?” She pointed to the worn out pages, telling her that he – or the person who had owned the book before him – must have read the book quite a few times. 

“I think the first time I read it I was still a kid, so, yeah, it’s been through some stuff with me.” The laugh clawing through him had an addicting effect to it, letting one claw through (y/n) herself. She felt his curious gaze wander over her features before he reached his hand out  for her to shake, “I’m Jake.”

His hand felt warm against hers as (y/n) shook it while replying with her name. She prayed that the heat wandering up her neck wouldn’t embarrass her, not making it too obvious to him. It felt as if fate was treating her today, giving her a chance to learn more about the man who had managed to catch her attention from the first moment she had looked at him. 

“Are you flying back home?” Their books were long forgotten as Jake angled his body closer to her, not sparing the safety instructions any of his attention. She tried not to focus on whatever was dangling from his neck, hidden beneath the white shirt he wore, small details her mind was hyperfocusing on, trying to burn everything about him into her mind. 

“I am, I was visiting a friend for the past week. What about you?” The plane began to move, but (y/n) tried not to pay her uneasiness any attention, she felt strangely safe around Jake, trusting whatever it was that made her feel so comfortable. 

“Somewhat, I’m stationed there, but home’s Texas.” She had been trying to pinpoint his southern drawl for the past minutes, wondering about his backstory and whatever he’d want to tell her about himself. It certainly fit, adding to the many questions she wanted to ask, set on uncovering any and every secret Jake carried with himself. 

“Stationed? Are you in the army?” Curiosity spurred her on, something that seemed to amuse Jake as he sank further into the seat. With one hand he tugged on the band around his neck, exposing dog tags to (y/n)’s wandering eyes. Before she could stop her hand from moving, her fingers were reaching for the tags, stroking along the cold material. 

“I’m a naval aviator.” It was a simple reply, and yet (y/n) could instantly tell that this was more than just a job to him. Pride simmered in his eyes, stretching across his handsome features as he watched her study his tags before letting them drop back against his broad chest. 

“Well, I guess I’m in good hands now that we’re in the air, huh?” She kept her voice low, letting another laugh claw out of Jake who shot her a wink while nodding his head.

“I’ll keep you safe, darlin’.”

……

“You should absolutely come by, they’ll all love you.” Jake had just told her about the Hard Deck and his colleagues coming together there most nights. Hours had passed since they had boarded and yet it felt like she and Jake had known each other for much longer, instantly clicking as they shared more and more about themselves. 

“Maybe I will, that sounds like fun.” Her mouth was about to start hurting from all the smiling she had done, unable to let go of the happiness simmering inside of her. It was cheesy almost, too perfect and yet Jake had easily managed to pull her into his trap, forming a bond miles and miles up in the air where he felt more at ease than with his feet planted on solid ground. 

She was about to reply, wanting to ask another question about his job and the missions he probably wasn’t allowed to talk about when the plane started shaking. No matter how often she found herself in a plane to move from one spot to the other, turbulences had never been her friend, drawing a shaky exhale from her.

(Y/n) could feel Jake’s eyes on her, studying her for a moment while the pilot spoke barely coherent sentences that warned the passengers of the stronger turbulence. Another shake made her hand dart out to grasp the arm rest while trying to stay somewhat calm and collected.  And only as Jake placed his hand on top of hers to loosen her grip and interlace their fingers did she allow herself to look up at him again. 

“I promised I’ll keep you safe, didn’t I? It’ll be over soon.” He whispered his words as he studied her with concern swimming in his pupils.

This was a side of himself he was a stranger to, Jake had no problem chatting up pretty women, he was used to taking them to his or their place for a few hours he’d easily forget about the second he was up in the air, but something about (y/n) was different. Sure, he’d like to ask her out and perhaps even explore her bedroom, but this wouldn’t be a one time thing, at least not if he had a say in it. 

“Tell me more about your colleagues.” (Y/n) was grateful for any distraction as the plane kept shaking. Jake’s thumb ran over the back of her hand, managing to feel her more and more at ease. He started speaking, rambling about those he secretly admired and cherished, even though he’d never say that out loud to them, at least not in moments where their life wasn’t on the line and close to ending. 

Seconds turned into minutes, and even though (y/n) tried her hardest to intently listen to his stories, she struggled to catch up. Her mind was too occupied with everything she had learned about Jake while she wondered how she could keep him close, given he wanted to keep her around just as much.

But perhaps fate was feeling generous today, not running out on (y/n) just yet. 

……

Two days had passed since (y/n) had crossed paths with Jake, the man she had fallen for over the course of a handful of hours. After parting ways at the airport – with a tight hug that had lasted long enough to make others believe they were reuniting after months apart – they had begun texting almost immediately, making plans for a date Jake had asked her out on before they had gotten off the plane with their fingers still interlaced. 

A date that was just about to happen. A date (y/n) felt overly torn about, not used to feeling so excited and yet nervous over a date. Would they feel the same pull they had felt days ago? Would they still be as excited about being around one another while learning more and more about the one they strangely enough wanted to keep around? 

She had begged him for something lowkey, not caring about where he’d take her, just fully set on getting glimpses into Jake’s life. Her attention was drawn towards her door as the sound of the ringing bell filled her apartment. With shaking legs, (y/n) walked closer, opening it to let her eyes settle on Jake's handsome features.

“Hi, darlin’.” (Y/n) was pulled in for a hug, allowing her to inhale his comforting scent. She clung to him for a moment before peeling herself out of his grasp, scared that she may be unable to let go should he keep her close a second longer. Her smile grew wider at the flowers he gently pushed her way, “Here, thought you may enjoy them since you had these on your bookmark.”

“You’re sweet, thank you so much. Come on in.” She opened the door wider for Jake to step in, leaving him alone for a second while searching for the right vase. Moments later, (y/n) had her arm hooked through his, letting him guide her to his car. With his hand placed on her thigh, Jake drove them away from her home, sporting a smile as bright as the one she couldn’t bite down. 

“So, did you tell your friends about being asked out by a hot Navy guy?” His smile had turned into a cocky grin, remembering the mention of her closest friends and how they were set on finding (y/n) the right guy. Her tongue kissed her teeth as she shook her head at him, set on cutting right through the cocky facade he seemed to sport around most people. 

“Did you tell your admirable teammates about finally asking a woman out on a date? Oh wait, you don’t want them to know you actually like them, huh.” A laugh ripped through Jake who silently thanked whoever was listening for sending this fitting match his way. He squeezed her thigh harder at her teasing, showing off his perfectly white teeth while he studied her for a second too long. “Eyes on the road, lieutenant, can’t have you fucking up our date before I got a kiss, I need something actually worth mentioning to tell my friends about.” 

“Oh, you’re working hard today, spitfire. Don’t you worry, darlin’, you’ll have enough to tell them about.” With a wink thrown her way, his eyes flickered back to the road that was taking them straight to the beach (y/n) could already spot.

Excitement simmered inside of her as she realised that Jake must have remembered her comments about wishing for some more free time she could spend at the beach. Even though she lived so very close, she rarely found the time to come down here, adding another special touch to this very date.

He held the door open for her, letting his hand settle on the small of her back to guide her towards the beach. With their shoes carried in their hands, both found themselves walking along the endless seeming beach, getting lost in deep conversations they normally wouldn’t give in to on a first date. Yet this felt like anything but a first date, it felt like they had been doing this for weeks, months even, feeling all too comfortable with the other person. 

“Seems like a storm’s brewing out there.” Jake was sitting next to her, feet buried in the warm sand. (Y/n) had her head resting on his shoulder, following his gaze towards the darkening horizon. The wind began to pick up, dancing through her hair – a silent warning that they should find their way back home, Mother Nature’s own way of setting an end to their date. But neither Jake nor (y/n) dared to move, watching the clouds move closer as they kept sitting next to one another. 

Only as the first raindrops fell did Jake rise to his feet, pulling (y/n) back up with his hands finding hers. The moment had something awfully cheesy to it, something he’d tease others for if they ever told him about it, but today he didn’t find it in himself to care. Jake and (y/n) held eye contact as he wiped some rain drops from her cheeks, letting his fingers rest on her warm skin while dipping his head down to kiss her.

Her fingers fisted the fabric of his shirt, not daring to break away from the man who kissed her breathless. His tongue begged for entrance, unable to bite down their groans the second their tongues met, deepening their kiss all while the rain soaked through their clothes. Two strangers who have managed to fall in love over the short span of just three days; two strangers who’d prefer to spend their last seconds on this earth together should the world end any moment now. 

Thunder roared through the afternoon, breaking them apart to guide them back to his car. Rain pitter-pattered against the windshield, allowing them to get lost in another kiss while nature gifted them worthwhile moments hidden from curious eyes. 

“We have to stop before I end up fucking you in the backseat, darlin’.” His almost pained words left her chuckling against his lips. 

“What if I want you to fuck me there? You promised me good stuff I can tell my friends about.” The groan that followed her teasing words vibrated on her lips. Jake kissed her again before a simple, rasped out “Then move your pretty ass” left him. 

She was sitting on his lap, fumbling with his belt while thanking her past self for settling on a dress for their date. Jake’s strong fingers dug into her thighs as he kissed his way down her neck, leaving marks she’d struggle to cover up tomorrow morning, souvenirs as he’d call them, marks to remind her that from today on she was his, his only. 

“I need you to be sure about this.” His hand found her throat, fingers settling on her jaw to keep her eyes focused on his. There was something dark swimming in Jake's eyes, something that told her she’d struggle to put whatever was about to happen into words later on tonight. Her fingers grasped his cock, pulling him from his underwear while parting her lips to speak. 

“Let’s take this as another test to see how perfect of a match we are, lieutenant.” (Y/n)’s smirk turned into an open mouthed o-shape the second his fingers found her clothed heat, rubbing her pulsing bundle through the thin material of her already damp panties. She felt trapped, in the best way possible, getting lost in all things Jake Seresin, even though she was the one straddling him, keeping the tall man buried beneath her. 

An avalanche of lust rolled upon them both as she spread her saliva on his cock, pumping him while he kept touching her, drawing sinful sounds out of them both. She let him fumble with his trousers to pull a condom free, allowing her to roll it down his cock while he pushed her panties to the side, exposing her aching heat to his bright eyes.

“Fuck, we’ll do this the right way the second I get you home, you deserve to be fucked on a comfortable bed.” The heated kiss she pressed against his lips successfully managed to shut Jake up, drowning out their sounds.

She sank down on his cock with her eyes squeezed shut and her fingernails clawed into the spot where his neck met his muscular shoulder. Neither of them wanted to waste any time, settling on a rhythm that worked for them perfectly, letting his hips meet hers. 

“Shit, you’re a sight for sore eyes, darlin’. Look how perfectly you fuck yourself on my cock.” Her walls fluttered around his cock, movements getting faster to feel Jake at any given chance, high on the feeling of having him buried so deep inside of her.

(Y/n)’s eyes couldn’t help but marvel at Jake, taking in the freckles on his cheeks, the piercingly bright colour of his lust-blown pupils, a godlike feature. Her fingers tugged on his tags, reminded of their run in days ago – oh, how much she’d like to tease her past self about this very moment, knowing that Jake Seresin was about to flip her life around from today on. 

“Jake, touch me, please.” His raspy chuckles filled the car, followed by her moans the second he rubbed her bundle of nerves. She was trembling on top of him, knowing that her high was close – just as close as Jake’s whose grip on her grew tighter with every passing moment. 

“Will you cum for me, baby?” One of his hands kept stabilising her, the other found her throat again, keeping an almost possessive grip that had (y/n) seeing stars. Incoherent, moaned words left her, ringing in Jake's ears while she could only get lost in his guiding eyes. Bright like the northern stars, a guiding light in darkening times she’d look for from now on. 

(Y/n) came with a gasp, a sound Jake’s lips swallowed with the kiss he needed to chase. His hips jerked up again, burying himself inside of her for one last time before he came too. She clung to him with heavy breaths, head resting on his shoulder, focusing on the feeling of his hand stroking up and down her back. 

“Can we do that again soon?” (Y/n) mumbled her question with hot cheeks, grateful that the falling rain was still hugging them with its cosy embrace. Jake tugged on her neck, forcing her to look at him again, gaze instantly drawn to his wide smirk. 

“We can do that daily, for the rest of our lives, darlin’.”

[luvrrszn]

｡꩜°‧⭑.ᐟ flashing theo while he's on a work call

masterlist

warnings italian!theo hehe, modern au, nsfw 18+ (degradation, praise, cursing, the whole shebang), established relationship, pure filth!

a/n can we just always assume that theo is italian whenever i write for him plz and thanks...could not get this thought out of my head for a fat minute...also testing a layout for blurbs what do we think hehehe

it was a friday evening. theo was working from home, and you had the day off. he was sitting on the sofa outside, on a zoom call, while you were in your shared bedroom doing anything to keep yourself busy while waiting for your boyfriend to finish his boring work call.

you were laying on the bed, scrolling through your tiktok feed. cooking video, makeup review, cute cat video, cooking video...boring...kitchen hacks...flashing prank on boyfriend?

your interest was piqued. it was as if a lightbulb had lit up next to your head.

a sly smile spread across your face as you threw open the doors to your closet. rifling through your drawers, you finally found what you were looking for.

a set of black underwear. a lacy black bra, and a lacy black thong, which put enough on display that there was just enough left for imagination. chuckling to yourself, still very amused with what you were about to do, you changed out from theo's t-shirt and shorts into your new underwear.

your cat purrs from her spot on the bed, eyes narrowing at you with a somewhat judgemental gaze.

