#sorry it’s fucking blue and white again

[navybrat817]

Alpine have seen unspeakable things

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMkAu7W81/

Bahaha. Poor Alpine. She certainly has.

Corrupted Cuddles

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You want to cuddle with Bucky and Alpine tells you exactly where you should sit.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Fluff, pet names, teasing, humor, sugary sweetness, inner monologue, established relationship, referenced smut, Alpine has seen some things, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: The TikTok video was too funny and right up Stud and Smartie's alley. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Today was a day for cuddling since it was cold outside. You had no reason to venture out into the world and leave the comfort of your apartment, unless you wanted to use it as an excuse for Bucky to warm you up once you got inside. But you didn’t need the excuse. If you told him you were cold, he’d warm you up right away. He may call you out on the fact that you feel perfectly fine, but he’d still keep you close before he loves having excuses to cuddle with you, too.

“Okay, Stud,” you called out, wiping your hands as you finished up the last chore on your checklist. “Get ready for some cuddles.”

He chuckled from the living room. “Why do you say that like it’s a warning?”

“Because it is a warning,” you smiled, grabbing drinks for each of you, too. “You are going to cuddle with me, and you are going to love it.”

“I have abso-fucking-lutely not doubt I’ll love it, but there’s just one problem with your plan,” he said.

You paused before you went into the living room, an eyebrow raised as you took in the sight of Bucky laying on the couch. He looked comfortable, and your beautiful harlot of a man had no shirt on because why would he? You had to blink a few times to focus. “And what exactly would that problem be so we can come up with a solution?”

Cuddling was going to happen. Couch, floor, bed, it didn’t matter. And he knew when you had your heart set on something, that was that.

He nodded to the ball of white fur between his thick legs. “Alpine demanded cuddles first, and I don’t know if she’ll move if I ask,” he teased.

You smiled as Alpine lifted her head to look at you. Bucky could easily get her to move. “Maybe I could try asking?” you suggested.

“Be my guest,” he smiled.

“Hey, Al,” you smiled, reaching down to scratch behind her ear. You really did adore her. “I don’t want to interrupt, but is there room for me to get some cuddles, too? Please?”

If she didn’t move, you’d wait your turn. She was Bucky’s girl first, and you were lucky she accepted you as quickly as she had. You also knew Alpine loved you just as much as she loved Bucky. You liked to believe in her eyes that you two were her mom and dad.

With a gentle meow, she stood up stretched, but didn’t move from her spot.

“So, is that a no on the cuddles?” you asked as Bucky tried not to laugh. He was enjoying the little show. “Well, if I can’t sit in your spot, where should I sit?”

Alpine stared at you with knowing eyes before she turned her attention to Bucky and gently placed a paw on his crotch.

There was dead silence in the apartment. Surely she didn’t… “I’m sorry, I should sit where?”

Alpine put her paw there again as your mouth fell open. Bucky, on the other hand, smirked, his blue eyes sweeping over you. “You’re right, Al. Smartie should sit right there,” he said, nodding to his crotch. “Well, she gave you her answer. Take a seat.”

“What the… What? Did you teach her that?!” you asked. Bucky just laughed more, his shoulders shaking. “You did, didn’t you? And if you didn’t, we clearly corrupted her!”

You thought Bucky was going to stop breathing for a moment. “Yes… our… poor pussy got corrupted,” he joked. You felt like you set yourself up for that. “And I won’t confirm or deny. She’s just a very observant cat.”

Waving a hand at him, you were having a hard time not laughing, too. “Okay, you are no help,” you said, looking at Alpine again. She was observant. “Al, where does Stud like to sit?”

Leaping off the couch, she made her way over to Bucky’s chair where he usually sat to read. God, she really was smart. She could take over the world one day.

“Okay, now where does Smartie like to sit?”

“Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?” Bucky asked.

“Shh. You are once again not helping,” you replied. And Alpine once again didn’t hesitate to go back to Bucky and put her paw right in his lap. God, she knew. Would the gang believe you if you told them what was happening? Probably. They wouldn’t be surprised either. “Okay, where else do I like to sit?”

“I don’t think-”

You about fainted when the cat moved up and firmly put a paw against Bucky’s lips.

Can I get to hell for corrupting a cat? Wait. No. This isn’t my fault. I will not burn for this.

“Okay, so…” you huffed when Bucky grabbed his left pec, his laughter ringing out again. You swore you saw Steve laugh like that recently. “She knows I like to…”

“Sit on my cock and on my face? Clearly,” Bucky smiled, nudging the cat to move and reaching for your hand. “But I thought that was just common knowledge after we got together.”

Your cheeks got hot. Yeah, you and Bucky went at it like bunnies some days. And yeah, Alpine had certainly waltzed around the rooms at various times when your man had you bouncing on his cock or taking a seat on his face. It just happened.

“Yeah, well, that’s because…” Bucky leaned his head back and licked his lips as he waited for you to continue. “Not to stroke your ego, but you have an amazing cock and mouth, and you’re the one who always wants me to sit on them!”

Bucky was so good to you that he didn’t care about the times you hadn’t perfectly groomed yourself. He wanted you, and that was that. It was a good feeling.

“Yeah, I want you to sit on them. And please, continue stroking my ego,” he encouraged, pulling you into his lap. “And when you’re done you can stroke my-”

You clamped a hand over his mouth. “Alpine has already been corrupted enough,” you said, removing your hand and trying not to moan when he settled you over his bulge.

“Pretty sure she was corrupted before we slept together,” he told you. “I jerked off one night and said your name and I’m pretty sure she slept by your door the next day to make sure I behaved.”

“You jerked off to the thought of me? That’s so sweet,” you smiled. And hot. Having a gorgeous man like him stroking himself, saying your name…

“You know I have and ‘sweet�� isn’t the word that comes to mind. Now will you please take a proper seat on my lap,” he asked, pulling you in for a kiss.

Before his lips touched yours, you looked over your shoulder. “Al, do you…” The cat was nowhere to be found. “Where did she go?”

“I think she’s giving us some alone time.”

“Well, all I wanted to do was cuddle,” you teased.

He groaned and kissed a trail to your neck. “Why don’t we cuddlefuck instead?”

You smiled before you repeated his words in your mind. “…Cuddlefuck?”

Al knows what's up. Poor Al. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To Those Who Wait 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: yeah, I couldn't resist.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

“Busy?” Vivica hums with doubt. “Again.” 

“Sorry, Vic, I just... can’t,” you roll your eyes at your reflection. No, the eye liner is too much. You think mascara’s fine. 

“What’s going on?” Her voice rises from your phone as it rests amid the mess of your bathroom counter. “Ever since your birthday, you’ve been kind of a bitch.” 

She isn’t wrong. You twist the wand of the mascara and pop it from the tube. You sigh. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Better reason for you all to go without me,” you say. “I don’t want to bring you down.” 

“Hm, fine,” she lets her disappointment through. “But you’re getting coffee with me soon. I’m worried.” 

You nod and brush through your lashes. “I’ll let you know what I’m free.” 

You sniff as she tuts noisily. “Fine, I’ll wait.” 

“Go, have fun,” you insist. “Text you later.” 

“Right, sure.” 

You tap the red button and the call ends. You slide the wand into place and twist the mascara shut. You fighting a losing battle here. You drop the tube and throw your head back, heaving out a breath. 

You don’t even know why you’re doing this. It’s a joke. A date? You’ll just be letting down one more person. You hate to waste Curtis’ time. Hence, why you haven’t told anyone about it. You don’t need them to know about another fuck up. 

The phone buzzes. You roll your eyes and press your fingerprint to the screen to unlock. You expect another long lecture typed out by Vivica, instead, it’s Curtis. Is he already here? No, you’re not ready. You bend to read his message. 

‘Hey, if you got em, wear sneakers or hiking boots.’ 

You squint. Huh? Is he taking you on a hike? Wow. Well, you suppose you deserve that kind of effort. Besides, you’re really not in the mood for a crowded restaurant where you have to pretend to know the appetizer sharing etiquette. 

‘I can dig some out’ you type back. 

You step back and sift through your sparse make up. You pick out a shade of lip gloss closest to your natural hue. Is it really necessary? Why are you even trying? You know how this ends. You pop your lips and snap the cap into place. 

Maybe he’s a murderer. Somehow, that doesn’t scare you. Even as the pieces seem to fall into place. He’s taking you out alone. Somewhere he’s kept a surprise, and he told you to bring sporty shoes. You expect you might be running from an axe in the woods soon enough. Not such a dire end considering. 

You shake off the absurd thought. You don’t want to look like you went overboard. Curtis has been so casual about all of this. Yeah, casual. Just put on something simple. 

The black jeans could easily be mistaken for nicer pants. The turtleneck isn’t too much either. Blue cotton with little white daisies. You’ll put a cardigan over it and pull on your hiking boots. Wow, a dream come true. A date in Sorel avant garde. 

Your nerves begin to go wild. You don’t know why. It’s not a real date, it’s a courtesy. He asked so you might as well just go. You grab your phone and wait on the couch, a youtube video babbling unheard from the television. 

Your phone vibrates. You sit up. It’s Curtis. 

‘Here. I think.’ 

‘I’ll come down’. You type back. 

You get up and hurry around. You grab your crossbody bag and your keys. You shoulder out the door and lock it behind you. Your phone buzzes once more. 

‘Right by the door.’ 

You come out and look around, searching the cars parked along the curb. Your attention is drawn back to the motorcycle between an SUV and Honda Accord. You approach Curtis as he hugs a second helmet under his arm. 

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers the helmet. 

You take it as you process the full picture. The matte black tank, the leather saddle bags in the same shade as his jacket and gloves, the steel gray exhaust and thick tires. You nod. 

“Not at all.” 

“I shoulda warned you,” he says. 

“I’ve been on one before,” you assure him as you pull on the helmet and loop the strap under your chin. 

“Oh?” 

“I know, I don’t look like the type. I’m not.” You flip the visor down. 

“Ah, well, whoever he was, hope he didn’t spoil the ride completely,” he says, “get on.” 

He turns and straddles the bike, kick back the stand. You hesitate then reach for his arm. You climb up behind him and swing your leg over. You wince as you land on the seat. Ouch, you’re still a bit sore down there. 

“Gonna have to hang on tight,” he pats his side. 

“Sure, uh... right.” 

You hook your arms around him. This is an easy gag for a man. Get a woman nice and close under the fear she might become road kill. Slick. 

“You ready?” He rolls the bike towards the street. 

“Ready,” you assure him. 

He starts the motor and revs. He angles around and speeds off down the road. You pull yourself closer as the wind tunnels around you. The smell of leather fills your nose as you close your eyes. It’s not awful, is it? 

When you look again, you’re head towards the town line. You watch the trees grow thicker as he steers along the country roads. That paranoia rises again. It would be just your luck. Look what happened the other night. 

You lift your head and peek over his shoulder. He rides up to a farm and comes a halt. He plants his feet in the dirt and kills the engine. A thrum lingers in your muscles as the roar of the bike dulls your hearing. 

“We’re here,” he proclaims. 

You take his cue. You get off first and he parks the bike with a kick of the stand. You wiggle the helmet off and look up at the farmhouse and the barn further back. Your brows pinch together curiously. 

“It’s not that lame, I promise.” He takes your helmet and hangs it with his on the handle bar.  “Friend of mine owns the place. He let me have it for the night.” 

“Mhm, good friend.” 

“Yeah, he can be,” he removes the saddlebags from the back of the bike and waves you on. “That way, just around the back.” 

You nod and turn away. You stride up along the side of the house. It’s an old-fashioned place. Faded wood and peeling paint. You pause before you can pass it completely. You look back at him as he nearly runs into you. 

“Everything alright?” He asks. 

You look him in his stormy gray eyes, “you’re not going to kill me, right?” 

He snorts and his cheek dimples. “I can’t guarantee no blood but that’s far from the plan.” 

You frown. What a strange answer.

You shrug and turn back to your path. You come out around the back of the house, sown fields in the early stages of growth behind a large board painted with circles. A ply wood target. A picnic table across from it with a clutter over one half. You cross your arms as you near. 

“Hatchet throwing,” he puts the saddle bags on the table. “Thought it would be fun. Something a little less... crowded.” 

“Oh?” You tilt your head like a squawking crow. 

He lifts one of the axes and holds it up. “Good stress relief.” 

“Mm,” you reach for one, less confident in your grasp. 

He turns to the target and extends his arm towards it. “You wanna keep a light but sturdy grip,” he says. “You don’t want it to catch.” 

He bends his arm back and swings it ahead again, letting the hatchet fly with easy. You flinch as it thunks into the target, just off-center. Your lips slant. 

“You got a lot of experience?” 

“Well, I started with darts at the bar but didn’t like all the drunks. There’s a place you can pay to do this in town but it’s pricey and loud,” he says. “So... I put this together.” 

“Yeah, probably not worth the money.” The words hang in the air, a question whether you mean the activity or yourself. 

“Go ahead.” 

“Uh, oh,” push your bag behind you and look at the target. “I...” You raise your arm, try to line up your aim, then drop it down. “I can’t.” 

“You want a few tips?” 

“Think I need them.” 

“Alright, no problem. It’s no biggy. Worst that happens, it lands in the dirt.” He comes close and lightly guides you by your shoulders, standing you perpendicular to the target. “Alright, bring it up.” 

You raise your arm and he helps you line up. He gets even closer and nudges your feet with his scuffed boots to get you in position. “That’s it, just like that.” 

You grip the axe tighter and your eyes widen. Those words hit you like the blade, slicing deep. The body on top of yours, his rasping cooes, and his cruel thrusts. You blink away the vision of Hugh and shudder. 

“Here,” Curtis touches your hand, “loosen up. Pull back. Yeah, you got it.” He steps back, “when you’re ready, let it fly.” 

He stands away from you and watches. You bite down and stare at the target. All your frustration and fear bubbles in your chest. You narrow your eyes and take a breath. You fling the hatchet without restraint. The thunk in the wood is deafening. 

Curtis whistles, “wow, good shot.” 

You turn straight to examine the board. Your shot is opposite of his, right on the line with the bullseye.  

“Lucky,” you say. 

“I dunno, you seem like a natural,” he crosses the ground and pulls out the hatches. “Wanna toss a few more? Build up an appetite?” 

“Uh, sure,” you agree. “It is kind of fun.” 

“I think so. Even more when you have company,” he approaches and offers the hatchet. “I packed a picnic so we won’t have to chew on seeds.” 

You glance at the sprouting fields. You laugh. It was a little fun. 

“Got one,” he spins the hatchet in his hand. “You go first. Since you won first round.” 

“What? No I didn’t.” 

“You were closer so... that’s a win. Champ.” 

“Alright, no need for the sarcasm,” you shake your head. 

“I’m a sore loser,” he winks. “So, take it easy on me and I might lighten up.” 

🎯

The rumble of the engine stays with you as you climb off the bike. Curtis cuts the engine and flips down the stand. He takes off his helmet as you descend back to earth. Literally. Somehow in those last three hours or so, he kept the world from invading your mind. 

“That was nice,” he says. “I think.” 

You hold the helmet in your hands, a good way to keep them still. You look down and crack a smile. He hangs his on the bike. 

“Another one huh?” He says and you pop your head up. “Got another smile.” 

You blush and shake your head, “I don’t know. I guess.” 

“You had fun?” He asks. 

“I did,” you contend and hand over the helmet. “Thanks. For everything.” 

“No, thank you.” He holds the helmet at his side and stares at you. The streetlights cast ominous shadows over him. He shifts so his sole scrapes the ground. “I hope maybe we can do it again.” 

“Er...” you’re struck by the suggestion. Again? Like a second date. That can’t be real. Not after everything. Oh bitter irony. “Sure, Curtis. I think next time I could let you win.” 

“Yeah, next time,” he rasps. He leans in and you realise what’s happening. He’s going to kiss you. Oh. 

“Ugh, oh,” you trip on nothing and hop up on the curb. “Oops, sorry, it’s so dark out here.”  

He recoils and clears his throat, “yeah, uh, you want me to walk you to the door?” 

“Uh, no, no,” you put your palms up. “I won’t take up any more of your time.” 

“Alright,” he says despondently. “Have a good night.” 

“Yeah, you too.” 

“I’ll text,” he mutters. 

“I’ll answer.” 

You spin and cringe at your building. You suck. You're a dork. Ew. Ew. Ew. 

You march up the walk and don’t stop until you’re inside. You blew it. So close but so far. Just like you expected. Well, then you can be that disappointed. 

You retreat to your apartment and slam your phone down. You won’t think about it. He has to drive home and he won’t text tonight anyway. You just hate a date. A date! 

Was it really real? After everything? You think so. 

You sink onto the couch. You hold your chin and pick your lip. Just another day and you’d be in la la land. This would be heaven. One more day and you may have let him kiss you. Before you were used up and tarnished. 

Ugh. Why couldn’t you have just let it happen? Because those things don’t happen to you. Romance isn’t for you. It’s for other people. And people lie. Even Curtis. Maybe he won’t text after all. 

You lean back and turn on the television in resignation. You put on an early 00s sitcom with a sadly departed main star. That’s how life is. When it’s good, it goes wrong, or it’s just over. When it’s bad, that’s when it seems eternal. 

You cross your legs then think better of that. Even with all the lube, there’s a lot of damage done. Nothing serious, just sensitive. It was your first time. You don’t imagine it gets better. 

Your phone buzzes at the end of episode two. You nearly jump off the sofa. Don’t be stupid. 

You get up, patiently, and get your phone. You sit down again before you unlock it. The message that comes up isn’t from Curtis. Or Vivica. Or Mila. Or Jerrod. 

It’s from WhatsApp. You only ever used that for... 

‘You lookin’ for another weekend fling?’ 

You stare at Hugh’s message. You deleted the conversation but you recognise the number. The two checkmarks turn green to show you’ve read the message. God dammit. 

You don’t answer. You can’t. You’re mortified. You crash back to earth with startling speed. You can’t undo that. Worse, you don’t think you’ll ever get past it. 

You clear all your apps and put your phone on do not disturb. 

You stretch out on the couch and focus on the TV. Not really. It just glares in your vision as you stare through it. As you can hear nothing but a distant whistle. You stay like that, fractured, until your consciousness slowly falls away. 

You’re back in the hotel room. Alone one minute then pinned to the bed. The ceilings tear open as Hugh fucks you. You’re gushing around him, the smell of blood fills the air with iron. You meld with the blankets, shrouded in them, then suddenly thunder roars through the space. 

Curtis rides in on his motorcycle. How? A hatchet flies and hit the headboard, glancing by your cheek. You look past Hugh’s writhing body, completely oblivious of the other’s man disgusted glares. 

“Slut.” 

The word wakes you. You jolt up and hold your head dizzily. The windows are glazed over with the soft tones of morning. You groan and turn your legs over the edge of the couch. 

You get up to make your coffee. The dark roast brew and the aroma eases your nerves. You grab you phone out of habit and sit down. You have another message. You put the phone down. 

You go back to the kitchen and fill a mug. You drink in silence. You take the cup into the bathroom and shower before you finish the dregs. As you sit to pee, you wince. It’s been a week. It’s still painful but you’re sure it’s all in your head. After all, your pride hurts worse than anything else. 

You rinse your cup, pick up your phone, and determine to delete the message. As the chat opens, you’re stopped by the image there. You nearly drop it. Instead, you lean on the counter is gasp. 

‘Thot I was ur 1st' the message reads beneath the photo of you and Curtis in the yellow cascade of the streetlight. 

The checkmark fills and three bubbles pop up. Fuck. The next text comes quickly. 

‘How would ur bf feel about u fucking strangers?’ 

‘Not my bf. Leave me alone.’ Your thumbs tap furiously and you hit send. 

He sends a laughing emoji and the dots appear again. ‘I got a discount. Just 4 u.’ 

‘No thx. Not interested’ 

‘Didn’t ask don’t care but think I know who would’ 

You huff and hang your head back. You don’t get it. Why is he doing this? He got his fee and you got what you paid for. 

‘No. Pls don’t message again.’ 

You bring down the menu and delete the conversation and block the sender. It isn’t until after that that you realise. He took that picture outside your building. He knows where you live. How? 

The police? Would they do anything? Would they believe you? You just deleted the evidence. 

He’s bluffing right. He just wanted more money. You’re not stupid. Come on. You are a wallet to him, nothing more. You’re not naive enough to think he enjoyed it any more than you did. It’s business to him. He did his job and he got a pretty penny. If you could get that much for a few hours, you’d be hustling too. 

It’s just a poor attempt at blackmail. A hail mary for any extra pay check. Too bad for him, you don’t have that type of money. You already splurge on regret. 

You’ll keep an eye over your shoulder but you really doubt it’s anything more than greed. He must have a dozen clients. Hm... that thought doesn't make feel you better. You don’t know that you’ll ever really feel good again. Did you ever before? 

📱

“I know it’s cliche but I told you, I’m not exactly the creative type,” you settle in at the table and look through the cafe window. 

“I told you, I trust your judgment. And can’t go wrong with coffee,” Curtis says. 

“Guess not, but I’ve had some shitty coffee in my day.” 

His cheek dimples and he tilts his head in agreement, “me too. I’m not some coffee snob but some of the water they serve around town.” 

“You’re talking about Smokey’s, right? They serve ash-flavoured piss. Oh, sorry, I...” you give a sheepish smile. “I got carried away.” 

“You’re right though,” he snorts. 

“Ha, thanks. Mila disagrees. She keeps trying to convert me.” 

“Sounds like Jensen but with those acid energy drinks. I told him, he’s going to have a heart attack.” 

“Ew, those things are worse. It’s like someone made mountain dew worse.” 

He chuckles. That doesn’t happen often. “Wow, I should bring you in as backup. Then he might actually listen.” 

The barista comes with your drinks and you thank her. You ordered a tea latte, not your usual fare. Curtis eyes it as he cradles his cup of dark roast between his large hands. 

“I’m not much of a tea person but that looks interesting.” 

“London Fog. Just very foamy Earl Gray,” you explain. 

“Ah,” he nods thoughtfully. Your bag vibrates and you elbow it back on your hip. Not right now, Mila. “Not to be socially awkward but you like horror movies?” 

“I like them but they still scare me,” you say. 

“Really? Something actually scares you?” 

“What do you mean?” You scoff. 

He stares at you. “Do you really not know?” 

“Know... what?” 

“You’re terrifyingly hard to read,” he says. “You’re so lock and key that it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking. Easy to assume you want to scoop my guts out with a plastic spoon.” 

“I’m not much for slashers, I’m more into psychological scares,” you counter then catch yourself. You smile. “Sorry. I’m not... you know, I can be a bitch but I’m not really one.” 

“That isn’t what I meant.” 

“I know, I just don’t know how else to say... if I look at you like a rabid dog, I swear, I’m just thinking.” 

“Yeah, Jensen says I have RBF too.” 

“RBF?” You wonder. 

“Resting Bitch Face, although he started calling it Raging Curt Face.” 

You laugh. He does too. The last bit of ice melts away. 

“I’m on a roll today,” he says. “So I may as well ask, wanna come over and watch scary movies?” 

🍿

The mood is set. The curtains are drawn to darken the room and the television glows as the only source of light in the space. Not much of a beacon as the images on the screen remain in shadow as the grinding soundtrack drones from the speakers.

You sit on the couch, enthralled by the manic horror of the character’s shallow breaths. 

You jerk as something brushes over your shoulder. You quickly still yourself as you realise what it is. Curtis stretches his arm over your shoulders. 

“Scared yet?” He asks. 

You giggle, “only a little.” 

He stays close and you don’t push him away. It’s such a weird feeling. To have someone in your space but you don’t mind it. To be honest, it’s comforting. 

You stare at the screen as the tension builds. As a loud noise frightens you, you jolt and lean into Curtis. He curls his arm snug around you. Then the next startling twist comes and you turn your face into his shoulder. 

“You didn’t say you were a baby,” he teases. 

“Oh, hush,” you speak into his shirt. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he grits and brings his hand up under your chin. “I’ll protect you from the boogeyman.” 

You glower up at him and he sighs, “don’t look at me like that.” 

“How can you tell how I’m looking at you?” 

“I can feel it,” his thumb rubs your chin and he leans closer. 

You swallow as he keeps coming. You don’t stop him. You’re stuck. Your body won’t answer the screaming in your head. He presses his lips to yours and you let out a soft noise. He presses his mouth against yours for a moment then pulls away. 

He’s quiet as you puff you, your heart racing. “Was that okay?” 

You cough, “uh, yeah... sorry, I... I’m surprised.” 

“Can I do it again?” He asks. 

You quiver and nod, “sure.” 

He kisses you again. This time his tongue traces the crease of your lips. You open to him, unsure what you’re supposed to do. He delves within as he cradles your head and squeezes you closer. 

A warmth creeps up your body. Cozy at first. Intoxicating either. But it keeps burning. Hotter and hotter as his hand slithers down your back. His groan triggers a tickle in your brain and nearly bite down.  

You touch Curtis’ chest and urge him away. He reluctantly parts and slackens his hold on you. You stand up without a word. 

“Everything alright?” He asks. 

“I need your bathroom. Sorry.” 

You hurry away, staggering through the dark, and close the bathroom door behind you. You flip the light on and stomp to the tub, sitting on the porcelain as you drop your head into your hands. What the fuck? What is wrong with you? 

That wasn’t bad. It was great. You were getting somewhere. You were having a normal experience. It’s like you just can’t let yourself win. 

You smack your cheek, then your other. You do it a few more times before you sit up straight. God! What a disaster. What a stupid woman you are. You can’t even blame anyone but yourself. You did this to yourself. 

You ran away from Curtis. You came in here to mope. And you hired Hugh. 

No, don’t-- that’s not relevant. You’re forgetting that. It didn’t happen. You’re trying to move on. You can move on. Curtis doesn’t have to be your penance; he can be your antidote. 

There’s a knock at the door. You stare at the wood. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you okay?” Curtis asks. 