"oh c'mon, honey. mama's gotta have her fun." you coo, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. she purrs in response.

you pull theo's t-shirt over yourself again, before heading towards the bedroom door.

you slowly twist the handle and open the door. theo's sitting on the sofa, legs spread, laptop somehow resting on one thigh. he nods at whatever his colleague is saying, eyes flickering to your frame for barely a second.

he does a double take when he sees you standing in the middle of the living room with his t-shirt and black lacy underwear. he raises an eyebrow in skepticism, but says nothing.

but you saved the best for last!

you pull the hem of theo's shirt up, biting it to hold it in place as you move your bra, giving him the perfect view of your boobs. well, one of them.

theo's jaw clenches for a second, then he smirks. he unmutes himself on the call, and quickly says, "sorry guys, my dog just threw up i gotta go deal with this. talk on monday."

what dog??

he shuts the laptop and tosses it onto the sofa, standing up and walking towards you.

he pinches your nipple playfully, teasing, "aw, poor little slut. couldn't even wait just half an hour longer, could you?"

before you can open your mouth, theo throws you over his shoulder, carrying you back to your bedroom. he throws you onto the bed, before pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants just enough to let his cock spring free.

his tip leaks pre-cum, glistening. you kneel on the bed in front of him as his fingers find their way to your hair, guiding your head towards his cock. you ghost a breath over his skin, and the way his cock twitches at the sensation causes your heart to skip a beat. your hand goes to grab him at the base, tongue darting out to lick a stripe all the way up to his tip. you start sucking on the tip, and the way theo throws his head back in pleasure sends a rush of heat straight to your soaked cunt.

you take him deeper, deeper, deeper, until your face is pressed into the soft skin above his cock. you struggle to catch your breath. theo's huge.

"good girl, you're doing so well f'me." he hums, tracing along your jaw before going to cup your tits.

you pick up the pace, bobbing along his thick cock. you feel theo start to tense, and you know he's close. you go faster, deeper. his grip on your hair tightens and his hips buck as hot ropes of cum shoot down your throat.

and you swallow every bit of it once he pulls out, grinning up at him in satisfaction.

he pushes you back further on the bed, before taking your panties off. he runs a finger along your folds, chuckling, "already so wet f'me, huh? such a good little slut."

you grab a fistful of theo's hair, guiding him between your thighs, almost whimpering, "need you so bad, theo."

he chuckles against your dripping cunt, sending a shiver up your spine. he darts his tongue up, licking a stripe up your folds. he wraps his lips around your clit and gives it a sharp suck, sending your back arching right off the bed.

he continues swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud, left hand holding down your right thigh, right hand holding yours, fingers intertwined.

"you're so fuckin' beautiful, piccola." he groans, the vibrations causing your grip on his hair to tighten as you moan in pleasure. he lets out a slight yelp.

you're too lost in the pleasure to apologise.

theodore nott ate pussy like a man starved.

like he hadn't had a sip of water in weeks, and your pussy was a source of fresh, crisp water.

he lapped at you as if it was his only purpose in life, as if it was his only hope for survival.

and you weren't complaining.

[jayparked]

congrats on 1k!! could you please do 6 + 34 with heejake?

warnings: threesome!, possessive jake, language, unprotected sex, reader is basically just a sex doll for them, double penetration,

wc: 416

"now, why don't we teach you a lesson?"

you never thought the lesson would be having jake and heeseung take turns railing your pussy over and over again. heeseung has emptied his load in you once already, jake twice, and who knows how many times you've come now. your entire body feels like it's levitating as you come down from yet another high, long forgetting whatever it was that you did to get yourself in this position. somewhere along the way, the lines between punishment and blurred and you wouldn't mind being taught a lesson every day for the rest of your life.

heeseung is taking a break, sipping on a bottle of water while jake has you on your hands and knees, the walls of your pussy hugging his cock like memory foam.

"gonna fuck you until the only word you remember is my name."

"didn't anyone tell you that you're not supposed to be selfish in a threesome?" heeseung chuckles from the chair.

"i don't care. she's mine," jake growls, grinding his hips deep and possessively inside you until you're yelping.

"let's make it a game then. we'll both fuck her and see who's name she moans out as she comes."

jake stops moving to consider heeseung's words, giving you a moment to try to catch your breath. your heart pounds as you hear jake confidently say, "deal."

you stay there, motionless, still desperately trying to grasp what's about to happen. it's as if you aren't even here. all too soon, the two men are turning towards you and moving your body so they can position themselves at your entrance.

you thought one would be at your cunt and the other your ass, but with heeseung muttering, "take a deep breath, doll, here we come", and feeling both of their tips poking at your entrance, your eyes widen. you're barely able to take in that breath before they're both pushing inside you. the stretch is beyond delicious, your cunt taking them in almost too easily. both men groan with you as they feel themselves against one another, your wetness making it easy for them to set a steady rhythm.

a slough of curse words is all you're able to manage as the stretch of two cocks inside of you sends you to a realm of ecstasy you've never experienced before. and you're determined to not say either of their names in hopes they'll just have to keep trying until finally one of them wins.

for part of my 1k follower celebration send me a member and a number from this list and i'll write a short drabble about it ♡ masterlist

[thef1diary]

Beneath The Wool | D. Ricciardo

Merry Smutmas - Day 2: Ugly Sweater

warnings: 18+ content, porn w plot, unprotected sex, riding, lowkey sub!danny for a quick min, very slight degrading, praise kink, penetrative sex.

— missed day 1? read it here by @emchante

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

The scent of rich cocoa filled the kitchen as you carefully stirred the mixture, its warmth spreading through the room. The night outside is quiet, perfectly still as the snow lazily drifts outside while every twinkling light and decoration you’ve hung creates a festive glow throughout the house. You can practically feel the warmth, the cozy anticipation building for a perfect winter night in with Daniel.

Just as you poured the hot cocoa into mugs, you heard footsteps behind you. You turned, grinning, ready to hand Daniel his mug—only to stop in your tracks, staring at the sight before you.

Daniel stands there, an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes, wearing a sweater that’s…well, something else. To call it ugly—despite how handsome the man wearing it looked—would be an understatement. Bright red and green, with a massive reindeer face taking up the entire front, complete with a dangling, sparkly red nose and antlers decorated with tiny bells that jingled every time he moved. The sleeves, as if the reindeer wasn’t enough, are covered in glittery snowflakes, making him look like he was caught in a Christmas explosion.

You tried to hold it in, pressing your lips together as you reached for composure, but the sight of Daniel—this tall, confident man wrapped in an outrageous, holiday-coloured spectacle—is too much. A giggle escaped before you could stop it, and you quickly set the mugs on a countertop, just in time to save the kitchen from a cocoa catastrophe.

The grin on his face widened and that only made it harder to keep it together. A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in your chest, filling the room. “Danny… I—oh my god, I can’t,” you managed between fits of laughter, doubling over as he looked at you with mock indignation.

“What? You don’t like my holiday spirit?” he teased, feigning offense, though his smile gave him away. He spread his arms out proudly, and shimmied, causing the bells to jingle absurdly, letting the ridiculousness of the sweater fully sink in. “I found it in the back of the closet and had to bring it out for the season.”

You walked up to him, still laughing, and reached out to flick the reindeer’s shiny, oversized nose. It wobbles, then jingles lightly back into place, setting off another round of laughter from you.

“This thing is…well…ugly. Very, very ugly,” you murmured, trying to catch your breath as your laughter died down to a few chuckles. “Honestly, honey, you’ve been wearing ugly sweaters all week—everyday is a new nightmare, and no, just because you’re hot doesn’t mean you can pull it off.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh? So now you have to tell me…which one was your favourite?”

You shook your head, giggling. “Between the one that said “jingle my bells,” the one that just said “horny,” and…whatever this absurdity is, none. Zero out of ten on all of them.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, holding his chest as if wounded. “Come on, not even a little appreciation for my dedication to the season?”

You stepped closer, smirking up at him as you rested your hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think “horny” counts as seasonal cheer.”

He grinned, finding your hand and entwining your fingers before pulling you closer. “Horny is seasonal cheer for all seasons—only around you.”

A flush spread across your cheeks, but you’re quick to mask it, giving him a playful shove, though your fingers remain entwined. “Is that so?”

Daniel brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss on the back as he hummed, “always.”

But just as he was about to pull you even closer, he dropped your hand, rubbing his arm with a slight frown. “Bloody hell, this sweater is starting to itch like crazy.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a giggle as you watched him fidget, the bells on his sweater jingling with each movement. You ran your palm down the front of his sweater, wincing slightly at the scratchy material beneath your fingers.

“Yeah, this thing feels like it was made from…carpet?” you teased.

“Cheap carpet,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Never wearing this again.”

Your fingers trailed lower, teasing the hem of his sweater as you lifted your gaze to meet his. “You know,” you murmured, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips, “this sweater is so ugly, I might just have to take it off you.”

Daniel’s eyebrows lifted, a mischievous spark in his eyes as he leaned into your touch. “Oh really?”

“Mhm.” You hooked your fingers around the hem, lifting it slightly to expose a sliver of warm, tanned skin, your fingertips brushing over his taut abdomen. His muscles tensed slightly under your touch, and you couldn’t help but smile as you murmured, “besides, I know what’s underneath is much sexier.”

Slowly, you slid the sweater higher, revealing more of him inch by inch. Each part that emerged—the dip of his waist, the toned line of his torso—made your heart race a little faster. He held his arms up, chuckling softly as you ease the scratchy sweater over his shoulders and finally tug it free. The bells jingled one more time, clinking in protest before you tossed the fabric onto the floor, where it landed with a final satisfying jingle that faded into silence.

Now, with nothing between you, you took a moment to admire him. His skin is warm, golden under the soft glow of the kitchen lights, his chest bare and his gaze intent on you, a playful spark in his eyes. Daniel stepped closer, his hands finding your waist, and he drew you in until your bodies pressed together, his warmth spilling over to you as he leaned down.

“Better?” He asked, his lips lightly brushing against yours. You managed a small nod, feeling your pulse quicken, but before you could respond, he closed the remaining space between you.

His lips captured yours in a kiss that’s soft at first, just a gentle brush that sends a shiver down your spine. Then, his hands slide a little further up your sides, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth moving in sync with yours with a heat that feels both familiar and exhilarating.

Daniel’s hands slid lower, setting at the curve of your waist before he shifted, bending slightly and scooping you up in one smooth motion. You let out a soft laugh, surprised but delighted, as he lifted you effortlessly. His gaze remained locked on yours as he carried you from the kitchen, weaving through the glow of the holiday lights and into the cozy warmth of the living room.

He settled onto the couch, pulling you down with him until you’re straddling his lap, your legs wrapped around him. His hands settle on your hips, fingers grazing over your holiday-themed red and black plaid pants, adding a festive touch that he can’t help but grin at.

“Now that,” he started, his voice a low rumble, “is some proper holiday cheer.”

You smirked, leaning in close, your fingers slipping up to rest on his bare chest, tracing gentle circles over his warm skin. “Someone’s got to make up for your questionable sweater choices,” you murmured, letting your lips brush his with a playful hint.

He laughed softly against your mouth, but the sound faded as your lips captured his again, this time slower, deeper. His fingers tightened at your waist, pulling you closer until there’s nothing but warmth between you, every inch of his bare skin pressed to yours. His mouth moves with a kind of quiet intensity, savoring the taste of you, and your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

Daniel’s hands slip underneath the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, his fingers trailing a line of warmth as he peeled it away from your body. His gaze drifted over you, dark with appreciation, before his mouth returned to your skin, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck. Each kiss is unhurried, like he’s savouring the feeling of you, the way your breath hitches under his touch.

His hands slide down, brushing over your waist before settling just beneath the waistband of your pants. A teasing smirk lifts the corner of his mouth as he palms the curve of your ass, guiding you with gentle pressure to rock against him. The heat between you built with each movement, and a low sound escaped him as your hips rolled against his.

You leaned in, pressing your lips to the spot just behind his ear, lingering there as you sucked the taut skin gently before soothing it with a flick of your tongue. The low, guttural groan he let out spurred you on, your breath ghosting over your ear as you whispered, “I wanna ride you, Danny, so bad.”

The words hang between you, electrified and dripping with desire. His grip tightened on your hips as his head tilted back against the couch, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded when they met yours. “Yeah?” he murmured, his voice rough, barely restrained. “Want my cock so bad, huh? Take it then. You know what to do.”

Your pulse raced as you slid off his lap, your hands trembling with urgency as you tug your pants down and toss them aside. Daniel mirrored your movements, yanking his pants off with the same haste, the tension still crackling like a live wire despite spending years together.

You slide back onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips as his hands immediately find your waist again, steadying you with a firm grip. He holds you steady as you position yourself above him. The head of his cock is hot and heavy against your cunt, the slickness of your arousal coating him as you shift slightly.

Daniel’s breath catches, a low groan slipping past his lips as he murmurs, “fuck, sweetheart, you’re killing me here.”