“Yep.” You call back. 

“I’m sorry if... if that was too much. If I went too fast,” he says. 

You huff and stand. You drag your feet to the door. You make yourself open it and face him. He turned the lights on. You ruined the night. 

“I think maybe I should just go. I’m sorry I spoiled the movie,” you say. He doesn’t move. 

“What? I paused it. It’s fine. We can finish it.” 

“No, Curtis, I’m just... I keep... aren’t you tired of me yet?” 

He shakes his head, “no, are you tired of me?” 

You clamp your lips and pop them in exasperation. “No.” That makes this harder. Because you aren’t tired of him. Because you do like him. 

“So why are you running away?” 

He grips the door frame. He’s a big man. He doesn’t have to let you leave but you know if you say you want to go, he will. For a moment, his size reminds you of another person. One who didn’t listen. One who didn’t hear your 'stop'. 

“This is really embarrassing but I’m just going to be honest otherwise you’ll just think I'm insane,” you throw your hands up. “I’ve never, uh, never... had... someone before. You know? Never been on any dates, er, until you.” 

He nods and his expression stays the same, “alright.” 

“So yeah...” 

He narrows his eyes, “is that it?” 

You stare at him. “Yeah, I guess that’s it.” 

“I don’t care about that. I care about us, you know? About right now. So then or whenever, it’s not important. But right now I can be patient. I can take it slow.” He drops his hand from the frame. “We can just watch the movie. That’s it.” 

You look down and slump, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he gently touches your arm. “I don’t want you to be sorry because you did nothing wrong. Thank you for telling me.” 

You don’t say anything else. You’re too mortified to muster more than a grumble. You reach for the light switch but he stands as a wall between you and escape. 

“One more thing though,” he says, “I’m not just someone. I'm your boyfriend.” 

You falter and clasp your hands in front of your stomach, “boyfriend?” 

He smiles, “I can wait for my girl. That’s half the fun, isn’t it?” 

He offers his hand and you consider it as your lips curve without a thought.  You accept the offer and latch onto his large hand.  

“Guess I’ll find out,” you say.” 

[questionableratatouille00]

ʜɪɢʜᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟʟ 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an effort to get the two of you to bond, Tony Stark sends you and the ex-assassin Bucky Barnes on a road trip together. The reason? You hate each other. The situation? Two weeks in a car together. The reward: three days of a resort vacation. And the problem? He's kinda cute.

Warnings (Entire Series): Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, angst, fluff, crying, fighting, violence, chaos, mentions/talk of trauma, discussions of mental health, and potentially more.

Warnings: Reader wore a dress (past), cursing, mentions and eating of food, reader is called a cow if that’s a warning, both characters being horrible to each other, fighting, mentioned HYDRA themes.

[Series Masterlist] <- Haven’t seen pt. 1?

𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔

Day Three

As you hauled your stuff into the truck once again, you couldn’t help but yawn. You were tired, and maybe still hungry even after raiding the hotel breakfast bar. 

Bucky took the driver’s seat, and you were too exhausted to argue. Your feet still hurt from the night before, all that dancing in those heels. 

Glancing at the man beside you, he didn’t seem to feel the same. 

You put on your playlist, blasting obnoxious pop music. You liked those songs, but you liked messing with Bucky more. 

The two of you stopped at a drive-thru for lunch.

Making the best choice for yourself, you decided to squeeze in a nap before you guys would stop for dinner. Leaning against the window, you closed your eyes and prepared for sleep.

When it finally came, it was a peaceful, uninterrupted darkness that allowed you some rest. 

Until you were nudged awake. You glared daggers at the perpetrator—the monster who woke you. 

“Dude, what the fuck?” You grumbled, rubbing your eyes. 

“You snore like a cow with a deviated septum.” He grumbled. 

“You’re such a fucking dick.” You retorted. “I bet you snore, too.”

“No, I don’t.” He answered back, brushing you off as if you had just said that grass was blue. 

“Yeah, you probably do.” You had no idea, but you were too deep to stop now.

“Okay.” He huffed, shaking his head. 

“Asshole.” You grumbled. 

More minutes passed by. Minutes turned into an hour. And after an hour, you were both bickering over the radio.

”You’ve been playing the same shit for the last two days. There has to be something else.” He said, his tone pointed and his eyes widened.

“Yeah, to drown out your loud ass breathing!” You shouted back.

“You wanna talk about my breathing? Really? After sounding like a broken vacuum for two hours?” He turned his head to stare at you.

“Watch the fucking road, you piece of shit!” You shrieked as he swerved.

“What? Does that scare you? Does that fucking scare you?” He barked back, but he turned his head back toward the road. His right hand’s knuckles had turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he had ripped it off, either on accident or on purpose. Wouldn’t have been the first time.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You spat out. “Are you crazy? Are you insane? Is that what HYDRA did? They made you fucking crazy?” It was like watching yourself from outside your body. You would’ve never said that. Never. Personal attacks were not your style. But something about him—or maybe something about the two of you together—made you act in ways you sometimes couldn’t control.

“Don’t you fucking say that! Don’t you ever fucking say that! You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about!” He slammed on the breaks, pulling off to the little gravel section on the side of the road. You were in the middle of nowhere—surrounded by trees on a mountain.

When he slammed on the breaks, your body hurled forward, your arm slamming into the dashboard. “Fuck!” You groaned, clutching your arm. Your phone slipped from your lap and clattered to the truck floor. “You fucking suck!”

“And you’re a stuck-up bitch!” He shouted back.

“I wish Steve never saved your sorry ass, I wish I’d never ever met you.” You growled, clenched fists trembling with rage.

“You really are the worst thing that ever happened to me. I mean that.” When he uttered the words, his teeth were bared. Like a dog, you thought. HYDRA’s bitch in all his fucking glory.

“Really? Seventy years of shit and it’s me? I’m the worst thing?” You were losing your mind. “Glad to know being even near me is worse than torture! Glad you’re sharing your experiences, Bucky.”

“And how would you know? What, like you’re my goddamn best friend or some shit? You’re fucking not. We aren’t even friends!” He roared the words in the loudest volume you’d ever heard from him.

Of course you knew that you weren’t friends. Obviously. But you didn’t need the bitchy Bucky Barnes to remind you. Seething, you decided that you were done with this shit, and you didn’t care what Nat or Tony had to say about it.

“No fucking shit! Thank you so much, Sherlock Holmes! And for once, you’re actually right! I’m not your friend! Thank you for making that clear for me. In fact, I’m so grateful that I’ll give you what you've wanted since the beginning, you bitch!” You unbuckle your seatbelt, before pressing the ‘unlock’ button.

Hopping out of the truck, Bucky began to copy you. “You can’t leave!” He said, and his tone sounded like he was accusing you of something. You responded by sticking both middle fingers up near your chest.

“Watch me!” You slammed the door shut before turning and stalking off bitterly.

You made it maybe fifteen quick steps away before you heard Bucky’s door slam shut. His shoes made noise against the road. Before he could say anything, you whirled around to face him. He stopped, five feet away from you. He opened his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

"Have you ever considered that maybe it's you? Everyone keeps leaving you and you keep acting surprised. It's because you push them away, Bucky! You push them away!" Your voice becomes shrill at the end of your statement.

He flinches at the mention of Steve. "You don't understand." Bucky called out.

"Then explain it to me then, Bucky. Explain it!" It was more of a begging shout than an angry one. "What, are you worried that he'll leave you or some shit? Cause he's not! I followed him halfway across the world for you!"

"He's the only person who's left! He's all I've got left, the last good thing I have!"

"Probably because you refuse to do anything but glare at everybody else! So you can go ahead and be by yourself! Serves you right!" You spin around, beginning to walk down the road again again. You're too angry to check if he's still following you.

You find out once you feel a hand on your shoulder. Filled with rage, you spin around and punch him right in the face. You regret it immediately as you feel the stinging pain in your fist.

He lets out a loud 'fuck!' as he clutches his jaw. His brows furrow and he looks up at you, eyes wide and furious. You knew in that moment that you’d fucked up. Without warning, you turn and race down the road, knowing that he was right behind you. Shit, shit, shit, you repeated in your head.

You trip over a pothole, pausing. Bucky, however, clearly wasn’t paying attention as he rammed into you. You let out a shriek, tripping and falling down right at the precipice of the hill. And then you were rolling. Rolling through leaves, and mud, and sticks as you both swatted and kicked at each other. Then you rolled through a small creek, and you let out a yowl as you felt your clothes get wet, writhing even more as gravity pulled you down.

When it was over, you both laid there for a moment. Bucky had landed on top of you, and you struggled to breathe. Shoving him off of you, you stared up into the starry sky. Something about it made you want to take back what you'd thought about the value of this trip. At least the sky was pretty.

You got up at the same time he did. The two of you looked at each other, tense. You weren't sure if he was still pissed about the whole punching-him-thing. But God, the fall hurt. Your head hurt. Your back hurt. As did your legs and arms and face and literally almost every part of you.

"Fuck you, Barnes." Was all you said, before you began walking forward. Tumbling just far enough that you were basically in the forest, you could still see the hill you fell from. You were insanely dizzy, but the pain in your body and the wetness of your clothes grounded you. You didn’t know where to go, but you knew you couldn’t stand to look at his face anymore. You picked a direction and began to walk. Bucky did not follow.

It was hard to tell how far you’d gone. The darkness, coupled by the fact that all of these trees seemed to look the same, was not helpful towards your already-poor sense of direction.

After a while, you sat down against a tree. Attempting to reach for your phone, you let out a pathetic groan as you realize it was sitting probably under your seat back in the truck.

So you truly were fucked at the moment.

The sky was beautiful. It was the kind of dark, starry sky that had splashes of blue in it. It was like someone had water colored it. You knew you weren't going to die in the woods. You're an Avenger, damn it.

The sound of sticks breaking tore you from your thoughts. You believed it was a wild animal, at first. But even with the darkness, you could tell who it was. Bucky Barnes, the one hundred and six year-old Super Soldier.

"Don't act like you're not happy to see me like this." You called out as he stepped closer.

He was close enough that you could see his face. He looked...almost remorseful.

"Don't look at me like you're sorry. You're not sorry." You groaned out.

He said nothing, but you could tell he disagreed. He stood beside you, and he was quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry. For punching you.” You say quietly. “I don’t regret what I said, though. It’s true. They all..we all want to help you. But we can’t because—“

“I know.” He cuts you off, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry too.” He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I don’t…know why I am the way I am. But I don’t wanna be like that. Like this. Not forever.”

When you didn’t say anything, he continued. “Sometimes I think that this is it and I can’t do anything about it. That this is how it goes. That I lived through…it all, just to be fucked over from it forever.” He fiddled with his hands, looking down. “And I don’t…want it to be that way. So I guess I’m saying I’ll try to do better.”

Your head bobbed up and down shakily. “Yeah. And..I’m sorry about bringing that up. That was…shit, that was awful. I’m sorry.”

He nodded too, still not looking up at you. “Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“About..about me being HYDRA’s bitch. Did you mean that?” He looked up and you could see his expression and it burned in your stomach. It was hard to describe—a boyish suffering; like that of a kicked puppy.

“I…what?” Holy shit. Had you said that under your breath on accident? Now you felt truly guilty. “No. God, no. Oh my God. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything, looking back down and watching as he fiddled more with his hands.

“Do you have any idea where the truck is?” You ask after an awkward silence. He responded by pointing behind him. Great, you thought. You’d been walking the wrong way the whole time.

“The serum made my eyesight better. I can kind of see in the dark.” He explained.

You nodded, sighing. “There’s some towels in the back of the truck. We can put them on the seats. To help with all the…mud.” You gestured between the two of you.

You both made the trek back up the hill to the road, and then began to make your way to the eerily silent truck.

You laid down the towels, and then Bucky put the keys in the truck. He twisted them, and nothing happened. His brows furrowed. He tried again.

Silence.

“When we got out of the car,” he began, voice measured. “Nobody turned it off.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Please. Please tell me you’re joking.” You pressed your fist to your forehead.

“The battery must be dead.” He said, staring blankly ahead through the windshield.

You dug under the seat, finding your phone. “I’ll call for a tow truck, or whoever the fuck I’m meant to call.” You groaned.

The two of you stood awkwardly shivering in the cold as you waited for your savior in overalls.

A/N: Hoping that the tag list works well this time! I was previously having trouble with some usernames not being tagged, but that seems to be resolved! (hopefully)

I cannot promise a schedule, but I do want to finish this series this year! Hope everybody had some happy holidays and a wonderful new year!

Taglist: @afraidofshrimp @kandis-mom @laughterafter @cjand10 @emmsybucky @mrsnotfeelingsogood @matchat3a @identity2212 @ilovemcuff @unaxv @mysticalfuncollectorus @highwaytomichelle @lilbloggs @ordelixx @skiemi-blog @allieb913 @winterslove1917 @chimchoom @moonlight-readings @unearthlydreams @emizlav

graphics by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

If you enjoyed, please reblog!

[fan-goddess]

If he’s a ghost, I can be a phantom

Authors Note: So this has taken way too long for me to write. I hit way too many blocks last year so hopefully i won't have the same with this one. I think though I'll be taking a haitus just to clear my head, as i want to take some space while i focus on other things

Word count: 14.2k words

Taglist: @hoosbandewan @humanpurposes @watercolorskyy @omgbrcat @blue-serendipity @arcielee

Warnings: Heavy sexism, patriarchal views, cheating, angst, sexual tension, does reader come off as i'm not like other girls? kissing, blood, descriptions of bullet wound, talk of one night stands, alcohol, arousal, threats of murder, pervy men (if i miss any which im sure i did let me know so i can add it.)

The mission was not supposed to go like this.

It was supposed to be a quick and easy mission, but you suppose simplicity is not as easy to maintain or even believe to be true, when you’re bleeding with a gunshot wound to your shoulder and at least a litre and a half of blood spilled on a once pristine white carpet.

Tom Bennett is supposedly one of the best of the best. He was recruited when he was still pretty young from the army, and since then, had been trained ruthlessly to know how to shoot and where the places had to be to look like somebody else’s vengeance.

You yourself were similar, but you actually had the smarts going for you rather than the brawn. Soon as you graduated from university with a degree in foreign communications, two men in suits were sitting on your sofa describing what’ll happen and how in very painstakingly detailed ways.

You’d never met Agent Tom Bennett before the mission briefing, but you had certainly heard of him. Son of a pacifist from Manchester, who ironically likes to get into one too many fights that the agency, while not being happy about paying the damages for, does not mention since Bennett does the job needed. What you hear most however from your coworkers, is how he never leaves a mission without a notch in his post, even if it’s from his fellow agent.

So when being told your mission and your partner, your male supervisor gave you a once over and told you to keep your head high and your legs firmly shut. And like the good girl you pretended to be, you just nodded your head so you could work and die someplace better than the dreary country that is mother England.

Even sitting in that briefing room waiting for Agent Bennett to grace you all with his presence you swore you could feel the eyes of every person in that room making bets in their heads whether you’d sleep with him on the mission or not. And by how you analysed everyone watching you, the probability of it being yes was quite frankly staggering.

“Hello hello hello!” A man's voice says, and when you turn to look at the intruder unlike everyone else who simply didn't care enough to turn, you’re met with such a cocky smirk you know exactly who this is.

“And who is this pretty little lady?” Tom says, finally directing his attention to you who just continues to sit there with a blank face.

“It’s Agent to you Agent Bennett.”

“Oh is it now? Well I’m very sorry, agent. I’ll be sure to address you right from now on shan’t I? Though I’m sure with our mission we’ll get on like a house on fire by the end.” Agent Bennett grins, sitting down directly next to you and plopping his arm round your neck. Though to his own amusement only, you immediately shove him off you and move yourself further down the sofa with a huff.

The supervisor overseeing the mission's progress thankfully manages to distract him by beginning the debriefing.

“Agents, we are sending you to France in a few weeks to-“

“Fuck off!” Agent Bennett shouts which even after all your training still manages to make you jump in your seat.

“As I was saying,” The supervisor starts again, glaring hard at Agent Bennett who sulks in his seat like a child on the verge of a tantrum. “You’ll be going to France to infiltrate and retrieve some information from a corrupt politician's estate that he keeps in a hard drive inside of a vault in his office.”

“What’s the security on the estate and vault?” You ask, as Agent Bennett it seems is still acting like a spoiled child after being told he needs to go to France, when already off the top of your head you could list so many other much worse places he could’ve been told he needed to go.

“The usual security protocol. He has security cameras equipped with night vision, guards to patrol the grounds as well as guard dogs trained to attack on site, and sensors in regards to lights, doors and of course the safe, which you two need to get into. We couldn't find anything about it in our extensive research, so you'll both need to use your heads when faced with that later on in the mission.”

“Sounds impossible…” You can’t help but comment.

“Oh come on, love don’t sound so negative!” Bennett grins. You can see him looking at you from the corner of your eye but it appears you’ve already managed to grow tired of his bullshit, so instead you merely look to the supervisor who, like you, appears to be attempting to ignore the guy. “I’m sure we’ll be done before suppers on the table!”

“Sure.” You simply say, rolling your eyes while the supervisor already looks ready to chuck Agent Bennett into the enemies home arse first.

“Now, you two will be our main operatives with the surveillance team being ready to assist whenever they’re needed. It took some work, but we managed to get a good enough alibi to get you both inside as it turns out our politician has a fancy for private masquerade balls.”

As he says this a much younger recruit who looks barely old enough to drink in Europe passes you and Agent Bennett your individual case files, and when you open it to look at your latest identity, you find yourself having to hold in your disgust.

“Mrs Dahlia Carrington?” You can’t help but question out loud, already dreading what Agent Bennett will say.

“Yes wife?” Like clockwork, his annoying voice rings out boiling your blood with every syllable. “As Mr Thomas Carrington, I suppose it is my duty to make sure my beloved is dressed to her best!”

“Never call me that again.”

“Just getting us both into the mood sweetie!”

“Don’t call me that either!” You snap, turning to him with a clenched fist that you oh so desperately want to damage his pretty smirking face with.

“Enough the both of you!” Your supervisor begs, glaring at you and Agent Bennett and making you feel like a child being lectured by their parents. “Agent Bennett, I for one can say have had enough with your playboy nature and how it constantly affects your missions. Will you behave this time, or will I need to prepare another incident report for your arrival with an extra year or two suspended field training?”

And like a child who’s been lectured by a parents, Agent Bennett pouts with a furrowed expression.

“No sir…”

“Good. Now learn your documents and meet with your team. They have the necessary equipment you’ll be needing to get familiar with. Formal wear included.”

You take the supervisor's ending nod as your dismissal and take the file in your hand as you leave. You do not dare look at Agent Bennett, especially as he begins to moan again only this time because he’s been told he has to wear a suit and tie, yet still you manage to get the feeling of goosebumps erupting on your back as you swear you feel his gaze roam your behind.

You cannot be bothered to snap at the man again, so you just sigh loudly to let him know of your annoyance at his actions, and his deep chuckle rings through your mind as you walk away.

As you sit on the stool waiting for your outfit to arrive for you to try it on, you read the file carefully making sure to try and memorise every word possible.

The man whose house you are to sneak into, with help of Agent Bennett as the supervisor had spoken in the debriefing, is a pure French blooded politician whose work slowly turned more and more poisoned against the good of the people. Most recently, he’s gotten access to certain information that could bring about war if placed into the hands of the wrong people, and like the idiot he is, he’s kept it on his computer in his estate.

So what you and Agent Bennett are simply assigned to do, is act like you’re both members of high society to get inside the politician's home and retrieve the information stored most likely on his laptop.

It seems very simple. But then again, all the files of Agent Bennett's other missions seemed simple too, and most of them ended up in millions of pounds in property damage and at least a couple hundred dead bodies needing an explanation only the government could provide.

“Here we are my dear!” The stylist says as he walks through the door with your dress in his hand.

Before you had been given access to missions and was stuck on desk duty, you had never realised that being an agent stylist was an actual job offered here at headquarters. But now that you’ve been upgraded and done a good amount of missions you definitely see why it’s necessary, especially since the bulletproof vest has certainly saved your skin once or twice.

“Oh Stan, it's gorgeous!” You gush as he hangs it on the rack and steps back to allow you to see it in its full glory.

The dress's colour is mainly a deep blue, similar to that of a sapphire, but in the middle where the deep blue fabric separates the fabric is a much lighter shade that you can only describe as being like the cornflowers you see in the fields. The dresses shoulder cuffs are short with a barely noticeable belt keeping the dress firmly fitted. The same sapphire shade continues down the dress till the very end, which happens to be just around your ankles which is the just the way you like your dresses to be.

Overall, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

“I’m glad you think so.” Stan smiles, stepping back towards the dress so he can show you the extra special details not seen by the public. “Now the fabric this is made out of is bullet resistant thread. It’ll stop the bullet going in you, but it’s not perfect. If you’re under fire and hit one too many times it’ll rip and you’ll get shot. Understand?”

“Understood.”

“Good. The dress is tailored for your preference, as I remember you saying you didn’t like too long dresses. Also, it’s not too short so it shows the knife or pistol that you will no doubt have strapped to your thigh. Other than those two things the dress is pretty explanatory and simple. Still, anything you wanna ask about?”

“Why blue?” You can’t help but ask. Usually you’d be asking all about the dynamics and the science behind it. But right now, you can’t help but feel curious when looking at the colour of the dress that you rarely ever see on your other wardrobe items.

“Cause Agent Bennett said it’d bring out your eyes.” Stan simply says, full on cackling with amusement when he sees your face melt into an untimely scowl.

On the day before the mission, the supervisor claimed that to get into a better mindset for the roles you and Agent Bennett needed to play, you both needed to spend a night in a nearby hotel.

Though you should’ve known that bastard was up for something when he smiled whilst he said this, as after speaking to the female receptionist, who seemed all too eager in your opinion in eyeing up your pretend husband, and heading to the room, you discover only one bed. And what’s worse, if it somehow could’ve been, is that it was covered in rose petals.

The supervisor had booked the two of you a honeymoon suit.

It was like he was enticing Agent Bennett to attempt to sleep with you, not that you’d ever let him get near enough though of course.

“Well could’ve been worse I s’pose!” Agent Bennett sniffs as he walks around the room. He opens every cabinet, leaves every door open, chucks his bags and other belongings on the bed until eventually his unique bout of chaos settles and he’s sitting on a sofa chair by the open window with an open bag of peanuts in one hand, a bottle of soda in another, and an old fashioned movie playing in the background.

“What?” He muffles with his mouth full. “If the agency is paying for it all, which I know they are, better make the most of it Mrs!”

“Don’t call me that.” You simply say, refusing to admit he’s actually correct for once in his statement. Instead you just take the time to organise your suitcase and your belongings so everything is where it should be and in a discreet place in case housekeeping decides to visit while you’re away.

This evening, you and your pretend husband were going to go, or rather are being ordered to go, downstairs for dinner to further push this idea that the two of you were just a regular married couple.

So about an hour before the dinner reservation in the hotels restaurant while Agent Bennett was too busy trying to find a channel on the hotels tv that wasn't all in bloody French, you slipped into the bathroom to attempt to slip yourself in a dress suitable enough for an evening meal, but not too revealing as to look like you're trying to be invited to work undercover in the red light district.

You stare at the five differently styled dresses you narrowed your two suitcases to, and can't help but sigh to yourself. How on earth have you managed to get yourself in this particular situation?

"Oi! You gonna be any longer missus? Think I'm gonna piss myself here with how long you've been on the loo for!"

"Piss off the balcony for all I care, I'm changing!" You yell back, not looking away from the line of dresses hung up on the shower curtain line.

"Touchy touchy... well if ya want I could always come in and-"

"Over my dead body!" This time, you sharply turn to the door and glare as you picture Agent Bennett on the other side with his smug smirk and his crossed arms that manage to somehow make his biceps bigger than what they were. Ugh it makes you sick in the stomach just thinking about them.

"For god's sake love open the door and I'll choose the god damn dress so you can quit fussing and I can quit trying not to piss myself over the carpet! I don't wanna barge in cause you're a lady and all that but i'm a desperate man over here!" He says, and you can't help but giggle for a moment as you imagine him hopping about with crossed legs and his arms crossed over his bladder. Still, with a straight face you unlock and open the bathroom door and stand aside as to your amusement, Agent Bennett just as you imagined, shuffles into the room with his legs fused together.

"The red one." He simply says, barely managing to get a look at them all before deciding on one you suspect at random.

"But it's got that massive slit down the side that shows my knee. I want to be formal, not like I'm looking for a good time."

"So go with the yellow." He quickly fires, definitely making eyes at the toilet.

"Washes me out like Edward Cullen."

"He an ex of yours or something? Green looks charming."

"I'm gonna respectfully choose to ignore that statement and accept your apology. Besides, I don't have the shoes to go with it."

"Choose the black one or I'm pissing with or without you in the room. And a word of warning, I think a number two may be coming up on the horizon sweetheart."

"You're disgusting." You snap, grabbing all the dresses from the shower curtain rail and swiftly retreating from the room. You can hear Agent Bennett's unique chuckle echo as you begin shutting the door behind you, and you refuse to believe it's why your heart feels like it's beating a million beats a second hard against your rib cage.

You stare in the mirror as you place the black dress in front of yourself in an attempt to see how it looks, and you can't help but think damn. You look fucking hot.

As you walked beside Agent Bennett arm in arm into the restaurant, you swore you could feel somebody's eyes resting on you. Even after the two of you had sat down and ordered some drinks, the back of your neck felt sweltering from the eyes of another.

“It’s cause of the dress.” Your pretend husband insisted as he sipped on some of the red wine. Apparently ordering a plain old lager wasn’t very upper class of him. “Your tits look really good in it.”

“Don’t look at my breasts agent Bennett!” You scowl, moving your arms to shield his and possibly even the other set of eyes from your slightly revealed skin.