A wicked smile curves your lips as you angle your hips just enough to part your folds using his cock, dragging him against your sensitive clit. The sensation made you shudder, your thighs tightening around him as you repeated the motion, letting your wetness drip down his length.

Each slow, deliberate glide of his cock sends jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, and the sounds escaping him only spur you on.

Daniel moaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he tried to guide you down onto him, but you resisted, keeping him on edge. His teeth gritted as he stared up at you, his eyes dark, simmering with need. “You’re driving me insane, love.”

You tilted your head, letting your lips brush his ear as you whisper, “that’s the point, darling.”

The heat pooling in your belly intensified, and you could feel him twitch against you, his need as unbearable as your own.

“Enough,” Daniel rasped, his voice laced with desperation. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

The command in his tone sent a thrill through you, and finally, you positioned yourself at his tip, your eyes meeting his as you sank down slowly. The stretch is exquisite, the feeling of him filling you inch by inch, stealing a breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, Danny,” you groaned, your eyes fluttering shut. “You feel so good.”

As you finally take him fully, sinking down until there’s no space left between your bodies, Daniel’s head falls forward, resting against your chest. His breath is hot and ragged against your skin, the tension in his body radiating into yours. You clench around him instinctively, a reflex that draws a deep, guttural moan from his throat.

For a moment, he just breathes you in, his lips brushing lightly against your collarbone as he tries to regain control. Then, his eyes lift to meet yours, dark and glazed with need, the weight of his need pulling you under, and you’re acutely aware of every inch of him inside you. The corners of his lips tug upward into a smug, teasing smirk as your body clenches around him again, involuntarily reacting to his presence.

His lips trail over your chest, leaving a searing path of open-mouthed kisses as he moves lower. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he murmured against your skin, the words laced with playful cruelty. “You gonna ride me like you said you wanted? Or are you just gonna sit there looking all pretty and expect me to do all the work?”

Before you can form a retort, he takes your nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before his teeth graze it just enough to send a shiver cascading down your spine. Your breath catches, and the words on the tip of your tongue dissolve into a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his hair to keep him where you need him most.

As he releases your nipple, a string of spit connects you even as he pulls back. His lips glisten with evidence of his devotion, his tongue flicking out to swipe across his bottom lip before it curled into that maddeningly smug smile.

“What was that?” he drawled, trailing his mouth back up, nipping lightly at your collarbone before pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck, right below your ear. “Had something to say, love? I didn’t quite catch it.” His voice is low and taunting, the vibration of his chuckle against your skin making your hips shift instinctively, drawing a hiss from him.

“You’re such an ass,” you managed to gasp, your nails raking lightly down his back, leaving faint red trails in their wake.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to lock eyes with you, his smirk deepening as he leaned in to brush his lips against the corner of your mouth. “Am I?” he murmured, his tone dripping with mock innocence, though the playful malice lingers in his eyes. “Funny, because from where I’m sitting, you forget everything else the second your pretty little cunt’s full of me.” His voice is low and sinful, every syllable pressing against your already-frazzled nerves.

Your body clenches around him involuntarily at his filthy admission, drawing a deep groan from him that vibrates against your skin. “See that?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your jaw now as his hands guide your hips to roll just slightly. “Can’t even deny it, love. You’re soaking me. Guess I’ve got to do all the work after all, yeah?”

His words are a challenge, and you find yourself snapping back to attention, determination sparking in your gaze. With a deliberate roll of your hips, you make him groan again, his head tipping back slightly. “Not so far gone that I can’t shut you up,” you managed, your voice breathy but steady as you took control, setting a slow, teasing rhythm.

His laughter is low and rough, his head falling forward against your chest as you move, taking him deeper with each roll of your hips. His lips find your skin again, open-mouthed and hungry, sucking and biting just enough to leave faint marks behind. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped against you, his fingers gripping you so tightly you’re sure you’ll see the evidence tomorrow. “Show me how bad you want it.”

Every roll of your hips draws a low, guttural sound from him, the tension in his body unraveling under your control.“That’s it, love,” he groaned, his voice thick and strained. “Fuck, just like that—keep going.” His head falls back against the couch, exposing the curve of his throat, and you can’t resist leaning forward to press your lips there, tracing the salt of his skin with your tongue as you continue to ride him.

His cock stretched you with every movement, hitting that spot in your cunt that made your breath hitch and your thighs tremble. The pleasure was maddening, delicious, and each rise and fall of your hips only made the heat between you burn hotter. Daniel’s hand slipped beneath the curve of your ass to guide you, urging you to go faster, harder.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped, his eyes fluttering shut, mouth dropping open. The sight of him—flushed, panting, and completely at your mercy—sent a thrill through you.

“Look at you, taking me so well. So perfect,” he mumbled as his gaze locked with yours. You trapped your bottom lip between your teeth, the praise igniting something reckless inside you.

You lifted yourself slowly, until the tip of his cock remained in your pussy before sinking back down with a sharp roll of your hips. Daniel swore under his breath, his hands flying back to your hips, desperate to keep you from leaving him again. The delicious stretch of him filling you completely again made you shudder, a broken moan escaping your lips.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “You like that, Danny? Like watching me take every inch of you?”

His response is a strained groan, one of his hands sliding up to cup your boob as he thrusted upwards, meeting your movements. The sudden shift in pace made you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders for balance. “Love watching you,” he murmured, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “Watching you fall apart on my cock. You can’t get enough, can you?”

You shake your head, your breath hitching as the pleasure builds to a fever pitch. “No… I can’t,” you admitted, your voice a trembling whisper. “You’re too good… too fucking good.”

His other hand slides in between your legs, his thumb finding your clit, pressing down just enough to send a jolt of pleasure racing through your body. You cry out, your movements faltering for a moment as the combined sensation becomes overwhelming.

“Come on sweetheart,” Daniel urged, “give it to me. I want to feel you cum around my cock.”

The desperation in his voice, the raw need, sends you spiraling closer to the edge. Your hips move frantically now, chasing the release that’s just out of reach. Daniel’s thumb circled your clit faster, tightening his grip on your waist as he thrust up into you, matching your rhythm with brutal precision.

“Daniel—‘m close,” you gasped, your body trembling as the tension coils tighter, ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his eyes locked on yours, his voice a rough plea. “Cum for me, love. Let go, I’ve got you.”

His words, his touch, the way he looks at you—it’s too much. The tension snapped, and pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling as you cried out his name. Daniel holds you close, his lips pressing soothing kisses to your neck as you ride out the waves of your orgasm.

The way you tightened around him pushes him over the edge. He thrusts up into you one last time, his body shuddering as he finds his release, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips. He clings to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he breathes through the aftershocks, his heart pounding in time with yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, content to simply exist in each other’s arms, skin pressed against skin, hearts beating as one. The scent of pine from the Christmas tree filled the air, blending with the sweet, lingering scent of cinnamon from the candles still burning on the mantel, but the room that was once wrapped in the cozy, comforting embrace of the holiday season is now mixed with the unmistakable scent of sex.

Your fingers slid lazily through Daniel’s damp curls, the mess of them from earlier making you smile. He looks up at you with a lazy grin, his eyes still dark with the remnants of desire but softened with something tender. His thumb traced gentle circles against your hip, grounding you in the moment, and it’s perfect—just you, him, and the warmth of the season cocooning you both.

Your gaze wandered slowly around the room, landing on the kitchen, and then it hit you—

“The hot cocoa!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening as you remembered. “We were supposed to—”

Daniel’s hand grazed your cheek, pulling your focus back to him as his grin widened into something mischievous. His lips brushed against yours in a featherlight kiss. “Reheat it later,” he whispered, his fingers tightening slightly on your hip. “We’re not done yet.”

Your breath catches as his eyes lock with yours, a spark of renewed heat flickering between you. His hands are already slipping between your legs, teasing your clit as his lips find yours again, slow and deep, making you forget about everything else except him.

The cocoa can wait. Winter just got a whole lot warmer.

taglist: @lilorose25 @thenotoriouserg @a-distantdreamer @leclercsluvs @fat-meh @wintxr-widow @amirahart

[hyunebunx]

DENI!!! i've been a little bit out of here 😣😣 but i received the notif of your post......... the soft thought ( more like domestic details, which i love ) is painting hyune's nails. you do not know how to properly do it, because the nail polish always lands on the skin surrounding the nail, and even if you try to do a desing, like a little flower w a couple of points, it ends up all messed up. imagine a quiet afternoon, after watching some tv show, all cozy and warm, and he offers you his nails to practise a little bit. even if you mess it up again, he might actually paint yours and try to follow the same messed up pattern to go matching ���

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: fluff and even more fluff!!

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: MARS!! i wrote this in one go, istg this is the cutest idea ever :( thank you for helping me and letting me write soft hyune fluff, this fixed me fr. i hope you enjoy, my love <333

“Can I do it?” You ask, eyeing his clean nails as Hyunjin reaches up to fix his face mask before doing the same with yours, making sure neither of your headbands fell too low on your foreheads.

“Hm?” He hums, smoothing the thin layer of the sheet mask on your already smooth skin, smiling once your eyes meet. “Do what?”

“Your nails.” You nod towards them, catching one of his hands and bringing it to your lips to peck the back of it, much to his displeasure as the action moves the mask around your face awkwardly. Even so, he was so close to you on the tiny couch that you could feel his heart beating wildly, betraying his true feelings.

Hyunjin tries not to smile too brightly as he nods, fondness clear as day in brown eyes even in the dim light of the living room. “Knock yourself out, baby.” He was never one to reject you, no matter how silly or out of pocket your requests were. Hyunjin would move mountains for you, after all, if that meant you’d be happy forever and keep smiling for him until the day he took his last breath.

The tv ran idly in the background, a rerun of one of your favorite shows as you got to work, gently placing both of your boyfriend’s hands in your lap. His small collection of nail polish was laid before you on the coffee table, accompanied by a file, a bag of cotton pads and nail polish remover. Just in case, you know.

Gently taking one of his hands, you subconsciously intertwine your fingers together as you look over the bottles, brainstorming. Hyunjin takes this moment of silence as an opportunity to reach over and turn on one of lamps by the couch, providing you with more light.

“What are you thinking?” His voice is low, not wanting to disturb you, softly pulling his hand away to massage your palm instead.

“Ladybug nails.”

“What?” He laughs, scooting closer.

You nod, reaching for the bottle of red nail polish. Not like you had many options to begin with, Hyunjin’s palette was limited – something you’d never thought you’d say.

“Your nails are always so dark, I was thinking of doing a cute design for a change.”

He arches a dark brow. “You could use white.”

You pause, tearing your gaze from the bottle to stare at him blankly. “Ladybugs aren’t white.”

The laugh that escapes him has your heart double in size, feeling all warm and fuzzy as he throws his head back in genuine amusement, finding you even more endearing than usual. “Alright, ladybug, do whatever you please. I’ll stop interfering.”

And he keeps his promise, quiet as a mouse as you begin painting his nails, attention stolen by the tv and the snacks you’ve prepared for your weekly movie night. Hyunjin has mastered the art of eating with a face mask on, no crumb landing anywhere near and messing it up. There was nothing he couldn’t do, it seemed.

You’re almost done with his one hand when he slowly reaches to remove your face mask, joining his on a napkin on the table. Usually, he’d also massage the remaining serum into your skin but you could tell he didn’t want to bother you from your new favorite past time. A past time you weren’t particularly skilled in, the nail polish getting everywhere around his nail and even on your clothes, staining the material.

“Uh…” Hyunjin turns to you, wondering why you were sounding so disheartened. “I think I messed up.”

Bringing his hand to eye level, Hyunjin studies your work curiously, analyzing every brush stroke and the big, blotchy black spots that were supposed to be polka dots. The colors were everywhere, on his cuticles and even further down to his knuckles. You’ve mostly stuck to the area around the nail so he couldn’t understand how a black spot managed to go that far.

“Baby, are the ladybugs trying to escape?” He smiles, holding back laughter.

You pout and he leans over to plant smooches on both of your cheeks, trying to make you feel better. “Don’t make fun of me, I tried my best.”

Hyunjin nods, grabbing the black polish from your hand. “I can see that.” Without warning, he starts applying it down his index finger in a strange pattern, causing your mouth to fall open in shock. “And it looks great, love.”

You knew he was lying to try and make you feel better, there was no way he actually thought that.

Biting down on his plush bottom lip, he eventually puts the brush away and gets a hold of your hand before pressing the back of his onto yours, squeezing lightly. You’re so confused that no words escape you, wondering if this was his way of getting back at you for messing up his nails and getting his hand all dirty.

“Done!” He beams, looking so much younger with his hair all pushed back and bare face, cozy and cuddly in his soft pajamas. “Now we match.”

Looking down, you realize the pattern he drew on himself was now on your hand too, tiny lines and spots resembling even tinier footsteps. A ladybug’s footsteps. Or tracks, actually.

Forget beating, your heart almost bursts out of your chest and latches onto him, first his cheek and then plump lips, smooching the area before intertwining with his own and running away together like two forbidden lovers. Hyunjin brought so much needed light into your life, you could barely believe he was real and not a fragment of your rich imagination.

“The ladybug that ran away from my nail has found its way home to you.” He finally laughs, eyes two crescent moons. “It’s silly, please forgive me.”