“Maybe don’t call me agent Bennett whilst we’re undercover wifey.” He smirks, choosing to blissfully ignore your previous demand.

“Fine! Husband, do not stare at my breasts in public.”

“So you’re fine with me going it in the privacy of our room? Good to know.”

“If we weren’t in public right now I swear I’d-“

“Are you both ready to order some starters?” A voice interrupts you admittedly with a start. When you turn around a relatively young man possibly even younger than yourself stands there in a fancy suit and a small notebook in hand. He’s got a charming smile you suppose, but the eyes tell an entirely different story as you can see him very clearly taking the opportunity to look down the front of your dress.

“I’ll take the dived scallops with charred leak, onion broth and pink purslane.” You snap the starter menu shut loudly which thankfully draws the attention of the waiter from your breasts. He even seems to be bashful as his face turns a light pink and he coughs a few times as he adjusts himself.

“And you sir?” He finally squeezed, turning to Tom who looked at the man unimpressed as if he wasn’t doing practically the same thing not even five minutes ago.

“I’ll take the same as my wife.” Tom emphasizes those last two words firmly while he glares at the poor boy who begins to stutter out an apology towards you.

"I-I'm sorry ma'am! I'll send someone else over to take the rest of your order!" And like that, the lad runs off with his tail between his legs, leaving you with a distinct yet mixed feeling of both shame and gratitude, while Tom begins to chug the rest of his glass of wine and refills the empty glass with a smile like the cat who ate the canary.

Five minutes go by filled only with the background noise of the restaurant's classical music and the conversations of other hotel guests, and finally another person comes over dressed in the same looking suit.

"Hi my name is Henriette and I shall be taking the rest of your order and helping you with any issues you may or may not face for the rest of the evening. I see my colleague has already taken your starters, but could I please have the rest of your intended food order?" Compared to the other guy, this woman certainly acts like she belongs here.

"I'm afraid to say my dear that my husband is very particular with his food order so I will be deciding for him or else we'll both end up going hungry! I shall have for my main the ratatouille, while he'll have the beef carbonnade. For desserts, me and my husband will each have a chocolate ganache cake with the amarena cherries.”

“Perfect choice Madame!” Henriette smiles as she takes the yours and Tom’s menus before nodding her head to you slightly and walking away.

“I’m very particular with my food?”

“Yes. Like a child who refuses to eat their vegetables because they’re green.”

“I would take offence to that if it wasn’t true.” Tom admits, even shrugging his shoulders while you giggle slightly at his action.

The rest of the evening is filled with chatter and smiles that are not as reluctant as you’d like to admit. That stare you felt at the beginning of the night washes away as you concern yourself with Tom and his antics that leave your cheeks aching from how relaxed you've been with him.

The food soon arrives one after another, and each time a plate is placed in front of Tom he gives you a look of untrustworthiness as he raises his fork and moves to take a bite. Yet every time he does this he gives you a look of satisfying defeat which you always respond with a smile.

By the time the desserts arrive, Tom has eaten every bite of the food you chose for him, and you remember that fact distinctively so you could rub it in his face later on.

"So... how's the food been?" You can't help but ask as you savor the way too overpriced little cake that's about the same size as the distance between your thumb and your palm.

"They've been pretty good." He grunts, eyes focused on the cake he doesn't care about the size of, only the rich taste and the thought of how younger he would've killed for this sort of food.

"Pretty good? If we weren't in public I'd think you were about to lick the goddamn plate."

"Not my fault the portions are small as fuck."

"Tom, don't swear in public, it's unbecoming!"

"Jesus what are you my father now? Or my sister?"

"Tom, what are you talking about?" Your brow furrows in confusion at Tom's sudden change in mood. Where was that person who half an hour ago was joking and riling you up with only the topic of your own boobs for gods sake and who is this moody teenager that replaced him?

"Cause I know you're just putting up with me cause you were assigned to me." he begins, but pauses to refill his glass. That's when you realise exactly why his tongue seems to be so loose and why his mood is so well, moody. Tom Bennett has allowed himself to indulge practically at the very start of the mission and is now sitting in front of you pissed as a sea sailor on bloody red wine of all things. "You're probably thinking about how pathetic I am right now! Oh how pathetic is it that top agent Bennett is getting drunk so early!"

"Jesus Christ Tom, can you keep it together!" You attempt to whisper, but ultimately fail as you see everyone is slowly beginning to turn to look at the two of you including the waitress from earlier.

So in an attempt to halt the damage already made, you grab Tom's arm and try to pull him from his chair so you can drag him back to your room and let him sleep this mood swing off. Though that's about as effective as running through water as he just slumps against you and nearly knocks you straight to the floor, training be damned it seems.

"Do you wish for me to help you Madame? I could get someone at the front desk to help?" The familiar voice of Henriette says.

"No thank you I am perfectly capable Henriette. I am used to dragging my husband away when he's gotten into one of his moods. As much as he denies it every time he has never been very good at holding his alcohol no matter the amount of times he does it." You have to force yourself to act calm and like a true high class lady, but anyone with eyes could see how frustrated you were at that moment as you refrained yourself from whacking Tom over the head and teaching him a lesson.

You somehow manage to get Tom out of the dining hall with the stares of every man and woman in that room no doubt judging your sham of a marriage with their eyes and tongues. Just as you're about to leave though, you suddenly remember the bill and almost go straight back leaving Tom in the middle of the corridor whilst you sort it out, but then with a sigh of utmost gratitude you also remember how it'll be charged at the end of your stay.

“Where are you taking me, wife?” He grumbles, feeling you stop him so suddenly he gets the urge to throw up.

“Back to our room husband. Because of you and your inability to hold your alcohol, our mission may have failed before it even began.”

This time, the hotheaded agent doesn’t have a response to give you. Instead, he just closes his eyes and leans himself against you, allowing himself to be dragged to the room. In the elevator though there is some elderly woman decked to the dimes in diamonds and sapphires who gives the two of you a knowing look from where she stands.

“Long night?” She asks you, staring straight ahead as the doors close behind you.

“Tell me about it…” You laugh, grunting as Tom begins to slip and you’re forced to pull him up further against you. She laughs with you with a look in her eyes as if she’s remembering something long ago, and with that the conversation between you ends.

She gets off on the next floor, and you and Tom manage to make it back to your room giving the impression of a young dutiful wife just taking her drunk husband back to their room.

Soon as you get inside, you chuck Tom off you onto the sofa and chuckle as you imagine him waking up in the middle of the night with a sore back and his evening clothes.

You change into comfy pajamas you packed and get into bed, almost falling straight to sleep with how comfy the bed and pillows are, but not before listening to the sound of Tom's snoring that sends you into a deep sleep.

When you wake on the morning of the mission to the sound of your alarm, you can’t help but allow your eyes to be drawn to the sofa where you expect to see Toms drooped over a wine stinking body. Only there’s no one there.

“Tom?” You call out as you step out the bed and make your way to the bathroom thinking maybe he’s in there throwing up his insides. Only when you hear no response or even any throwing up noises do you enter to find it in the exact same way you left it this morning.

When you touch the sofa you take note of how it’s slightly cold to the touch, and can’t help yourself but think about Tom possibly staggering from his seat late at night whilst you slept and got himself in trouble.

The anxiety gnaws at your mind as the possibilities of what could’ve happened to him keep coming at you.

Where did he go?

What if he went looking for more alcohol in a dingy bar somewhere and got caught?

What if he’s lying somewhere dead?

By the time you come around your nails are half shredded and your legs are shaking slightly from how long you’ve been standing up. And to keep yourself sane for the time being you find yourself for the first time ever texting Agent Tom Bennett.

The agency for every new case assigns the agent a different phone with all the information and numbers needed. You’d been given yours after the debriefing, and yet somehow Tom had already begun to spam you with random texts throughout the day.

What is your favourite food? What's your drink of choice? What’s your favourite colour?

You never answered, partially because leaving him on read was an exhilarating experience. So texting him now felt strange to do.

Where are you?

You texted him that first. But after five minutes of watching the pixilated words be left unanswered and unread you sent him another.

I hope your having the worst hangover of your life. You deserve it after last night and how you acted. Show up to the mission sober if you can go so long without a drink I’m surprised the so great agent Bennett is an alcoholic

You take a break staring in order to take a shower and hopefully clear your thoughts. As you step out the bathroom and begin to towel dry your hair you hear your phone ping with a notification, and it’s as if rocks have been tied to your feet with how heavy they feel walking to your phone.

You open it with a hitched breath, and you almost get the urge to chuck it straight out the balcony doors when you see the message.

Didn’t think you’d have worried about little old me that much Mrs. And don’t worry, my hangover, which I’m sad to report is practically non existant, will probs be gone before the mission even begins. I’ll meet you there when you need me.

And when you think it’s over, he sends another

By the way it’s you’re when speaking bout my headache love, not your ;)

“Bastard.” You groan this time chucking yourself against the bed. Why does he take such pleasure in your annoyance? Why does he seem to enjoy making your life so hard?

In the end in an attempt to take your mind off the hurricane that was Tom Bennett you switch your phone off and spend the whole day in your hotel room fixing yourself up for this evening.

You firstly treat yourself to room service breakfast involving pancakes, croissants, bacon and the whole nine dimes. Then after cleaning yourself up you got onto the actual dressing up aspect.

The dress as soon as you had arrived in the room yesterday was hung up on a hook from within its protective bag in the wardrobe, and when you retrieve it and unravel it you go just as breathless as you were when you first saw it.

The blue is still as breathtaking and the length still as satisfactory. You almost get the girlish urge to put it on now and twirl around like how you did as a child in your Disney princess costume, but stop yourself as you remember Stan warning you not to crease the dress at all, so to be safe you zip the protective cover straight back up and close the wardrobes door firmly to be safe.

So you move on to trying on everything else. The bra you plan to wear isn't too important as the dress will cover up your shoulders so that's out of the way.

The shoes take up some time but in your opinion not long enough. Since practically as soon as the questions come at you their answers come shooting in quick succession behind them. The question on what was nonexistent as since you knew dancing was going to happen whether by the agencies demand or even Toms, heels were out of the question. And since there were few other shoes packed for you in your suitcase you soon found yourself with some dark navy kitten heels that managed to make you feel elegant and safe at the same time.

Makeup though was your biggest time consumer though. You spent hours thinking about what was suitable and what was not with all the products that had been packed all laid out on the dresser table in front of you.

You couldn't put too much on, as then everyone would stare and you might as well cancel the mission before it's even begun. Though you couldn't go without any or be super subtle with it all or else even then you'll get judgemental stares from people. So you spend quite a bit of time in front of the mirror putting various different products on your face and finally after what thankfully feels like forever, you find a style that suits both you and the mission at hand perfectly.

When experimenting, you did debate on possibly wearing something you think would interest the man whose house you're infiltrating, but you soon put that thought to bed when the con list became longer than the pros, not that there was even anything on there in the beginning. You had no idea what he was truly like behind closed doors apart from of course betraying his country and his people that is.

Though the one you wear now, it makes you feel powerful.

It’s a good mixture of subtle yet striking, with the use of eyeliner forcing people to look into your eyes. There’s only a little conditioner and foundation to cover up a few spots and blemishes. The only other thing you decide to use make-up wise is some lipstick that’s a little darker than your natural lip shade.

You decide to take it off as it’s still a while before you need to leave before the ball, so to waste time you do what you never would’ve done before this mission.

You sat on the bed in a complimentary dressing gown, ordered some fancy lunch, and watched reality tv. You watch it all as you eat without any complaints. It feels like you were a teenager all over again without a care in the world.

Though soon the time ticks away and it’s about time for you to get changed into your outfit and prepare your weapons. A small pistol strapped to your thigh. A signet looking ring on your ring finger that when activated, could deliver 50 thousand volts to whoever is unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of it. And your personal favourite, a pepper spray that’s disguised to look like a shade of red lipstick.

When that’s all sorted though and hidden away from the public eye, only then do you dare turn your phone back on. You don’t really know what to expect. Messages from Tom begging for forgiveness? A message from your supervisor saying you’re gonna be extracted as Toms blew the mission?

You will say what you do find when you turn your phone. Nothing. No messages, no notifications, nothing.

It’s a blow to the stomach but you take it on the chin and deal with it, especially when it's Tom you’re dealing with.

Walking down to the lobby to get to the car that’ll bring you to the rich guy's mansion, you can feel the stares of others on your skin as you walk. To keep appearances you simply sway your hips as you pass to show you are unbothered by your past, and smile at yourself like you own the world.

Which you certainly feel like when you realise the car that’ll be dropping you off is a smaller yet still classy limousine, even equipped with an equally handsome man who opens the door for you to get in.

“Good evening Mrs Carrington,” The kind man begins as you slowly sway closer. “My name is Webster, and I shall be your chauffeur for the duration of this service. There are drinks within the back as-well as many small snacks in case you were feeling particularly peckish. Do you have any questions for me?”

“No thank you Webster I believe any I thought of have already been answered.” You just simply say with a smile of gratitude as you duck into the car and let out a sigh you didn’t even realise you were holding as you sat down on the soft leather.