“Silly?” You blurt out, dragging him by the hand just so he can fall into your waiting arms, hugging him tightly. “It’s only silly if you don’t actually draw a cute ladybug on my hand now.” His arms sneak around your middle, face hiding in your chest as yours move over his shoulders, breathing in the scent of him.

“Only if you do my other hand.” He murmurs, placing a linger kiss right above your beating heart.

You can’t help but grin, thankful for having such a kind person by your side. “Deal!”

[blackenedsnow]

ART X A SELF DOUBTING VAMPIRE READER PSLPLSPSLLS!! like they think they taste all rotten and nasty but art doesnt think sooo!

red as snow

WARNING: Self doubt

PAIRING: Art the Clown x Vampire! Reader

NOTE: Omg this is so fun to think about!! thanks for the ask <3 I ALWAYS love writing about vampires OHHHH MAN

SUMMARY: Art doesn’t mind what’s wrong with you. That’s the worst part, really. You can’t understand how someone so perfect in his brutality could ever want something so rotten.

The blood pools around your feet in lazy rivulets, stark and shining against the pale stretch of snow. It’s almost beautiful, in a grotesque sort of way – the kind of beauty you find in shattered glass or a body just before the life leaves it. Art would know what you mean.

He’s doing something behind you, a slow, lilting tune, soft as snowfall. He’s in his own little world, swaying slightly, his bloodied hands clasped behind his back. His clothes look filthy now, stained with deep red streaks.

You think he looks ridiculous. And perfect.

“Do you ever think,” you say quietly, your voice barely carrying over the winter hush, “that I might taste bad?”

Art stops. His head snaps toward you, and even though you know he doesn’t speak, you feel the weight of his question in the tilt of his head, the way his wide eyes narrow just slightly.

“You know,” you murmur, staring down at the corpse between you, “if someone tried to bite me. My blood’s probably awful. There’s something wrong with me.” you glance back at him, watching the way his grin widens like it’s some private joke only he gets. “You’d agree, wouldn’t you?”

You’re half-joking, but it still stings when he laughs – or whatever you’d call that silent, breathy wheeze of his. He’s doubled over, clutching his stomach like you’ve just told the funniest joke in the world.

“I’m serious,” you say, your voice sharper now, a little defensive. You fold your arms over your chest. “Why wouldn’t it be bad? I’m rotting from the inside out, Art. I can feel it. There’s no way it’d taste good.”

He straightens up, wiping at his face even though there’s no tears, no sign of any real laughter – just that grin of his, smeared with someone else’s blood. He takes a step closer, his boots crunching over the snow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, turning away. “I mean it. It’s not romantic to drink from something dead.”

He’s behind you before you can finish the thought, his hands curling over your shoulders in a way that makes your skin crawl – and not because you don’t like it. You hate that you do. That you want him to hold you tighter, to crush you in that terrible grip of his.

“I mean, maybe it’s fitting,” you continue. “You’re a demon. I’m a vampire. We’re both monsters. But even monsters deserve something better than this, don’t you think?”

Art spins you around in one fluid movement, his hands dropping to your arms to hold you in place. You can feel the press of his fingers through your clothing, too strong, too insistent, but you don’t pull away. He’s tilting his head again, his grin growing impossibly wider, like he’s daring you to keep talking.

“You don’t believe me,” you say softly.

He shakes his head, slow and deliberate. Then, quick as a flash, his hand moves to his chest, dragging his fingers down like he’s unzipping it, miming something pulling at his heart.

You swallow hard. “You’re just saying that.”

He glares at you, his grin faltering for the first time. It’s subtle, just the faintest twitch at the corners of his mouth, but it’s enough to make your breath catch.

“Okay, okay,” you say quickly, raising your hands in surrender. “You love me. I get it. You don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

He doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in closer, his face inches from yours. You can smell the copper tang of blood on him, can see the splatters drying on his skin.

Maybe he doesn’t care what’s wrong with you, doesn’t care if your blood tastes like poison, if your body is too far gone to be anything worth having. He just loves you.

[pursued-by-the-squid]

iv. cop out

pairing: gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 6.5k

ao3 | masterlist

1 Year Later, May 2024

“I have my final exam next week and no classes today, so I’m gonna be at the library for a while. Let me know when you want to do dinner.”

The voice message goes through with a little hum and a chirp, showing that it’s been delivered to Gi-hun before you have the chance to turn the screen off. You scan the apartment a few extra times, patting down your pockets and double checking your backpack for your charger because you are not doing a repeat of last week and leaving the study session early because your laptop died. While you’re at it, you snag a few bags of chips, some fruit, and refill your water bottle to keep you energized for the rest of the day.

Hefting your backpack onto one shoulder, you grab your keys and open the door, only to catch the tail end of a piece of paper as it flutters to the floor. Huh, it must have gotten caught in the door jamb. Knowing your luck, it’s probably an advertisement or some weird pastor coming to proselytize, so you have every intention of tossing it in the trash later. You nudge the paper with the toe of your shoe so it slips inside – it’s a later problem and you are very much trying not to be late for your bus – only to stop when you spot something familiar.

There are numbers on the back, a phone number, though you don’t recognize it. But there’s something about the typeface and the background they’re stamped on… Kneeling down to pick it up, you turn the card over in your hand and are instantly flooded with nostalgia of the worst kind. The businesswoman, the ddakji, Gi-hun in all his righteous anger. Three simple shapes shouldn’t have this much power over you, but the instant you see it, you’re awash with fear.

Trembling hands go scrambling for your phone. “Pick up, pick up, dammit.”

You dial a second time and he answers after only two rings. “[___]-?”

“It’s them,” you gasp, your throat raw from the effort of holding your screams in. “The ddakji people, t-the business card! I opened my door and there was a card jammed in there.”

Even from across the city, you can sense the change in Gi-hun’s mood. It permeates the air until it’s vibrating between the atoms separating you both. “Are you safe?”

A quick scan of the surrounding hallway confirms that you are alone. “I’m okay. I’m still at my apartment, I haven’t left yet.”

“Lock your door and stay inside until I get there.”

“Okay,” you nod, already dragging yourself to your feet to follow his instructions. “D’you want me to–”

“Listen to me,” he grits out, and it’s achingly familiar to the night he had first come to your apartment, all his hardened edges and quiet desperation. “Grab whatever you need – clothes, homework, anything. Just be ready to go when I get there.”

Your breath stutters in your chest for a second. “Ready for what? What are you talking about?” As if you don’t already have an inkling nudging at the back of your mind, as if this is all just a bad dream that you can talk yourself out of.

“I’m getting you out of there.”

It should have been me.

But he was the one who put you in harm’s way, wasn’t he? Thinking he could swoop in and save you from a life of poverty and misery, patting himself on the back all the while because he had done a good deed. He had done what Oh Il-nam could not and helped someone who couldn’t help themselves.

The tires lose their traction for a few moments, accompanied with the high-pitched scream of the brakes when he slams on them. He very nearly takes out a street sign and another vehicle, but he doesn’t. Neither does he care. There is only one thing in the forefront of Gi-hun’s mind and until he sees you with his own eyes, safe and unharmed, he will not rest. He can’t. Because it should have been him.

He barges into your apartment minutes later with his pistol drawn, his heart slamming itself against his ribcage, his throat so tightly constricted that he thinks he might actively be choking, and your name is already breaching his lips.

“What are you doing?” he hears you screech. Immediately drawn to the sound, he turns his head, searching and searching until finally he sees you, curled up into a ball on your sofa with your things gathered around you just as he’d asked.

You had said that the apartment was empty, that there was no way anyone could have gotten inside while you were sleeping, and he knows that’s probably true. He trusts you’ve been using all the proper safety precautions. But that doesn’t change the facts – you are not safe and you never have been.

“Where is it?” he demands, already stuffing the pistol into his coat pocket as he surges toward you, but you cower before him. You’re afraid of him. You don’t know, you don’t understand, not yet, and he doesn’t have time to explain it to you. “The card, [___].”

“I-I tore it up,” you stammer. Your eyes are wide and wild and so painfully afraid, and it guts Gi-hun to the bone. “It’s in the trash–”

His fingers close around your wrist and pull. “Good. We need to go.”

And while you do stand at his beckoning, you don’t allow him to pull you further. Your feet dig into the carpet until you’re able to tear yourself free, and Gi-hun wishes that you would’ve chosen any other time to fight him, any other place except here and now.

“[___]–”

“You’re scaring me.” And he can see when he looks in your eyes that you mean it with every fiber of your being. “Why do you have a gun?”

Because the only power these monsters respect is the power of a bullet. But you don’t even know what kind of monsters you’re running from, do you? He never told you.

He never wanted to.

Gi-hun swallows the despair lodged in his throat. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

Your eyes flicker from his face to the ominous swell of fabric in his pocket, the gun that presses into his hipbone. “Okay. So, why do you have a gun.” This time, it isn’t a question.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” You don’t actually think he’s capable of that, do you?

“I… I didn’t think you were,” you answer, but he can see the uncertainty on your face, tainting your trust until it grows murky like blood in the bath water. “But you can’t just run into someone’s apartment with a gun in your hands. What if someone saw you?”

His teeth grind painfully together when he grimaces. You have so many questions, and you have a right to each of them, but now is not the time! “It’s alright. I’ll explain in the car, yes?” Your hesitation is reasonable, he has to remind himself. He can’t blame you for it. But oh, how badly he wants to shake you, how badly he wants to drill into your skull that every minute of hesitation is another mark on your death warrant. “Now, [___].”

He doesn’t let his shoulders unwind from around his ears until after he has you in the car, your bags stuffed into the back seat and the boot, your apartment far, far behind the both of you. You don’t look at him and Gi-hun tells himself, pretends, that it doesn’t bother him. You don’t understand yet, but you will. He’ll take you to the motel and tuck you into a room where you’re safe from the recruiters, from the game runners, from the world, and he will make you understand why this is so important, why you have to trust him.

Your head tips back when he pulls to a stop in front of the motel. Your confusion is as blatant as your uncertainty, both growing steadier and stronger with every passing moment. “What is this place?”

He shoulders one of your bags, a reusable canvas tote overflowing with clothes. One leg of your favorite trousers, the dark ones you always wear when it’s cold, is hanging over the side between the loops of the handle. It slaps harmlessly against his ribs when he walks.

“Pink Motel,” he offers. The gesture feels as useless as he does.

You furrow your brows at him and finally, he sees a glimmer of something other than fear in your eyes. He’s not terribly fond of you being angry with him, but he supposes it’s better than the alternative. Like your tear-stained face or your bloodied, lifeless body.

“Yeah, I see that.”

The padlock on the front doors clicks open. He decidedly doesn’t notice how your movements suddenly still when the security chains shudder and clank against the metal, heavy in his hands and even heavier in his heart.

“I just mean… why are we here?” The midday sun casts a shadow on your face. He tries not to notice that too. “How is this safer than my place?”

If he didn’t feel so guilty about being the reason you’re in danger in the first place, Gi-hun might have found it in himself to smile. He doesn’t, of course, but he thinks about it. Because there is some twisted piece of him that festers deep within the rotting cavern of his ribcage and it delights in knowing, in protecting, in providing, even in circumstances such as these.

He offers you his hand to help you up the single step. “I live here.”

“You don’t have an apartment?” You’re trying so hard not to sound surprised and to instead be polite about asking.

He guides you through the empty lobby, across dusty floors and rubbish leftover from an unfinished renovation, to the elevator, his hand hovering over your back. Not quite touching except in the spaces between moments when he thinks he can get away with it.

“The motel is mine,” he says, waiting until the elevator doors close to do so. He stares at the floor numbers, watching them tick by like seconds counting up, like money pouring into a display case, and he reminds himself to breathe. “I’ve been searching for the recruiters from here, keeping track of things.” Keeping track of you, too. Another fraying thread in the tapestry he has tried to weave out of bloodstained won and bullet casings.

“How long?” It seems a strange thing to ask until he realizes what you’re really wondering – how long has he been living out of an empty building where the lights rarely come on and no one is allowed entry except by the virtue of their discretion?

Since I met you. “A few years.”

Your knuckles tighten around the straps of your backpack. “Why?”

The elevator dings. The doors open to reveal a long hallway, painted in shades of pink and maroon and almost-black, dimly lit, and he suddenly realizes how just miserable he’s made his life. He hadn’t thought much of it before. But that changes the instant the light hits your face.

You don’t belong in a place like this. For as long as he has known you, Gi-hun has seen only hope and vitality in your eyes. You are the very thing he’s fighting for, the part of the world that he wants so desperately to protect from the predators running the Games. Bringing you here dampens that light. The illumination is cold and the walls are barren – a far cry from the warmth and welcome of your cozy apartment.

There’s no hope for a rundown old motel with no lights on inside, he thinks, with no guests to keep it warm, no hospitality to speak of beyond a few worn mattresses, a single functioning bathroom, and an entire armory tucked into the cracking walls. Yet this is all he can give. This is the only thing he can offer you.

It has to be enough. It will be.

“Sit,” he says, though he doesn’t even give you the time to respond. He grips you by the shoulders and directs you to the edge of his bed, pushing you down until your legs give way and the mattress accepts you with an undignified squeak.