You turn your head slightly to get a look at these drinks and small snacks on offer, and it truly does seem all your questions have been answered as you meet the eyes of your pretend husband for the evening as he drinks at a bottle of unlabelled substance.

“I’d have thought after yesterday you’d avoid alcohol…” You can’t help but snidely comment, watching as he grumbles at it.

“I came back didn’t I? Ain’t that the most important thing?”

“The most important thing Bennett, is you making sure you don’t screw this mission over with your day drinking.” You respond, and in an act of retaliation that shocks even you, you make a grab at the bottle of drink and sniff at the top to try and tell what it is.

Though you suppose it’s even more shocking for you to discover that the bottle doesn’t smell like cheap booze as you thought it was, but actually it was the scentless yet still recognisable scent of water.

“Not had a drop since yesterday.” Tom sneers, grabbing back the bottle to take another swig. "Wouldn't want to embarrass the perfect little agent anymore than I already have."

"Don't call me that Bennett." You snap, looking at him with hate in your eyes as you try to think back to the nice man you talked with yesterday.

"Why not Mrs? Aren't you the one who's got the 100% success rate in all their missions? The one who always catches the bad guy with not a single scratch on her soft delicate skin?" Tom continues to antagonise you and you swear you're this close to yanking that bottle from his hands and whacking him to death with it in this very car.

"Let's just focus on the mission, husband, so then this can all be over and done with and we can go back to never talking too or even better not even seeing each other again. Alright?"

"Fine..." He amusingly grumbles as he slumps further into the seat. "Run the plan by me again Mrs as I'm sure you've memorised it all already."

"I actually have, but if you insist. We get into the venue posing as Mr and Mrs Carrington, then socialise for a bit to appear as the average bourgeoisie couple, maybe even dance a bit if we need to. After that we head to the politician's office to extract the information from the hard drive within the vault. Hopefully we should be out and back in bed before midnight. Any questions?"

Tom, deciding to be the class clown in a car of only three people, raises his hand as if in a classroom. "I've got a question Mrs! Who said anything about dancing?"

"The supervisor did. As according to him we need to fit in as much as possible and that includes dancing whether you like the idea or not. Oh, and one more thing silly old me forgot to mention. Don't flirt with any lonely wives or daughters."

"Oh come on Mrs don't you think I have some self restraint?" He attempts to laugh with a smile on his face that soon much to your own amusement however, is quickly wiped away when he sees the dead seriousness of your expression and voice. "Do you really think that little of me?"

"Well within the first full day of knowing me you got drunk as a sailor after being honest for two seconds with me, then left in the middle of the night to do god knows what in the streets. So yes Agent Bennett, that is what I think of you."

"You remind me of my sister... I don't say that often or with great pleasure..." Tom grumbles while you yourself find yourself acting surprised at his words.

"You've got a sister?" You find yourself asking.

"Yeah. Lois. The brains of the family while I got the looks. Was a singer in a pub before she got the qualifications after having a baby to become a nurse at some great big hospital. Dad's little brainy-box while I'm sitting in a jail cell for another night." This time, you don't say the words that immediately pop into your head. As even as helpful as they will try to sound you know he'll take it as pity whichever way you say it. "Though I suppose I got the looks at least! We can agree on that, can't we missus! What you say after this we go to the pub? My treat!"

And with not even what you could say a snap of the fingers the energetic careful Agent Bennett returns. Along with the urge to smack him round the head with one hand while with the other you call HR.

"And do what? Just drinking?" You find yourself asking.

"Sure! And maybe more if you feel like it. No pressure at all! I do like my ladies, consenting I'll have you know!"

"Oh great you like the basic rules of sex. Good to know..." You grumble, and with your last strand of patience snapping, you find a small bottle of fruity cider you remember drinking back when you were a uni student and taking a swig.

"Now who needs to be told to watch their liquor!" Tom laughs.

"Shut it or I'm throwing you out of the car myself and making you walk."

"But I dunno where I'll be heading sweetheart!"

"Then ask a local for directions."

"But I don't speak french?"

"39% of the French population say they can speak English. With how much of a talker you tend to be, I'm sure you won't have much of an issue finding someone!"

After yours and Tom's little marital spat, as Tom himself called it as he grumbled like a toddler slouching against the seats, the rest of the ride to the estate was filled with silence. Occasionally the sound of a honking car or the regular noises of the bustling city life broke the silence, but apart from that you and Tom made no effort to get along.

You sometimes take a sip of the cider you opened without much thought, and you regret very soon as the taste washes over your tongue. There’s a reason why you drank this at uni. It’s cheap, it’s strong, and after a couple bottles you can’t remember your own name.

“We’re about five minutes from the location Mr and Mrs Carrington,” The driver says through the little intercom. “I suggest you start thawing out before the entrance.”

You and Tom look at each other from the corner of your eyes, and deep down know the man is right. Even if the two of you couldn’t stand each other right now, for the sake of the country as much as Tom claims to hate it you both do not want the innocent people to suffer.

“Fine.” You spit.

“Fine.” Tom grumbles back.

So like the loved-up couple you were both playing to be, with neither knowing who began moving first, yours and Tom's hand found each other and clutched together in a firm embrace.

When the both of you get out of the car at the front of the politician's house, your hands still clutch hard against one another as you both adorn the masks you’ve been given to conceal your identity.

In an almost ironic turn of events, you were given the mark of the devil, and Tom the mask of the angel.

"Looking good Mrs." You hear Tom say.

"Save it!" You simply snap back with your eyes facing straight forward. If he wants to try and make you begin liking him again with simple words, he's gonna have to try much harder than that. Preferably on his knees, but you don't mind as long as he truly shows his regret.

And with how you can practically hear him rolling his eyes at you, you know he'll at this point need to be doing a lot more than getting on his knees for you if you had anything to say to him.

The target as expected wasn't at the door to greet his guests. Instead, he simply walked around the rooms like God's greatest gift and allowed them the honour of approaching.

Only he wasn't going to be the spider standing idly by waiting for the fly to come to him. Tonight, he was the ignorant fly while you and Tom sat perched in your little web, venom ready awaiting the right moment to strike.

"You seen him yet angel?" Tom murmurs against your ear as he leads you into the main ball room with his hand perched firmly on your lower back. You can feel the warmth of his palm alone through the fabric of your clothes, and you hate the way it makes your stomach churn in a way that leaves you craving for more.

"If I saw him, I'd tell you." You just simply say, turning your head away from him as you still feel where his breath had tickled you. Somehow though, you didn't manage to pluck the courage inside you to move from his hand that still firmly imprints itself against you.

You can hear him lightly chuckle beside you, and with a quick yet heavy sip of the complimentary champagne you were offered when you both walked through the door, the mission began.

With every step forward you felt daggers piercing the back of your neck, and with every sudden high pitched laugh belonging to some man's wife you felt the grip on Tom's arm suddenly tighten.

"What you doing that for?!" He suddenly whispers after the fifth time.

"Something doesn't feel right..." You try to reason, resisting every urge to turn around.

"Oh I'm sorry. I guess I didn't realise I was partnered with the bloody girl who saw dead people."

"If we were not in this room full of people I want you to know I would've smacked you round the back of the head for that."

"Careful love. If you do it I may just like it."

"Save it for the gullible women you manage to con into sleeping with you." You attempt to seem disgusted at his actions as you think about how many women seem to be affected by Tom's typical charm, but then you're reminded that you were one of the women who'd fallen victim to his boyish-like smiles and his dopey laugh. You'll never admit this to anyone, but your face may have turned a little pink at the memory.

"Only if that gullible woman is you my sweet." Tom quips right back, smiling at you in such a way it feels like your heart may beat out of your chest. Yet to stop him from charming you anymore, you just roll your eyes and nudge Tom into the direction of the bar.

"Thought you said I wasn't allowed to drink?

"I did. It's just the extra cherry on top of the milkshake being able to drink in front of you. Like eating chocolate in front of a child past its bed time." You grin, ordering a double gin and tonic and finishing that first sip with an exaggerated sigh. "Husband, would you mind paying the bartender for my drink pretty please? I seem to have left my purse at home!"

"Any man that makes his wife pay for her own drinks looking like that in that dress is no man." The bartender comments, looking you up and down as he takes Tom's card and puts it through the machine. While the man's back is turned for a moment you can't help but observe him.

You recognise him from the list of employees you looked at before arriving tonight. His name is Henry Clarkes, a ginger middle aged man from Exeter currently on his 3rd marriage collapse. Though to be fair, that wouldn't have happened if he hadn't gotten another girl even younger than yourself pregnant with his 4th child. Though that's just your opinion...

By your side Tom grumbles something illegible as he stares daggers into the back of the man's head. And to your surprise, he only manages to push out an obviously strained thanks that even the man behind the bar chuckles at. So before Tom takes it upon himself to leap across that bar and beats the man black and blue, you take Tom's hand firmly in your own to squeeze it tight and drag him away from the scene.

"Bet you loved that." He says soon as you're far enough away. "But you would've taken him into our hotel room if I wasn't there!"

"Fucks sake Tom if i'd have known you were just as a dickhead sober I would've gotten you a drink before we came here. Maybe it would've made you more bearable..."

"So you don't deny it!" He growls, pulling you with a yelp as he forces you to a wall at the edge of the party. "You would've fucked him in our bed?"

"Jesus Tom no I would not have fucked that random man in our hotel bed!" You try to whisper, but it's sort of hard too when there's gossipy women practically circling you where you stand. "Unlike you, I don't sleep with random people I've met in the span of less than a minute!"

"I don't do that anymore!" Is that his defence? Really?

"Since when? This morning!?"

"Since I realised I'd be working with you a few weeks ago." It's the way he says it so quickly you suppose is what makes you so flustered. The way he had no hesitation in the words as if he had been waiting to say them all his life.

"Tom... I-"

"My my and who are these two lovebirds tucked away in the corner?" A voice suddenly says, bursting the two of you out of whatever trance you were entrapped in. You both turn to this person, and you have to physically stop yourself from reacting when you recognise them. The exact man whose home and party you just sneaked into, the corrupt french politician.

"I'm Dahlia Carrington monsieur, and this is my husband Thomas! I apologise for our behaviour, we were just having a little argument and-"

"Oh no need to apologise mademoiselle! I myself have at least one argument a day with my own wife!" That's cause you've been cheating on her with the nanny of your four children all under the age of 12. If it wasn't so sad to think about given the age gap, you'd have laughed at the cliche of it all. "Let me guess! She's been hitting the cards and the drinks a little too hard huh?"

Did this man really just manage to call you a gold-digger and some kind of alcoholic all in one insult? You think he did. Tom thinks it too, by the way he seems to glare the same kind of despising glaring at this man just like how he did at the bartender.

"Sure." Tom grits out, his jaw clenched down hard. You look down, and see that even his whole body is reared up.

Yet it seems this man is as dense as his security is, since he just keeps on talking.

"You know what you need to do son? Need to get her on a tighter leash if you ask me!" If Tom doesn't hit him, you definitely will at this point. "Maybe even give her a child! Cause I can tell from her figure alone that she hasn't had any yet! But trust me on this, only have a single son! Cause then you've got the heir, the wife off your back, and a still tight one when you need it! Oh, and by the way mademoiselle, you may want to smile a bit more. Makes you look all wrinkled and old."

How is this man smiling right now at you? He has just told you that you were pretty much just at best, a childbearing sex doll for your husband, and he's just standing there with the biggest fucking grin on his face drinking some million dollar looking champagne. How fucking dare?

"Ooh! I must be off now! There are so many guests to see and so little time... au revoir my good friends!" He smiles, disappearing into the crowd of the bourgeoisie, leaving you and Tom at the edge with anger written clearly on both your faces.

"I'm gonna kill him." You say first.

"Not if I do it first." Tom responds immediately after. "I'll push him down the stairs so everyone will claim it was cause he was drunk."

"I was just gonna shoot him in the head."

"Wouldn't that blow our cover?" Tom curiously asks, turning to you while you look back at him with a unique smile on your face that Tom can't help but cause a shiver to run up his spine.

"Doesn't matter to me. At least I get the satisfaction of knowing I rid the world of another patriarchal dickheaded twat..." You firmly say, watching Tom's mouth slowly turn into an almost impressed smirk.

"Fair enough wife. Fair enough."

Tom takes your hand in his as he slowly directs you through the room till you get to the staircase to the upper floors. Thankfully they haven't been shut off to the public, and instead people are being encouraged to look around and marvel at all the weird and frankly sort of disturbing memorabilia adorning the walls, such as stuffed animals being glass and paintings of worryingly young girls.

"His office is another floor up. If we continue looking like some regular prissy couple then we can get there easy." He says directing you further down the corridor to yet another set of stairs.

"If I knew I'd need to be climbing up so many stairs I'd have requested the costume team to have packed me more comfortable shoes..." You grumble as Tom looks over his shoulder to merely laugh at your pain.

"Awe, is the poor little lady unhappy she has to climb some simple stairs?" He pouts as he tilts his head, laughing loud at how you scowl at him. "I would've thought little miss perfect would've actually looked at the mission plans before this. My my was the mrs slacking?"