“Gi-hun–”

He stops you with a raised hand, palm out and definitely not shaking. Not at all. “Do you remember what I told you about the recruiters?”

There’s a lump in your throat that bobs when you swallow and it makes Gi-hun feel uncomfortably warm, so he distracts himself, allowing you both the distance to think. The wooden chair by the coffee table is pulled out so he can sit across from you. His fingers curl around the slope of his knees while he waits.

The red glow behind the frosted glass of his only window casts a strange sort of halo around you from behind. “You said they were dangerous. That you were tracking them or something, right?”

He nods. “Yes. Them, and the people that they work for.”

“What kind of people do they work for?” The light from the bathroom, a faint yellow-orange, glints in the depths of your pupils. Like starlight, perhaps, or fire. Or the glow of a plexiglass pig, half-full with stacks of won and shining obnoxiously in the back of his mind whenever he sleeps.

Squeezing his eyes shut is the only thing he can do to keep from screaming.

“The recruiter I met was different. A man.” Tall and broad shouldered. He had smiled once or twice, in a way that wasn’t entirely threatening, but then he’d seen him after the airport. Then the smile had changed. “They approach people in need of money. Gamblers, fraudsters, unemployables – the vulnerable. They let you play a bit of ddakji, let the money sit in your pocket, and then they give you a card and tell you to call the number you see. That you can play even more games for even more money.”

If only he’d known then what he knows now.

“All that card will bring you, [___], is death.” He can feel it still – the blood on his hands, the marbles in his palm, the glass beneath his bare feet. And he can see them all, even with his eyes wide open. “They take you somewhere no one can find you and they make you kill other people for money. Every death is worth something. Every life is a dollar amount.”

Sang-woo’s face swims before him, filling the space that your body takes up in his vision. The knife in his throat, the rain in his face, the pain – the pain. That could have been you. If he’d never stepped in to save you from your own debts and student loans, would the recruiters have found you? Would you have found yourself trapped inside those arenas as he once was? Would you have died alone and afraid?

“I watched 455 people die before my eyes. My friend… My friend killed himself. He almost killed me.” He killed Sae-byok. Ali. The glassmaker. And perhaps, if you had been there, Sang-woo would have killed you too. He’s grateful that he’ll never have the chance to prove himself right or wrong. “I won’t let the same thing happen to you.”

Silence hangs between you for a long few minutes, thick enough to suffocate. In your eyes, Gi-hun sees the same horror he had once felt reflected back at him. You’re doubtful, of course, wary. He understands it. That had been him too, three and a half years ago.

He takes your hand in his, the one that’s been clutching at your bag like it’s the only lifeline you have left, and he smooths his thumb over the bones that shift beneath your skin. “I am trying to stop the Games. That’s why I live here, why I track the recruiters, why I told you that it was safer not to know me at all. I was afraid they would hurt you.” They haven’t yet, but tracking you to your apartment and shoving a recruitment card into your door jamb is a step too far. “But I can protect you here, [___]. Do you understand?”

You don’t respond and Gi-hun doesn’t like that. You can be quiet sometimes, yes, but rarely ever with him. He doesn’t want you quiet. He wants you alive, he wants you curious and clever like you always are.

He squeezes your hand and ducks his head down to catch your drifting eyes. “[___].”

Trust me.

Your head shakes after a moment, your expression distant in all the wrong ways. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you understand.” Say you trust me. Because he’s doing this for you. Don’t you trust me?

Long eyelashes flutter in Gi-hun’s shadow as he leans in, his silhouette falling across your face. “I’m trying to.”

He tries so hard to make his space comfortable for you, the effort is clearly carved into every line on his face. He gives you his room. He lays out the cleanest sheets and blanket that he has – you’re at least 75% sure they’ve been washed within the last month – and carries the rest of your things in from the car. He switches his pillow out for yours, though the difference in theme and color between your bedding and his is enough to make both of you laugh, and that is blessing enough. He crawls behind the bedframe to plug your charger into the wall. He encourages you to arrange the bathroom to your liking and swears that no matter how desperate he is, he won’t wake you in the middle of the night if he has to take a leak.

He tries and you love him dearly for it, but it’s impossible to turn this place into a home when it feels like the entire world is falling out from under your feet. You lay in a strange bed that night, your mind ablaze with images of ddakji games and bodies scattered in a formless void. You picture a faceless man, his unnamed friend, bleeding out and Gi-hun crying, screaming for help. You picture greed and rage mixing until they become indistinguishable from one another, and then you think of the man you’ve come to know these past few years, and you find the broken pieces of his kind heart and anxious mind suddenly come into focus.

455 people. How could such mindless death go unnoticed by the police? 455 people all worth a handful of cash. You’re not even sure how much money could go into such a thing, but if the cash flow Gi-hun has been supplying you with is anything to go by, it’s a lot. Hundreds of millions of won worth, maybe even more. And anyone with the power and money to design modern day gladiator games of that scale would surely be able to bribe whichever police department or federal jurisdiction they pleased.

And Gi-hun wants to stop it all.

It’s hard to imagine Gi-hun stopping much of anything apart from a crying college student in a back alley on Christmas night. But then, you’ve never seen him hold a gun before today. The gun changes things. So does the calling card.

You turn over onto your side, placing the expanse of the room behind you so you can stare at the red glow emanating from the other side of the window. You try very hard not to think about the blood of 455 lives. Instead, you focus on the things you can feel, the things you can sense, the things you know to be true beyond a shadow of a doubt.

You are alive. You are as safe as you can be, for the time being. You are in a strange place and a strange bed. It smells faintly of Gi-hun. You don’t usually like the smell of sweat and stale cologne, but in the midst of such uncertainty, you find that the familiarity of his scent is soothing. Pleasant, even. If you close your eyes, you can almost pretend he’s in bed with you. Not that you would ever want to, of course, because that would be weird, but is it so wrong to crave the comfort of an arm around your shoulders or the warmth of another soul after the day you’ve had?

You’re in the middle of trying to decide whether or not you should be chastising yourself when your phone buzzes. Glancing over your shoulder, you just catch the tail end of a name in your notifications before the screen goes dark again, and your heart leaps into your throat.

Rolling over onto your opposite side, you unlock the screen and read through the text. ‘Missed you for coffee earlier. Everything alright?’

Shit. You were so distracted by the business card and Gi-hun coming to whisk you away that you hadn’t even thought to warn Young-il that you weren’t coming. ‘Sorry, had a bit of an emergency at home. I hope I didn’t make you wait too long??’

‘Not at all.’

Your phone vibrates again a moment later, and you curse yourself for the way your face flushes and your pulse quickens. He’s just being polite, that’s the only reason he’s asking. That’s all this has ever been – polite – and truthfully, you’re not even sure you want it to be more than that, but sometimes his attentiveness makes you feel a bit gooey inside. He has this uncanny ability of always sensing when you’re upset and knowing exactly how to make you feel better… It’s endearing, to say the least, and a welcome distraction.

‘I’m okay, promise.’ You pause for a moment to find a believable excuse, Gi-hun’s earlier warning not to tell any of your friends about your temporary relocation ringing in your ears. ‘Family drama, you know how it is. I’m really sorry I ditched you though :(’

‘Will I see you tomorrow?’

The words turn over and over in your mind until the screen finally goes dark. He wants to see you – to make up for the lost time? To check on you? Yes, you want to say. I don’t want to be trapped in here like a rabbit in a cage. But then you think of the card wedged into your doorframe and the gun in Gi-hun’s hand, and you think of the 455 lives lost so that he might live, and you think that maybe the outside world can wait one more day.

‘Probably not, unfortunately. Next week might be better.’ Next week, you might have the courage to go outside without fearing for your life, among other things.

Young-il’s response warms your heart more than it probably should. ‘Keep me updated. If there’s anything I can do to help, please tell me.’

Well unless he can magic away the impending threat of a series of death games, there’s not much he can do to help you. The thought is still appreciated.

You sleep fitfully, waking every couple of hours in a dead sweat, heart racing, and terror in your bones. There’s so much you don’t understand. Too many unknowns crowd your mind and leave you restless, shaky, and paranoid. Did Gi-hun kill people? He must have in order to make it out of those games alive. Does he feel guilty for it? Is that why he chose you, to atone somehow? Old anxieties from the first year of your friendship are starting to creep back in, tinted in shades of violence. You trust Gi-hun, really you do, but the gun, the padlocked motel, the wall of security cameras blinking at you from across the room – none of it inspires any confidence.

Normal people don’t do this kind of thing. Normal people don’t burst into your apartment with a pistol in hand and wild, blazing eyes. Normal people don’t stalk strangers in business attire. Normal people make you feel safe, they take you out for coffee and smile when you crack a joke.

But perhaps you lost the right to normality the day you decided to accept several thousand won and a phone number from a stranger.

It’s been years since he last shared his bed with anyone. There was the occasional winter night where it was too cold to sleep alone and he’d crawled under the blanket beside his mother, huddled together in their shared apartment like children. Before that, he’d shared a bed with his wife. Sometimes Ga-yeong would climb in to sleep between them and he’d soothe his hand over her face, chasing her nightmares away with promises of her favorite dumplings and a bad scolding for the monsters in her closet.

After the Games, it was a concept that made little sense in the context of his new normal. He knew he would never share his bed, let alone his life, with another soul for however long he managed to stumble through this mortal coil. So sharing a bed with you is… difficult. Strange. Not that he is truly sharing the bed with you – it’s yours now, for as long as you’re here, but the memory of that bed is all him. His sweat and tears have stained its fabric for years now. The ashes from a few of his cigarettes have burned spots into the edges. His dreams have overpowered him in that bed. His anger, his fears, his carefully constructed plans all formulated on that bed. And now you’re sleeping on it, unconsciously sharing every piece of him that has soaked into the mattress.

Some invisible hand squeezes around his heart. The sudden need to shift the waistband of his trousers confuses him, but he’s careful to turn his back when he does. The last thing he needs is for you to wake up and catch him doing something inappropriate while you sleep. Not that he’s actually doing something wrong, because he’s not. It’s muscle memory, he tells himself. A remnant of a life he can no longer live come back to haunt him at the most inopportune of moments and nothing more.

He takes the opportunity to study the security cameras, as had been his original intent, and is pleased to see that everything looks normal. No pink soldiers laden with guns, no game runner and no sleek limo parked out front. No recruiters breaking the door down to get at you.

Gi-hun sighs. He’s content to have you under his eye because it means he can keep you safe, but it comes with a price he’s hesitant to pay. The recruiters are still out there. Jeong-rae is a capable man, of that he has no doubt, but paranoia prickles at the base of his skull when he isn’t out on the front lines himself.

But he can’t just leave you here. Locking the front doors wouldn’t be enough to convince him that you would be safe in his absence and he isn’t about to padlock you in like a prisoner. He can’t give you a gun, either, not yet. He’s not even sure you know how to use one and you may not want to learn.

Then he remembers you sitting in the car yesterday, your backpack clutched against your chest, your face pinched with confusion. He swallows the pressure rising in his throat. He could always take you with him. He isn’t terribly fond of welcoming you into his world because it’s not meant for someone like you, that’s the entire reason why he’s kept you at arm’s length for so long, but the longer he ponders, the more he realizes that a compromise needs to be reached. The recruiters are his priority, but so are you. Can he truly manage both?

“I want to show you what I do,” he says when he extends the offer some hours later, already far beyond his usual starting time. He hadn’t had the heart to wake you any sooner. The offer is also the most blatant lie he’s ever told you. It’s the very last thing he wants to do, but he knows that making you choose between glorified house arrest and a chaperoned car ride isn’t going to endear him to you. “So you can understand.”

Your responding frown is remarkably unencouraging. “Is it dangerous?”

“No,” he lies. The handgun tucked into the back of his waistband burns against his spine.

This time your face shifts and it makes something in Gi-hun’s stomach twist. “Do I have a choice?”

“You are not a prisoner here,” he says, and that, at least, is true. He would never force you into anything you didn’t want. If it came down to your safety, though, he thinks he might be inclined to be more persuasive than he usually is. He doesn’t want to think about that, but the potential of your betrayal lingers in his head and his heart. “I’m sorry if I made you think that you were.”

How he wishes he could turn back the clock and do things over. He wouldn’t have rushed you with a gun in his hands. He wouldn’t have frightened you. He would have made sure none of this ever happened. Until he learns to bend the shape of reality to his will, however, he will settle for this – your hand within his, warm and pliant and safe.

It takes you a few minutes to come out of your shell, but Gi-hun is grateful for the effort. He’s unaccustomed to your shyness. He much prefers you when you’re like this – asking questions, eyes alight with curiosity, daring to smile in the moments when you think he can’t see.

“Four cell phones is a lot, you know. I really think you just need one.”

Gi-hun feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “I’m trying to be thorough.” He flicks the ash off his cigarette and watches it catch on the wind for a moment before taking a long drag.

“Thorough is… certainly a word.”

You think he’s obsessed. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out and maybe you aren’t wrong. Maybe this stopped being a mission a long time ago and it’s turned into something more severe.

He flicks his cigarette again.

An obsession. A gamble, even. Perhaps so, but it’s a gamble he’s willing to take if it means he can sleep at night, if it means that you and every other vulnerable person walking the streets of Korea are safe.