"Idiot." You simply sigh, rolling your ankles as soon as you get to the next floor. "I did look at the plans I'll have, you know! It's not my fault that it was never specified the height of the stairs..." You mumble. You can see Tom laugh slightly with a delighted twinkle in his eye as he looks at your pouting lips. He sure loves to see you suffer....

"I mean I could've carried Mrs up if her royal highness had asked me." Tom shrugs, laughing as you take the time to wack him on his upper arm with the back of your hand. "Hey hey hey Mrs don't hit our loving devoted husband! I did offer!"

"Yeah, when we were already up the stairs!"

"At least I offered at all! Besides, the office is just up here. You've stretched your ankle enough." Tom groans, grabbing you by the wrist this time to lead you. You grumble behind him as you look around at the corridor for any cameras and any extra security.

You spot three cameras already by the time you both get to the door, and tap Tom's hand to let him know. Thankfully you can't see anything else that would get in the way of the mission like a keypad or a retinal scanner. If you had to admit, it was sort of basic considering what information the man was storing and with how much money he had.

"You got it?" He pulls you in close to murmur against your ear. To those currently watching, it would've looked like a husband leaning in to whisper some romantic words to his wife.

"Of course." You simply murmur back, fiddling with your earring as you find the tiny switch and press it. It's amazing what kind of technology the intelligence lab can come up with, as to any other person looking at you they may have thought you were wearing simple ordinary earrings. But, in actuality they were specially designed in order to, when having the switch pressed, would expel a small burst of electromagnetic waves that'd disrupt the cameras feed, giving the organisation enough time to replace it with a fake copy. "Should be replaced now."

Usually, the organisation would have people on hand to hack into the cameras and change the feed. But apparently they couldn't do it within the time they got to the secure location and the time you'd be getting to the location. So for the time being, the earrings had to do.

"Then let's get inside. Stupid bastard doesn't even have a lock on the door." He laughs, stepping inside and closing it behind you. "He even left his safe in clear view of the room! What a twat!"

"Careful Tom!" You can't help but say, watching as he strides across the room with no possible caution for danger. "We don't know exactly what sort of security this man has on his safe!"

"Then I suppose we better figure it out then Mrs." He continues to smile, this time walking directly up to the safe as he puts on a pair of gloves you didn't know where he was even hiding them. "Seems pretty simple to me..."

Tom puts his head against the cool material of the box and slowly begins to turn the dial ever so slowly so he can hear the distinct clicks from within. Slowly you walk up behind him and watch him as he works, which gives you a view of something you had no idea you'd be interested in viewing.

From where you stood you could see Tom's long nimble hands work as they touch the dial and in a strange way stroke the surface of the safe as he moves his hand. If you had to be honest with yourself, it's sort of hypnotising.

"You know I can feel you staring at me right Mrs?" Tom's cocky voice suddenly says, breaking you from whatever strange spell Tom's fingers had on you. He even turns to stare at you as he says this, and you can't find yourself even in the position to lie to yourself that Tom's grin doesn't make you feel like you have butterflies swarming right now in your stomach.

"Just open the safe Agent Bennett." You snarl, admittedly the nickname feeling strange against your tongue.

"My my back to the origins are we missus? Then it's a good thing I've got the perfect nickname for you and I'll never be using anything less for my favourite girl!" Tom turns back to the last few digits of the safe, and you're left with a blush you pray this man does not see. He still calls you Mrs after seeing how annoyed it got you. Just how long would it take to shake off the fact you blushed due to his charm?

"Are you almost done?" You ask, attempting to distract yourself and hope it goes down quickly.

"If you let me listen I'd be done quicker." He quips, letting out a loud "Aha!" when the final distinct tick sounds, and he's able to turn the wheel and open the safe door with a self-satisfied smile. "And you thought to doubt me?"

"Shut it." You sigh, stepping out the way as Tom swings the door out towards the two of you, to reveal another door.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Tom groans, the sound of which you ignore as you walk up to it and see what it is you're dealing with. Unlike the security on the last door, this one is equipped with a key pad with numbers zero through nine, and no real indication on how long the sequence needed to be.

Yet that doesn't appear to stop you as you try putting in the birthday of the nanny, to which an annoyingly loud noise sounds out indicating a failed attempt. "Two attempts remain." A male robotic voice says.

"What did you do!?" Tom shouts, forcibly grabbing your upper arm to turn you around and look at him.

"I took my shot." You simply say, taking Tom's arm in your hand and shoving it away so hard he steps back once. "And don't you dare touch me like that again Tom."

To your relief, he doesn't seem in the mood to pick a fight with you as he just grumbles under his breath staring at the door keeping the both of you from your mission.

Admittedly, you both stay where you stand for a few minutes thinking about possible numbers the politician would hold dear to him. Anything to do with his wife is immediately off the table such as anniversaries or her birthday. You'd thought he'd maybe take advantage of the nanny more than he had already, but that seems to be just as effective as the wife. That's when you suddenly get reminded of something he's said to Tom early while he was halfway through a misogynistic ramble he'd been on.

'But trust me on this, only have a single son!'

"Tom," You begin to ask, turning to said man who at the sound of his name looks back at you recognising the thinking expression on your face. "What was that thing the bastard was saying about his son?"

You say this rhetorically as you step closer and closer to the keypad with a grin as you enter the birth date of the politician's only son and youngest child, and are welcomed with the same robotic voice as before. "Welcome monsieur, to the vault." It simply says, before this time Tom's voice breaks through the silence.

"Fucking smarty pants!" He says as he moves in front of you. At first you think this is just another insult, but then you see the way his face is actually lit up in pride and realise quickly he's actually proud of you. "Knew you could do this Mrs!"

"Really?" You can't help but ask, watching as his face quickly turns serious as he looks at you. It's strange.

"Of course. You're smart, you are. More smarter than I could ever be. I mean, you actually listened to the French bastard while he was talking to us."

"You weren't?"

"No. I was just imagining my fists pummelling into his face till he swallows his own teeth and is forced to be put on life support in some shitty hospital that without him knowing bleeds his money dry as he fights for his life." He admits, watching you closely as you blink in surprise at the level of violence this man in front of you is willing to express.

"Damn... he must've pissed you off good Tom." You try to make the mood lighter, but still Tom's face stays oddly serious and calm.

"Of course he did. No one should get to talk about you like that in front of you, or even away from you, and get to smile like that ever again. Now let's get into this vault thing." Fuck. Here comes the blush and the feral butterflies in the stomach. A double whammy...

"Y-yeah lets!" You quickly say, standing close behind Tom as he opens the door and thankfully this time not revealing another door, but instead revealing a large room filled with a variety of things that would no doubt add up to millions, possibly even ranging into a billion pounds.

"Who even needs this?" Tom's voice suddenly rings out. You turn to the direction of where his voice came from, and begin to laugh hard when you see exactly what Tom is so confused by. A large bottle of what looked like it used to hold port, but now holds a deep amber coloured liquid that took you a second to realise what it is as well as some other bits floating about.

Agent Tom Bennett is holding in his hands a witches' bottle. AKA, a bottle filled with some random person's piss, toe nails, hair and other various bodily things.

You must've made him nervous as for the first time you think since the mission started he says your name in a meek manner. "What am I holding..."

"You, you're holding some poor person's piss!" You laugh, practically wheezing with no consideration for noise levels as you watch Tom's face contort into one of pure disgust and horror. He manages to put it down as gently as a man who just discovered he's holding a bottle of piss can be, yet it still manages to make you laugh so hard you almost fall over.

"That's fucking disgusting!" The poor man shouts, staring at the offending item with deeply furrowed eyebrows and hateful eyes. "Why the fuck would anyone want that?!"

"I dunno. People used to make them in order to draw in and trap harmful intentions directed at their owners like evil spirits or counteract witches spells. It's sort of cool, when you get past the fact that it's basically just piss and nails and other bodily stuff in a jar."

"Still fucking disgusting. Let's just find this stupid hard drive..." He grumbles, rubbing the hand that touched the bottle on his suit.

You continue to giggle behind Tom as you follow him through the assortment of items. By the looks of it, basically all of it has been organised into sort of sections, making the look for the area with the electronics much easier for the two of you.

After some time looking through some boxes of various things, you find a hard drive labelled with the dangerous info the politician was storing. You'll be honest, it almost felt too easy finding it.

"That's it?" You hear Tom comment from behind as you turn around to face him with the device within your pointing finger and thumb.

"That's it." You shrug, stepping forward to adjust Tom's suit jacket so you can get to the small inside pocket and place the device inside it. It's a little bigger than what was expected, but it still fits just fine within its containment.

"Are we done now," Tom starts to murmur, making you realise the position you were in. You were standing barely a breath away from him, still holding his jacket lapel with your hands keeping him close. You swear you can feel his breath fan against your face, your own face though being pulled straight out of your lungs when you for certain feel his hands slowly move to touch your waist. "I was beginning to enjoy my time with you. Maybe we can fit in a dance before we leave, huh missus?"

You can barely find yourself able to speak as you're frozen where you stand. You can barely manage to nod as you can only find yourself praying for your life that the blush on your face isn't as noticeable as you feel it being.

"Y-yeah." You finally manage to strain out, not even able to look at him as you try to focus on instead of his face a small stain near his chest pocket. Yet it seems Tom has other plans, as he removes one of the hands from your waist to your chin, which he uses only two of his fingers to gently move your head up and force you to look at him eye to eye.

You feel your eyes drawn upwards to look at his face, yet even that action doesn’t last long as you suddenly find yourself staring at his lips while he moistens them with his tongue. They’re a pretty shade of pink, and under the harsh light overhead you can swear you find them glistening slightly.

You murmur Tom's name under your breath lightly, and your eyes close as you feel his hands curl tightly around your body with a sense of possessiveness you never thought you’d get from him.

As you begin to lean closer, feeling his warm breath slowly cause goosebumps to raise all along the length of your arms, you can feel your eyes slowly close as you begin to wonder how this situation has occurred, and why the hell does it feel so right to do?

That is however, till you hear faint footsteps that sound like they're coming closer.

"Do you hear that?" You murmur as you open your eyes slightly to look at Tom, who to your slight amusement is still stuck within the moment. His eyes are still closed, and his mouth slightly puckered as he still tries to inch himself closer and closer.

"I didn't hear anything." He quickly says, not opening his eyes or anything. "Just get over here so I can-"

"They're over here!" A voice shouts in the distance, finally forcing Tom to accept the moment is over, and open his eyes to see your 'i told you so' expression.

Tom grumbles some incoherent words under his breath as he takes his gun out from his hidden inner pocket before turning to you. "Don't think this is over missus." He simply says, before turning to the direction of where the shouting came from.

You yourself just roll your eyes as you retrieve your own pistol still firmly strapped against your leg, and follow behind Tom as you both try to get some cover underneath all the ornaments and objects placed amongst each other.

There is only one main walkway that is designed to showcase every item as you walk around the room, but that doesn't mean people can't make their paths, as demonstrated when Tom walks head first through a rack of old animal fur coats. As the two of you begin to get closer to the exit, the sound of talking gets louder the more steps you take, and you both duck for cover behind a huge set of antique chests of drawers.

"Do we know how many are here?" You hear one of them say, followed by a symphony of guns being reloaded one after another. By the sounds of the guns alone, there's got to be around an even 10 guards ready to shoot you if given the command.

"The boss says can't be more than two." Another says soon after, most likely the squad leader if he's the one answering the questions. "They can't be too far, so fan out and shoot only to disarm or incapacitate. The boss wants us to question them to find out who they work for."

You and Tom from where you both are hiding look at each other in mutual understanding as the promise makes its way through both your heads at the same time. Don't leave the other behind no matter what.

Even though you had both gone through with missions that slipped last second and been tortured by one too many people, even though you both knew the other could handle it the silent declaration still happened without a shadow of a doubt. Neither Tom nor you could bear to think of the other person being hurt by this French asshole.

"Any idea how to dodge these French pricks?" Tom asks as he turns to you, much to your surprise.

"Huh... and here I thought that you'd be all ready to shoot first escape later. What's changed? Did you hit your head when I wasn't looking? Trip on some old Victorian teddy bear?" You can't help but laugh, watching Tom's face doesn't even turn to a simple smirk as he answers.

"Can't have my missus getting hurt. So have you got a plan or do we need to fall back onto the shoot first plan?"

You hate to admit it, but it's at that moment when you finally realise why it had felt so right to be in his arms. Somehow between the chaos of the mission and the short but sweet moments together, you'd fallen for the man worse than James Bond himself, Agent Tom Bennett.

"I think I can see the entrance door from here. The guards have started fanning out more in the middle of the room, which is their mistake thinking we'd still be cowering in the back corner. If we're silent and don't draw attention, then I think we can get out of the room without gunfire and any unnecessary attention. Got that?" You finally say, turning to him and watching as he nods his head in return to your question.

"Got it missus. Take the lead." He says, gesturing his hand in a random direction. You roll your eyes at the nickname but less due to annoyance, and more due to amusement that he still insists on using it even though by now, the disguises have long since crumpled away.