“So… you do this every day?” There’s a notable vulnerability to your voice, like you’re hesitant to ask and even more hesitant to know the answer.

“Most days,” he nods.

“And you haven’t found them yet?”

Ironic, isn’t it? The recruiters always seem able to find him at their leisure, but Gi-hun can pour millions and millions of won into his search and still turn up empty handed after two and a half fucking years.

He scans the five screens displayed across his dash, checks and double checks each chat box, surveys the map of the subway system that he’s sure, by now, is burned into his retinas. Nothing. Time is running out and still, there’s nothing. If you hadn’t awakened to find a business card stuffed into your door, he might almost think that the Games have ended. Too little funding, maybe, or too few players, but he knows that’s a fool’s hope. The Games are alive and he has to put a stop to it.

“What will you do when you find them? The recruiters, I mean.” Your foot taps lightly on the belly of the car.

Honestly? He isn’t entirely certain. Sometimes he fantasizes about drawing blood – one life in exchange for the 455 lost. Sometimes he thinks he’ll use them as a hostage. He could get the game runner’s attention and demand something. Sometimes he thinks about meeting his recruiter on the squid game field, defeating the man who had doomed Gi-hun to either a brief existence or a tortured one, and finally exacting his revenge.

Right now, though, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t even know if there’s a point in hoping or fighting anymore.

“I want to find the ones responsible for the Games,” he says finally. Smoke burns in his lungs and the sun warms his skin until he’s sweating, and he’s glad for it because it means this indecisive, in-between existence isn’t some kind of waking nightmare. “I’m going to put a stop to this, one way or the other. And their recruiters are the only way I know how.”

You can’t seem to find anything to say to that, and Gi-hun doesn’t know what more he can add that hasn’t already been uttered. Silence settles between you, uneasy perhaps, but not entirely unwelcome. It allows Gi-hun the chance to think, to plan and plot and strategize. With you by his side, no matter how temporary, he finds that the drive to continue fighting comes a bit easier. The memories don’t weigh on him so heavily.

He will find them. It’s no longer a question of if or when. If it takes the rest of his life, he will fight to uncover the corruption and the greed and the sick, twisted desires of men far less tortured than he is. And until that day comes, Gi-hun is going to protect you. He’ll even teach you how to protect yourself so that when he dies with a bullet in his brain, you can keep fighting for all the things he sees in you, all the light you bring to his windowless world.

“Like this,” he instructs, twisting his arms so you can see the shape of his hands and the gun nestled between them. “Keep your finger on the outside of the trigger. If you keep it inside, you might fire before you’re ready and hurt yourself.” He’d learned that lesson the hard way when he almost shot his own foot off about a year ago.

Your mouth is twisted in concentration, your eyes laser focused on his hands as you attempt to copy his position. Your trigger finger carefully shifts and then the butt of the gun is readjusted so it fits more snugly in your palm.

Gi-hun nods approvingly. “Good. How does it feel?”

“Heavy.”

His chest tightens. “Too heavy?”

“No. It’s just different, is all.” The light glances off the cool, matte black exterior as you tilt your hands one way, then the other. “I thought it’d be lighter.”

You’re probably fine – in fact, he knows that you are, but he can’t help the spike of anxiety, the burning need to make things perfect for you, easy for you. “There are smaller ones,” he says as he drops his weapon, already turning his attention to the makeshift arsenal and the array of pistols, revolvers, and derringers on the wall.

You shake your head as he passes. “I’m okay.”

A derringer might be better suited for you. It’s much lighter than the pistol already in your hand, so the recoil won’t be as intense.

“Gi-hun. Gi–”

He steps back into the bathroom, toggling the light switch as he surveys the variants. Which one would fit in your hands just right? The derringers are small, yes, but he worries they won’t be powerful enough to stop an advancing attack. A revolver instead, then. He’s just about to pick one when he hears your gun go off.

His blood runs cold, then violently hot. He damn near trips over himself, nearly throwing himself through the wall, in his rush to find you, too preoccupied with the thought of you hurting yourself because you were too impatient and too stubborn to wait for him, too preoccupied to think of anything more than the gush of your blood and the panic in your eyes.

He sees the smoke trailing from the mouth of your gun, then the slight wobble of your hands. He calls your name, and then you fire three more rounds, each one carefully aimed and measured between by the steady rise and fall of your chest.

Four shots in total. Two of them made it onto the target and close enough to the center of each shape that Gi-hun might have been mildly impressed were he not already struggling to breathe. You, on the other hand, are elated. It’s clear in the way your shoulders unwind and your chin tilts up, how your eyes flicker excitedly in his direction.

“Can I try again?” you ask, and he’s bowed over by the weight of your breathless enthusiasm.

In the years he’s known you, not once could Gi-hun have ever guessed you might actually enjoy this. But you do. With every round fired, your aim grows sharper and your confidence stronger. Pride settles within your chest and flares out across your shoulders. He has to correct you a couple times – “feet like this,” he’ll urge you with a quick demonstration; “shoulders back,” he murmurs, tapping you lightly on the upper curve of your arm – but you take to each direction with a nod or a hum and you transfer it into a hundred rounds buried in the splinters of the far wall. He's never been prouder in his life.

It becomes a new habit, even after you’ve convinced him to return you to your apartment and your scent has faded from his bed. You go about your life, doing whatever it is young people like you do in the summers between courses, and he goes about his, tracking a man who doesn’t want to be found, but the weekends are yours and his. He picks you up in the morning (or early afternoon, more often than not), buys you a cheap cup of ramyeon from the corner store, and drives you to the motel so you can practice your aim.

He doesn’t have to keep correcting you by this point, but he still does sometimes. He likes being close to you, likes watching the way your hair shines in the light and your jaw sets in determination, how your body stills when he touches you. He likes it so much that he thinks about it when he can’t sleep (which is most nights), or when he’s out on his watch and can’t focus (which is most days now), or when he studies the photos Jeong-rae sends him each week to confirm that you are, in fact, alive and safe within the walls of your apartment.

For so long he had feared tainting you, carving your kindness from your bones if he so much as looked at you and you caught a glimpse of all the death that hides behind his eyes. What would happen to the too-trusting and unassuming college student he met on the street, crying to an alley cat about your troubles, if he let you see the misery that’s been eating him alive? The violence?

But you aren’t tainted. It’s strange to say it, but Gi-hun thinks he might actually prefer the person you’ve become. Fear doesn’t come to you as readily. You still won’t accept any weapons from him, and he still hesitates to offer them, but you’ve become familiar enough with their presence to no longer worry over what-if’s and might-be’s.

So no, he hasn’t tainted you. Perhaps he has somehow managed to make you stronger. And perhaps he can learn to be okay with that.

[kairismess]

Omg I just saw a tiktok and it was the cutest thing ever! Okay so this girl goes up to her fiancé after his game (the like meet n greet or whatever) and acts like his fangirl! Could I get something like that for Atsumu please? (You don’t have to but thank you if you do <33333)

well hello, pretty stranger.

after atsumu signed yet another one of his fan's merchandise of him, he took in a deep breath and tried to brace himself for another round of smiling nonstop and acting all charming, like how his fans think of him as. it does get suffocating after a while of this, all he can imagine of to keep himself sane and from teetering at his wits' end is by dreaming of coming home in a few hours, laying down on your lap, and being treated to a night long full of loving between you two.

as he's stuck day dreaming about you, the next person in line comes up; with her excusing herself to him to catch his attention as he sat there, in a bit of a daze, imaging how soft your lap would be and how much he just wants to get this over with already so he can smother you with his affection.

he soon snaps out of his gaze when she waves her hand in front of his face a little, catching his attention. he quite literally snaps out of it, his back jolting in surprise as he gains sobriety once more and realizes just where he is and what he was doing before dreaming of you and your embrace. he chuckles and rubs the back of his head, an embarrassed smile on his face as he apologizes for not noticing her earlier.

he doesn't look at her face yet, but he politely takes the jersey she handed to him to sign, but for some reason, the feel of the jersey was... familiar. the smile fades from his lips as he looks over the clothing she handed him, seeing the number on the jersey was the same as his, but on the back, the words, "mrs. miya" were printed on them. it was then that atsumu realized... you came to his signing, you came to his meet and greet today.

all his wishes came true much earlier than he thought, and when atsumu looked up, his suspicions were confirmed. "um... are you okay, mr. miya?" you ask him with a shy, yet awfully knowing, smile; making atsumu do a double take and pause for a minute to collect his thoughts. he nodded and gave you a beaming smile. "yep! ...never been better." he muttered as he signed your jersey, taking all his time to let this moment with the woman he'd spend the rest of his life with in a few months linger for just a split second longer.

when you thank him and take the jersey back from him, he sneakily wraps his calloused hands around your wrist, gently pulling you close to him as he whispers in your ear, "thanks for saving my ass and sanity, babe. i love ya." and when he relinquished his grip on your wrists, leaving you flustered and unable to return his 'i love you', he looked to you from the side as you were about to leave and wait for him somewhere in the building, sending you a genuine smile of gratitude, and a wink your way. he couldn't wait to officially make you his mrs. miya in the future... you gave him enough energy and excitement to last 50 more of these meet and greets for one whole sitting!

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 7

part 1 | part 6 | chapter 1 on ao3

cw: panic attack, ptsd flashback to minor character death, graphic depictions of… food? lol

Dinner is exactly as chaotic as Steve expected it to be. He and Claudia take opposite end seats with a glass of red wine each, and the kids take the middle and start acting like a pack of caffeinated raccoons: talking over each other, scraping forks against plates, stretching their entire upper bodies across the table and dragging their sleeves through the side dishes instead of just asking someone to pass them the butter; Steve’s starting to wonder if any of these kids have ever eaten at a table before, or if they maybe just wandered in from the surrounding woods. Feral asses.

When they do start asking for things, he regrets wishing they would, because Lucas goes “Erica, can you pass me the salt?” and Erica sneers “I don’t know, can I?” and Mike jabs “Whatever; nobody says ‘may’ anymore, you dork” and Claudia gasps “Michael!” and it all escalates from there until Dustin tries to catapult lasagna off the end of his fork and hits Steve in the side of the head with a glob of warm cheese.

Silence falls around the room.

The cheese plops onto his plate.

“Sh-ii-it,” Dustin breathes, face stuck in wide-eyed shock.

Steve gives Claudia an imploring look.

“Why don’t we clear the table for dessert?”

The commotion starts up again in double time, everyone scrambling to clean up and clear the room before Steve starts bitching about them messing up his hair (and his plate, and his clothes, because the cheese splash sent a spray of little tomato sauce droplets splattering all over him, and isn’t that just perfect; he’s gonna have to hand-scrub the stain out of his khakis), so it’s just him and Dustin left when Dustin’s elbow catches and tips over his wine.

The liquid spills onto his plate: dark, and red, oozing into the uneaten scraps of sauce and cheese and pasta to form a viscous, fleshy sludge. Red like his dad’s office, like his father’s mangled thigh, and it’s just food it’s just food it’s not blood it’s not blood but he can’t fucking breathe, can’t hearing anything beyond the wet, gasping sounds his dad made the night he died, and then he realizes that he’s making them, mouth moving fruitlessly around air that won’t pass, trapped in the bottleneck of his choked-off windpipe.

“Steve?” Dustin asks, and his voice sounds far away. “Shit, shit, Steve! Can you hear me? Are you choking? I know the Heimlich, just- just hold on!”

He snaps out of it when Dustin pulls him halfway from his chair, gets his fists under his ribs and all but punches the air from his lungs. It sets off a nasty coughing fit that leaves Steve snotty and ready to hurl, and he braces himself with his forearms on his knees and stares hard at the ground until the hacking finally stops.

There’s a scuff on his sneakers.

He can’t replace them any time soon.

A moment to catch his breath, and Dustin’s shaking him by the shoulders. “Are you okay??”

Steve keeps his head bowed. “Yeah.” He needs to get the fuck out of here. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He rises from his chair, grateful that everyone else already cleared out before they could witness his little moment, that the blare of the TV from the family room covered the sound of his retching coughs; more grateful still that they won’t notice him now, scampering out of here with his tail between his legs. “Hey listen, man, I’m not feeling so well,” he says absently, fishing his keys from the pocket of his jeans. “Can you get your mom to drive everyone home?”

“Shouldn’t you stay?” Dustin frowns in concern. “If you’re sick? You can go lie down in my room or something, it’s—”

“—Nah, man; I mean, thanks, but…” His hand trembles around his keys, the muscles in his calves screaming bolt, bolt, bolt. “I just- I gotta go.”

He makes a break for it, rushing out the side door so no one else will see him leave (and he knows it’s fucking rude to head out without saying goodbye, but he’s also pretty convinced he’s going to combust if he doesn’t go right now.) “Tell your mom I said thanks, okay?”

“Tell her yourself!” Dustin chases after him, clumsy and slow across the darkened yard. “Dude, will you slow down? Talk to me!”

Steve throws himself into his car like there’s a demodog on his heels. “I’ll call you!”

“What the fuck!” Dustin shouts, but Steve’s already gone.

—

part 8

tagging a few people i know have been following along 🩷 @slowandsteddie @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @pennyplainknits @ledleaf @hellion-child @formosusiniquis @missjashin @runninriot @xpaperheartso @steddieas-shegoes

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 5: LIVE FOR A CENTURY, LEARN FOR A CENTURY

synopsis: you get hurt while chasing down another deviant. connor is introduced to your cat.

word count: 3.7k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: i literally got into the most minor car accident ever (like, not even a fender bender. no one got hurt) and i couldn't sleep because i felt so shitty so that's why i'm posting at this ungodly hour (read: 6:30 am) 😭😭

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The elevator shifts and jolts under your feet as it ascends. You catch yourself and splay a hand out on the wall to keep yourself from falling. 

“Fucking hate this,” you mumble. “Reminds me of the busted-up khrushchyovka I lived in just outside of St. Petersburg.”

“Was it in the ghetto?” Hank asks from the opposite side of the elevator.

“A slum, more like,” you say. “We don’t have ghettos. Not like here.”

You’re surprised Connor didn’t ask anything about the khrushchyovka. Instead, he’s just standing there, his eyes closed and idling.

The elevator dings, and you open the gate, letting you and Hank out. There isn’t a set of footsteps behind you as you walk. 

Hank stops in front of you, looking behind you. You follow Hank’s eyes. Connor’s still idling, his eyes still closed. 

“Hey, Connor!” Hank calls. “You run outta batteries or what?”

Connor’s eyes snap open, then he takes in his surroundings, realizing the elevator ride is over. “I’m sorry. I was making a report to CyberLife.”

“Huh,” Hank hums. Connor continues to idle. 

You smile. “Are you planning on staying in the elevator?”

“No!” He replies, almost indignant. “I’m coming.”

You laugh under your breath and turn to walk down the hall, not missing the look Hank gives you when he hears the emotion in Connor’s voice. 

Hank follows, looking at the chipped paint on the walls and the once-boarded-up windows. “What do we know about this guy?”

“Not much,” Connor says. “Just that a neighbor reported that he heard strange noises coming from this floor. Nobody’s supposed to be living here, but the neighbor said he saw a man hiding an LED under his cap.”

“Oh, Christ,” Hank groans. “If we have to investigate every time someone hears a strange noise, we’re gonna need more cops!”

You come to a stop outside of the door of the suspect’s apartment, double-checking the floor and apartment number. Hank stands beside you, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey, were you really making a report back there in the elevator?” Hank asks. “Just by closing your eyes?”

“Correct,” Connor says. 

“Shit…” Hank mumbles. “Wish I could do that.”

“You could, if you had augmentations,” you say as you look through the peephole. “Not my kind, though. Mine are relatively unintrusive. What I’m talking about is some extreme jack-jaw or port-wrist shit.”

“Whatever.” Hank huffs.

You pull away from the door and sigh. “The peephole’s blocked.”

Connor takes your place and knocks on the door. “Anybody home?”

No response.

He knocks harder, basically banging his fist against the wood. “Open up! Detroit Police!”

There’s sounds from inside. A banging, something falling, frantic footsteps.

Hank immediately takes a step back, drawing his gun. “Stay behind me.”

You backpedal, and Connor holds out an arm to gauge where you are. It brushes against your midsection, like he’s making sure you’re behind him and safe.

Hank hoists a leg and kicks the door down. He points his gun forward as he slowly moves inside, checking corners and doors. 

Connor follows him, and you trail after. Hank busts through the last door, causing a cascade of pigeons to fly out. 

“What the fuck is this?!” Hank shouts. 

You and Connor move after him, entering the apartment. The rank smell of uncleaned bird shit immediately assaults your senses, causing you to cough despite yourself.

“What in the…?” You look around the apartment. Precisely-drawn mazes cover the walls, and pigeons and their mess covers the floor. They hoo and purr amongst themselves, looking at you, Hank, and Connor like you were the ones who didn’t belong here.

“Looks like we came for nothin’,” Hank calls from the other room. “Our man’s gone.”

“Well, we came all this way,” you say. “Let’s at least have a look around.”

You step closer to the wall, looking up at the maze drawn on it. Your eyes trace it – it’s hexagonal, and doesn’t seem to have any exit.

“Any ideas?” Hank says. 

“No,” you say. “But he’s definitely an android. No human is this precise. There’s not even a wiggle in the lines or any stray marks.”

“I’ve found something,” Connor calls from the bathroom. 

You lean into the doorway. “What, did he leave an expensive shampoo or something? I’m running out.”

“No,” Connor says. He moves to the side, revealing the obsessive writing covering the wall. 

“rA9,” he continues. “Written 2471 times. It’s the same sign Ortiz’s android wrote on the shower wall. Why are they obsessed with this sign…?”

“Could be superstition,” you say. “Even if it seems a bit silly. My mother rejected my father’s proposal just because it was on the eighteenth of May – it’s simply bad luck to do any act of romance on the eighteenth of any month. She accepted the next day, just as the clock hit 12:01 AM.”

“Huh. That’s an odd thing to do.” Connor turns to the sink and picks something up. 

“It’s superstition. Sometimes it doesn’t make sense.” You shrug. “What’ve you got there?”

“An LED,” Connor says. “It was deactivated just hours ago.”

“So the suspect could’ve known we were coming,” you say. “Or knew he fucked up somehow.”

“Officer, you keep referring to androids with gendered pronouns,” Connor says. “You do know androids don’t have sexes, right?”

“I know.” You shrug. “It’s just hard to call something that walks, talks, acts like a human an it. It feels… dehumanizing. Even if they’re not human.”

You level with Connor’s almost-unblinking gaze. “I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not a sympathizer,” you lie.

You pull away from the doorway, instead looking across the apartment again. You join Hank in peering around, half-assedly investigating. A poster catches your eye – one for the United Farms of Detroit. It’s a union of some sort, you think. 

“You Soviets love your unions,” Hank says from somewhere behind you.

“After the Great Purge, we couldn’t take any chances.” You sigh, running a finger along the edge of the poster. “Stalin fucked up a lot of the USSR. But we bounced back. We always do.”

The poster flutters in the wake of your touch, and the corner curls in on itself. You gasp softly as a crack in the wall turns out to be a hole. 

You pull the poster off completely, revealing the hole in the wall in its entirety. A journal sits neatly, nestled right next to a small box of .357 Magnum bullets. You flick it open, and inside, is a myriad of jumbles and mirrors of the mazes drawn on the wall. 

“Found something?” Hank asks. 

“Bullets for a revolver,” you say. “And a journal, but… it’s encrypted.”

You feel a brush against your elbow – soft, but far too solid to be ignored. You gasp and turn, only to see Connor.

“Боже!” You put a hand on your chest. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“I apologize, Officer,” Connor says. “May I see the journal?”

“I, uh… yeah,” you manage to squeak out. You’d take a step back, but your back is basically half a foot away from being flush against the wall.

Connor takes the journal from your hands, flicking through it just as you did. He shows no signs of moving, so you squeeze past him, a nervous hand on his upper arm. 

“Sorry,” you whisper as you move past. You can feel your face warm as your front brushes his side and internally curse yourself for being so easily affected. 

“You’re right,” Connor says. “It doesn’t match any codes I have in my database. This is a unique script.”

He tucks the journal in one of his inner jacket pockets and turns to investigate the apartment further. You watch as his eyes turn to the ceiling. 

“Is that a hole in the ceiling?” You ask. “This place really is falling apart.”

Suddenly, something drops from the hole and sends Connor crashing to the floor. It takes a second to register that it’s a person – or, android, rather. By that time, he’s already run out through the front door. 

Connor immediately books it after the suspect, disappearing around the corner. You immediately take after them despite being slow and human.

“He might have a gun!” You call after Connor.

“It does!” He calls back. 

Sure enough, you can see a revolver in the android’s hand. He points back and takes a blind potshot that misses both of you entirely. 

You count in your mind: five bullets left. 

You run across the roof, through greenhouses and over scaffolding. All the while, you count the gunshots: four – three – two. 

You come to a screeching halt on the edge of a roof, just watching in shock as Connor jumps from a moving train to another roof. “Твою ж мать!”

“That way!” Hank calls from behind you, out of breath and panting. “The right!”

You break for the scaffolding that connects the two buildings, trying to get ahead. You cut through a building, legs burning as you take the stairs. You burst through the roof exit, and –

Another body immediately collides into yours, and you close your arms around it on instinct. They throw their head back, hitting your nose with a sickening crack. You grunt and your eyes water, but you don’t let go. 

What does make you let go is the shocking, electric feeling of something happening to your leg. Your ears ring and you can’t hear your own scream as you collapse, cradling your calf. 

You can feel your lips forming curses, feel your vocal cords vibrate as you sputter and cry out. A hand comes to your back, warm and rough and one you recognize as Hank’s.

You can just barely hear him say “Hands off, hands off!” and pull your hands away from the entry wound. You can only faintly translate his words in your mind, but you know every word that leaves your lips is Russian. Thirium spills out and Hank desperately tries to keep it in. 

Through your blurred vision, you can see Connor turn the corner. You point after where the deviant went, sputtering “Одна пуля! У него только одна пуля!”

He nods and disappears after him in a blur of moving limbs and blue highlights. 

You try to adjust your position to watch him, but a jolt of pain runs up your leg and into your spine. “Блять – Hank!”

“It’s okay, I got you, kid.” He takes a handkerchief from the inside of his jacket, bunching up your pant leg and tying a makeshift tourniquet. 

Another gunshot rings out, and there’s the sound of a body falling to the ground. You grab Hank’s hand, stammering out “Connor! See Connor!”

He understands your kind-of-broken English and moves to the edge of the roof, looking over the edge. “It’s okay. The deviant killed itself, not Connor.”

You slump down, your back hitting the hard concrete. You sigh and close your eyes. “Слава богу.”

Hank kneels by your side and gently jostles your shoulder. “How come you never told me you had a prosthetic?”

You open your eyes and look up at him, slightly delirious from shock. “Ты ж ненавидишь андроидов. You hate androids.”

“Yeah, but I don’t hate you,” Hank says. He pats your hand, then stands. “C’mon. Let’s get you up and movin’.”

You sit up and let him move you, supporting you with an arm around your middle. “You’re real fuckin’ stupid sometimes, y’know that?”

“I know, Lieutenant.”

“Officer, please,” Connor says. “I insist that I at least be present while you repair yourself.”

You reach up into the cabinet and push jars of pickling mushrooms and cucumbers aside to find your spare parts. “Connor, I’ll be okay. I was just in shock earlier, and my nose has already been set.”

You pull your toolbox down and start to lay out what you need on the breakfast table. “Besides, I have a cat. She’s somewhere around the apartment. Don’t you like dogs?”

“I can tolerate cats,” Connor says. 

You lay down a towel on the table, then sit and hoist your calf onto the towel. “Well, she probably won’t tolerate you.”

Connor pulls up a chair next to you, eyeing the damage to your leg. He pulls off his blazer and drapes it on the back of the chair, then rolls up his sleeves. “At least let me supervise the repairs.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “Supervise all you want.”

You pick up a soldering iron and switch on the heating component. You gently pry a piece of metal away from your prosthetic, then cut it loose with the iron.

“Your hands are shaking,” Connor says. 

“No, they’re not,” you snap. Then, you pause and realize that he’s right. “I… okay. What do you want me to do about it?”

“Let me do the repairs.” He leans an elbow on the table and leans closer to you. “I’m an android, so you can trust me to be perfectly precise. If I mess up, I promise I’ll let you take over.”

You sigh and hand over the soldering iron. Connor takes it in one hand and steadies your leg with the other. You breathe out slowly, shakily at the touch. 

To his credit, his movements are smooth and precise. All of his concentration is focused on what he’s doing right now. 

After a few minutes, you quietly ask, “Why are you doing this?”

“It would be…” Connor pauses. “Detrimental if you weren’t able to accompany me and Hank on further cases. Less-than-ideal repairs could possibly cause worse damage than what was there initially.”

“Right,” you say softly. 

“May I ask you a question, Officer?” Connor asks, still concentrating. 

“Yeah,” you say. “What is it?”

“You acted like you were in… pain when your prosthetic got shot,” Connor says. “Why was that?”

“Phantom limb phenomenon,” you say. “Everything happened too quickly. My brain remembered what it should be feeling. So it just replayed the… the memory of…”

You look away, out the window. You swallow thickly, suppressing your words. Connor doesn’t need to know this. “Nevermind.”

“The memory of what, Officer?” Connor prompts. 

“Nothing,” you say. “It’s nothing.”

You can see Connor glance at you out of the corner of your eye. He then looks away, instead focusing on the repairs. 

Your eyes catch a flicker of movement in the hallway. It’s a small head and two pointed ears, peeking out of the doorway to your bedroom. Two green eyes, dilated in the low light, blink slowly at you. 

“Бронислава,” you say softly. Her ears perk up in response to hearing her name.

“Bronislava?” Connor parrots. 

You point down the hall. “My cat. She’s shy.”

Connor lifts the soldering iron and looks over his shoulder. As soon as Bronislava registers his eyes on her, she darts back into the room. 

“She’ll come around,” you say. “She was the same way with Hank.”

Connor turns back to your calf. He’s nearly done with the internal work. 

“How are you so good at that?” You ask. “Have you done this before?”

“No,” Connor says. “I just have an intricate knowledge of android parts and biocomponents.”

“That inspires confidence,” you mumble.

Connor huffs out a laugh. “I heard that.”

You lean back in your chair and adjust yourself, your knee knocking against Connor’s. “No, you didn’t.”

You smile to yourself as you replay the sound of Connor’s under-the-breath laugh in your mind. It was nice, even if it only lasted for a second. A weird feeling settles in your chest, like there’s something wrong with your diaphragm. 

“Are you okay, Officer?” Connor asks. “I detect an elevated heart rate and increased rate of breathing.”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Just excited to get my repairs done, is all. I’ve done this enough times to know you’re almost done with the internals.”

“Hm.” Connor hums, then continues his work. You take the opportunity to take in his bare arms – it’s a rare sight. There really isn’t anything out of the ordinary about his forearms, no scars or blemishes, but you still appreciate it. 

Connor breaks into your line of thought. “May I ask you another question?”

“Yeah?” You say.

“It’s about Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor says. “Why does he hate androids so much?”

You feel your stomach sink. You look away and sigh sharply. “I’m not at liberty to answer that question.”

Connor stays silent this time. You’re kind of thankful for that. 

Bronislava peeks her head out of the doorway again, her eyes on Connor. You smile to yourself as you hear the bell on her collar just barely jingle. “Don’t look now, but Бронислава is looking at you. She’s curious.”

“Why is she curious about me?” Connor asks. 

“I don’t bring a lot of people back to my apartment,” you say. “I try to keep my work life and private life as separate as possible.”

You lean down a little and tap at one of the legs of your chair, then snap your fingers and click your tongue. “Бронислава! Иди сюда, детка.”

She lets out a soft, sort-of meow and rubs her cheek against the doorway. You laugh and coo, snapping your fingers again. “Сюда, девочка!”

“Does she only respond to Russian?” Connor asks. 

“Mostly,” you say. “She just responds better than English. Maybe it’s the way my voice changes when I speak Russian.”

You glance over at Connor. “Do you… know Russian?”

“I have a built-in translator,” Connor says. “But I haven’t spoken Russian before.”

“Try,” you say. “Repeat after me: Бронислава! Сюда, девочка!”

“брани–бранислава,” he tries in a sing-song tone. “Сюда, девочка.”

No, he doesn’t roll his r’s or pronounce the words quite right, but it still sparks a bloom of warmth in your chest. You bite the inside of your lip to keep from smiling.

Bronislava peeks further out, her paws on the hardwood floor instead of the carpet of the bedroom she came from. Her bell sounds, soft and tinkling.

“She might like your voice,” you say. 

When you glance at Connor, he’s smiling. Then, you look down at your leg – he’s nearly done sealing the externals. The white plastic is slowly fading away, replaced by a wave of color matching your skin tone. 

“How much longer?” You ask.

“Twenty-seven seconds,” Connor responds.

You sit back and watch Bronislava tentatively sniff the air as Connor finishes up. Her whiskers twitch and her mouth opens as she takes in Connor’s new, intrusive smell.

Connor smoothes his hand over your leg. “I’m done.”

You shiver slightly at the contact and pull your leg away, instead drawing your knee to your chest and resting your foot on the chair. You take the towel and wipe your leg of spilled Thirium, then hand it to Connor so he can wipe his hands.

“Look at Бронислава,” you say softly. “But don’t make it obvious.”

Connor slowly cranes his neck, looking down the hallway out of the corner of his eye. His face lights up a little when Brotislava comes into his view.

“Ah,” he says. “I see her.”

As soon as Bronislava sees that Connor’s eyes are on her again, she retreats back to the safety of the bedroom. 

“Damn,” you huff. You stand, trying out Connor’s repair. You lean a little on it and put weight on it – it holds. 

You put a hand on Connor’s blazer. “Can I take this? To introduce her to your scent.”

“Go ahead,” Connor says.

You take his blazer and retreat to your bedroom. You find Bronislava under your bed, her eyes so dilated you can’t see her irises. 

“Эй, красотка,” you say softly. You snap your fingers with your free hand. “Это всего лишь я.”

She slowly creeps forward, sniffing the air. She smells the blazer in your hand, which is surprisingly soft despite its stiffness. (You’re tempted to mirror her and smell it, but you immediately mentally slap yourself and call yourself a creep, even though the thought didn’t actualize.)

“Видишь? Всё хорошо,” you say, still with that quiet, docile tone. “Это всего лишь Коннор.”

Bronislava slowly crawls out from underneath your bed, inching towards the exit to the hallway. You follow her, staying on her level.

“Connor!” You whisper-shout once you’re in the hallway, Bronislava by your side. “She’s coming towards you. But don’t look at her.”

“Okay, Officer,” Connor says. Even though he’s facing away from you, you can hear the smile in his voice. “What will she do?”

“She’ll probably sniff you,” you say, watching as she inches along, sticking close to the baseboards. “Don’t move a muscle once she does.”

Bronislava glances back at you. “Давай, детка!” You encourage. She turns around and looks at Connor’s back, then continues crawling forward.

“She’s approaching your six,” you say, your tone faux-serious. “Contact imminent.”

Connor laughs. “Acknowledged.”

Bronislava nervously sniffs at the legs of Connor’s chair, then moves on and sniffs at his ankles. 

“Her whiskers are tickling me,” Connor says. 

“Just don’t move!” You laugh.

Bronislava continues exploring, if with a bit of nervousness. She sniffs at the hem of Connor’s jeans, then bites at a loose string.

Then, Connor moves a fraction of an inch. It sets Bronislava off, and she dashes past you and back into the bedroom. 

You lean in the doorway, watching as she disappears under the bed again. “Ох, моя бедняжка… Всё в порядке.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor says. “I was just trying to scan her…”

“It’s okay.” You stand, his blazer still in hand. “She usually just hides around new people. I’m proud of her. And she does seem to like you.”

“She likes me?” Connor says, a bit of excitement in his tone. 

“You sound like a teenager.” You laugh and stand up. You walk over to the table and drape Connor’s blazer over the back of his chair. “Thanks for letting me borrow that, by the way.”

“Of course,” Connor says. 

You move to the side and start to pack your spare parts away in your little toolbox, mentally noting the things you need to replace.

“One more thing,” Connor says. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a prosthetic?”

Your hands still. “It…” you sigh. “I don’t like talking about it. That’s it. It didn’t pertain to the investigation, and you didn’t ask about it, so I didn’t mention it.”

Connor’s LED flickers yellow, then returns to a calm blue. “Understood.”

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Quite a Workout -Oneshot

Word count: 890 *angsty*

Part 2 Part 3

“Maybe if you weren’t so distracted by your own dick I wouldn’t have to put myself in the line of fire for you,” Y/N shouted back at him as she set up the equipment for her next exercise.  After a rough mission she felt the need to get out her leftover stress in the gym.

Bucky huffed angrily.  “Will you stop bringing up my boner?  Jesus, it’s not like I have any control over that.”

“Obviously,” Y/N snorted.  “During the middle of a mission while we’re dodging bullets and fighting for our lives?  You’ve got great timing.”  

Bucky glared at her before rolling his eyes and starting to walk away.  “Whatever.  I may have had an ill timed boner, but you were looking there, darlin’.”  

“Oh please,” Y/N laughed as she got situated on the bars.  She had been working on her captain’s chair leg raises, wanting to strengthen her core muscles.  She engaged her core and slightly grunted as she lifted her legs to a sitting position, most of her weight being held up by her arms and offset by her stomach muscles.  “What turned you on in the middle of a fight anyway, huh?  You like the danger?”  Her voice was strained as she held the position for a ten count then let her legs down.  “You’re sick.”

Bucky whirled back around and walked up to her as she started another set.  “I’m sick?  Says the one who was staring at my cock in the middle of choking out another dude with your thighs.”

Y/N smirked in triumph at his slip up as she let her legs back down, breathing heavily.  “Ah, so it was my thighs, huh?” she said knowingly, slightly leaning towards him with narrowed eyes.  “You liked watching me snuff out some guy with my thick, strong thighs?”

Bucky’s eyes widened and he slightly recoiled, blinking rapidly as Y/N laughed again.  She took another breath and started another set, lifting her legs up in a sitting position.  “You’re sadistic,” Bucky said as he watched her.  “You like humiliating others, even during their most vulnerable moments?  If anyone’s sick, it’s you.”  Y/N huffed, trying to keep count in her head and ignore him, her stomach starting to tremble at the effort.  “You drive me insane,” Bucky sneered, leaning toward her, dipping his head to catch her eye.  Y/N could tell that she’d really pissed him off, the fire in his eyes making a shiver run down her spine.  “I’m gonna ask for a mission partner reassignment.  I really thought as we worked together we could get past this weirdness, but apparently it’s one of God’s greatest jokes to make you just as insufferable as you are hot, you sick, twisted, sadistic, fucking bitch!”

Y/N wasn’t sure what happened next.  His words were hurtful, but for some reason the louder and angrier he got, the more turned on she was.  At the end of her ten count in her head she had felt the trembling in her stomach seemingly shoot down in between her legs, and as he finished yelling at her she relaxed her legs to stand and what felt like a mini orgasm rocked through her lower half.  She shuddered at the feeling, her mouth dropping open as she gasped and then moaned loudly in Bucky’s face as she felt a gush of her own slick dampen her panties and her leggings.

Bucky’s eyes widened comically at her, his eyes traveling down her body to see her shaking legs and twitching stomach.  His gaze moved back up to her face in shock.  “Did you just–”

“Don’t,” Y/N said desperately, her voice sounding like a whimper.  She averted her gaze from him and on wobbly legs ducked under the machine and around him, running out of the gym.  That did not just happen.  That did NOT just happen!  She kept running, losing track of where she was going until she ducked into an empty stairwell somewhere, doubling over and sobbing as she sank down to her knees.  Y/N wasn’t sure what she was feeling.  Embarrassment?  Yes.  Shame?  Definitely yes.  But there was something more.  It hurt what Bucky had said, and it hurt that he felt that way about her.  And it hurt that the humiliation had been turned back on her.  Did she…want him to like her?  Was that why she had teased and annoyed him this whole time?  She had been unable or unwilling to place her mixed emotions and took it out on him instead.  I am a fucking bitch, she thought, hugging herself as she cried.  Bucky deserved better than her as a mission partner.  She deserved this humiliation.  She wouldn’t blame him if he went around the whole tower and told everybody what happened.  Y/N slowly trudged up the few more flights of stairs to her floor, the discomfort of the wetness between her legs a constant reminder of her idiocy.  When she reached her room she bolted the door, giving Friday instructions not to let anyone in and to cancel all upcoming appointments and training, before stripping off her workout attire and getting in the shower.  She sank down to the shower floor after washing herself, crying as the water flowed over her.  Just a sick, twisted, sadistic bitch. 

[shurisneakers]

Idk if you're taking requests or anything for the prompts, but "just sit there and look pretty and let me handle this" is so harmless coded. Like i can just see reader saying this to Bucky and immediately getting decked by whatever they're fighting.

i think it's so funny how i said 'my requests are open i want to try something new' and everyone said 'hey remember that thing you wrote 4 years ago with over 20 parts and like 20 drabbles. we want that'. and honestly? fair. i missed my children. miss v and bucky you will always be famous. to me.

Catch up with the rest of the series here!

All Bucky had asked for when he told you he needed some help with the vegetable garden was some light digging. Some good old-fashioned seed dispersing. Watering, even, if you really wanted to get freaky.

But nowhere in his plan does he consider live garden gnomes running buck-fucking-wild, gardening tools raised as weapons, wreaking chaos and destruction on whatever their grubby little porcelain hands could gain access to.

"Why does this always happen to you?" Bucky sighs from the deck.

"Well, I'm sorry I thought the little creatures that live in the garden all day would be good at gardening. How was I supposed to know their first instinct is to commit manslaughter?" you shout, bent over as you rush behind one of them, cackling as it snipped the air with the hedge cutters. "Fuck, they're fast."

"Keep them away from the cherry tomatoes," Bucky calls, entirely unhelpfully. "I was gonna make a tart tonight."

"Ooh, yum," you say, sticking your leg out to trip one of the beasts. "Where are your beautiful tomatoes again?"

"Corner," he reminds, hands crossed over his knees. "You know, you can just say you need help."

"Nope," you exclaim, driving one headfirst into the ground. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'm gonna handle this and your cherry tomatoe-- motherfuck--"

You wheeze full body, doubling over as one of them launches off the porch and straight into you, missing your head and instead landing straight into your stomach.

"I can't breathe," you rasp out, hunching over. "Holy fucking-- porcelain shitheads--"

"For fucks' sake," Bucky mumbles, rolling up his sleeves and tugging off his apron, tossing it behind him.

Another jumps straight onto your back, only for Bucky to pluck it right off and kick it directly into the sun.

All of them stop their madness for a second to watch it fly away, scream getting quieter and quieter as it fades.

And then they start cackling again, screeching as they crawl up your back.

"I'm fine," you wave him away, voice still high. "I'm totally good. No, seriously, sit down. And put that apron back on, you look really hot--"

"I'm not letting you get killed by garden gnomes," Bucky interrupts, shaking one off furiously as it climbs up his hand.

"I'll have you know, dying by one of my inventions is a very honourable way to go."

"It's embarrassing. And get off the ground, they're digging a hole in the garden to bury you."