Still, you say nothing and just gesture for him to follow you, which he does in a heartbeat. You can hear the heavy footsteps of the guards in the distance but to your and Tom's relief they go quieter instead of louder, indicating that the group were still making their way to the back of the room.

You make your way through all manner of objects in an attempt to stay away from the main path that stays primarily visible most of the length of the way. You pass rugs, more furniture similar to those earlier sets of drawers, faberge eggs, and even coincidentally old stuffed toys.

Soon, the view of the office you had passed to sneak in came into view. It was so close. You could not tell if there were any guards on the outside which was good for the both of you, as it seems these guards were dumber than they looked.

You turned around to check that Tom had successfully followed behind you with all the twists and turns through the junk, only as you did so, you managed to catch just in time Toms shoulder banging into wobbly piece of display furniture, causing an expensive yet boring looking vase to come toppling down and smash against the hard floor.

"For fucks sake..." You mumble as shouts go off in the distance in chime with heavy footsteps that inch close and closer towards you both.

"Sorry!" Tom yells at you as he leaps up and begins firing like crazy in an attempt to get these guys before they get either of you. You have to sigh in defeat at the turn of events before you also begin to fire at these men with everything you got while also moving backwards towards the exit.

For a minute, all you could hear was gunshot after gunshot, mixed in with the sounds of the guards screaming in pain when either you or Tom managed to get one. But that all changed when you felt one of the last guards bullets burying itself within your shoulder, bringing you down hard against the floor with a surprised scream.

You can hear Tom yell out your name as the last rounds of gunfire go off. As soon as the sounds stop you feel Tom's arms enveloping you so he can pull you closer and assess the wound.

"Shit shit shit you ok missus? Where'd it hit?" Tom begs, his voice frantic as he sees the hole in you gushing blood by the second. He doesn't know if the bullet has done any more damage other than the initial tissue damage, such as bone fracture or nerve injury. If Tom doesn't get you help soon, there's a chance with those nasty ass bullets you could get an infection within the wound.

"Come on darling let's get you safe." Tom says as he takes off his suit jacket and rips off a large section of the back to create a make-shift sling for you. As soon as he deems it tight enough, Tom pulls you up and places your uninjured arm around his neck so he can support you and make sure you leave this place by his side.

Every few steps Tom takes with you on his arm he is watching the surroundings carefully with his gun in easy reach. The previous gunfire must have alerted someone else about their presence, but to Tom's surprise there was no one. No other guards springing out of walls with their guns ready to blow his and your brains out. No evil bad guy with a pathetic monologue on the tip of his tongue. It's as if they were letting him and you walk out of there free with just the gunshot wound. How the hell could it be that simple?

"You still awake missus?" Tom asks, his lips crooked as he attempts to smile for you to show nothing could be worse, even though it easily most definitely could've been. You manage to groan a small response in return, and even if he couldn't make out a single syllable, he'd recognise that smart mouthed sass of yours anywhere. "Yeah yeah I hear you... There's a car out front we can get away in fitted with medical supplies for yourself. Why we don’t get some small basic med kit to keep on hand in case this shit happens, I've got no clue..."

The mission was not supposed to go like this. It was supposed to end great. With the hard drive in the hands of the supervisor and Tom and you having dinner somewhere. Not with you leaning on him for the support while you practically bled out all because of him.

Tom can hear the blood droplets hitting the once pristine white flooring of the hallway, and each soft individual splatter sends a shiver up his spine. He has no idea why he cares so deeply about you right now, and why even the thought of you being permanently injured sends pure nausea down to his stomach. Yet he pushes the thought process down as he makes sure you don't end up losing consciousness right now. The hallway cameras should still be under the control of the organisations tech people by now, but Tom doesn't want to risk chances by lingering when he could be getting you to safety as quickly as possible.

So while making sure your body is fully supported, Tom leads you down the stairs and the other hallways to a more discreet exit away from the crowds of people still there in the ball. The music from before had been so loud that he doubts they heard anything. Plus, they were no doubt distracted with the copious amounts of alcohol they'd all been ingesting in the last couple hours. 

The camera's tom spots are all pointed away from the two of you as you make your way through the halls. The blood coming from your shoulder has slowly begun to lessen, yet still with the way your shoulder and the surrounding areas were beginning to go numb, you still could feel the faint trails trickling down your legs and hear the odd droplets fall to the floor.

"Almost there missus almost there..." Tom mutters, seeing the last door separating you both to the outside world. When he first tried to get through, the door stayed firmly shut even after Tom attempted to slam his body against it in an attempt to loosen it.

"Fucks sake!" He groans, looking down and seeing the simple key lock needed to escape. "Can afford to purchase all that useless shit and keep it behind an electronic keypad but can't be bothered to purchase an electronic lock for the front door..."

Tom carefully places you upright against the closest wall so he can kneel down and get a closer look at the problem. It's just a simple titan key needed, but seeing at how simple it is and where the door leads, it's probably in the pocket of one of the many waiters walking around, and Tom didn't exactly have the time to ask all of them which person had the key. So he did something he never thought he'd be putting to use in real life. Tom grabbed a bobby pin from within your hair, and stuck it within the key lock.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to get it right, but eventually after a couple hundred swears and scratches on his fingers, the door opens with a soft click and a small 'hurrah' from Tom himself. He even turns to you with a victorious smirk, which you return with another exhausted groan and even an exaggerated eye roll even though you begin to feel lightheaded with all the blood that's come out of you within the hour.

"Let's get you help missus."Tom grunts as he picks you back up from the floor and directs you to the direction of a car parked not too far from the entrance. It's smaller than the original limousine that brought you to the mission in the first place, but you can't help but faintly smile when you see the familiar face of Webster watching you from the driver's seat.

As soon as Tom sets you down inside the vehicle, you feel your body slump in the most unladylike of ways against the soft exterior of the car's seats and let out a sigh of relief that it's all over.

"I trust you know about removing a bullet Agent Bennett." Webster's voice rings out through the speaker as you feel the engine begin and the car drives off.

"Sarcastic bastard..." Tom murmurs as he swiftly takes the med kit from underneath the seat and opens it to take out the tweezers and the gauze and place them beside you on the seat. Next, he removes the piece of his suit he had used to originally stem the blood flow of the wound and rips your dress slightly so he can see your shoulder better without it interfering. You'll no doubt be pissed later, but he'll just send it to Stan later to get fixed.

With the barrier gone, blood flows more steadily than what it was a few minutes ago, but it doesn't matter right now as much as it does to make sure the bullet comes out fully. "This is going to hurt." Tom simply warns before he picks up the tweezers and begins to poke and prod his way inside of the wound.

It truly breaks his heart to hear your screams of pain, but he needs to persist and find this damn bullet. Thankfully it doesn't take too long, as with the combined layer of your dress and bra it managed to not let it go in as deep as it could've. So soon enough as the pesky bugger is soon plucked out and thrown somewhere within the car space while Tom quickly takes the gauze and wraps the wound tight.

"Feeling better missus?" He asks, forcing you to look at him as your eyes slowly regain a look of focus you minutes ago were losing fast.

"Yeah..." You manage to say, wincing as you move your shoulder slightly. "I'm alright. Thanks, for not leaving me in there."

"I'd never." Tom quickly says, shaking his head and furrowing his brows to further his point. "And besides, now that I know you're ok, I can continue where we left off."

"What do you mea-"

Before you can begin to question what Tom is trying to say, his lips capture yours, and your heart feels as though it stops mid-beat between your chest. You have no thoughts running through your head right now. Your focus being only on the calming warmth of Tom's lips and the faint taste of mint.

His hands cup your waist and face delicately as if you were made of pure glass. Yet as much as you enjoyed his tender touch, you didn't want Tom to think of you as delicate. You wanted him to hold you with the knowledge you could never crumble from him. For him to know he could never hurt you.

You never want this strange feeling of right to end, but when it eventually does, with the two of you both silently attempting to catch your breaths.

"Was that good?" Tom eventually asks, staring at you with hopeful eyes. "If I made you like uncomfortable or anything I'm sorry-"

"You didn't." You say with a smile as you lean forward to peck his lips again in a sweet kiss in reassurance. As you pull away, you can see Tom's lips turned in a bashful smile and his cheeks heat up to a light pink. If you were being honest, it was really fucking adorable. Words you never thought you'd ever say about agent Bennett in your life.

"Good." He simply says, focusing on the curves of your face and trying not to think about how his face is probably bright red due to embarrassment from being so soft with a girl. "Now let's get back to the hotel."

"Why are we going back to the hotel?" You ask, confusion in your voice.

"Cause I want you to get dressed up before I take you out for a date tonight. So shower, take as much time as you need to get ready, cause I want to make this as special for you as I ever could for you. Tell me your favourite food so I can book the best restaurant available for you. I'm sure Webster can deliver the hard drive when he returns the car."

"I can indeed sir." Webster says through the intercom, scaring the two of you as you both jump slightly in your seats. "Just pop it through the slot and I can take it straight to the supervisor no issue."

"Thank you Webster!" Tom grins as he takes the device and puts it through to the other side.

Webster takes it in his hand and places it within his own suit jacket pocket. His eyes are focused on the road, but he can't deny the warmth in his chest when he sees the two of you giggling and smiling between yourself in the backseat like a couple of lovesick teenagers. He drops you and Tom at the hotel as told, but he can't stop himself from watching the two of you enter the hotel together.

As soon as Tom had stepped out before you, he made sure to reach for your hand and help you step out like a proper gentleman, and the entire walk up to the hotel doors none of you made the step to let go.

Webster watched the two of you with a smile, as he thinks to himself, he has never seen a pair of people so in love with each other.

[ghoul--doodle]

I couldn’t settle on one colour so this guy gets all of them

[beautifulhigh]

Welcome to the next edition of Jen's meta ramblings

I have watched the movie at least once a day since it came out and I kid you not, I see something new every time. The fact that this is Matthew López's first directoral debut is just... I'm in awe. And you can tell how much he loves the story because of the way things like this are set up and played out

In the novel, Henry and Alex are skinny dipping in the lake at night, and so I absolutely got the change in both time of day and also attire. But let's talk about that little island shall we?

No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea

Every single one of us is not meant to be alone, without connection and without a link to someone else. We are parts of a whole and if we lose that... well. It's not good.

Henry is on that island, our prince who belongs to Britain and Henry Fox who thinks he has to belong to himself. The prince is forced into status and circumstance, of appearances and mindless ribbon cuttings. When he does something that means something - like the trip to the cancer ward - then he doesn't do it with cameras. I'd argue he's not the prince there, he's Henry Fox. The man who lost his father to cancer.

But this is not that meta.

Henry has shut himself off, shut himself away. He doesn't date the people he's interested in, he doesn't live his truth (and for very good and valid reasons). He has decided that while Prince Henry belongs to Britain, Henry Fox is an island.

And look who is swimming up to that island. Look who is coming out to Henry, having realised the night before that oh yeah, I do feel forever about him and so Alex swims out to that island.

And the first thing he does? He makes Henry laugh. He is silly and fun and the complete antithesis of the composed and collected Prince of Wales. And then he joins Henry, on his island.

This gorgeous overhead shot shows us that Alex is putting himself on Henry's right (protocol or his good side?) but he's also in the centre of the island. He's not on the edge of it. In the metaphor of Henry Fox's island, Alex is putting himself at the heart of it all. RIght before he lays out his heart to Henry.

The shot that broke our hearts too, along with Henry's. Because we can see the shore in the background now. We're reminded that islands are not - they cannot be fully independent. People cannot be islands and even though Alex is literally and metaphorically planting himself at Henry's side, Henry knows that this island he's formed for himself in his heart and his sense of self cannot stand if Alex is there. If Alex is with him then he is no longer an island. Henry Fox will not belong to himself and the sense of protection and self-preservation we see coming out in the Storming of Kensington is under threat.

So he bails.

The island is submerged, like the mythical Atlantis, because how do you render land useless? Drown it. How do you deal with water? Drain it away. He abandons his island and flees back to the only other space he has left - Kensington Palace - in an attempt to regroup. He drains his life of Alex and what he brings. He has to return to being the Prince of Wales because Henry Fox got too close. Because Henry Fox realised he was being loved by a man who would literally swim out to where he is.

Moment of appreciation for the shot. Matthew, you have a fucking talent and I cannot wait to see what else you do. Because our #imtaller boy looks so small here. So lost. When else have we seen someone look so small and lost?

Oh. Yeah.

When he's curling in on himself in an almost last-ditch attempt to protect himself and his boundaries from what is coming. You can see that he's no longer dry, that Alex's "shower time" has changed him. Alex brought laughter and love and water onto his island and Henry has just realised what this means. This isn't a visitor's visa. This is immigration.

Which is what makes THIS so much more. Back to our boy, drenched from the storm, plaintively asking Henry to talk to him.

Because yes, the Storming of Kensington happens during an actual storm, but by now you know I overead into everything... so once again we have Alex "swimming" out to Henry. He's dived right in and gone are the jokes, gone is the humour. He is here and he is asking to be let in and daring Henry to send him away.

This is Alex, serious and in love and following Henry to whatever landmass he is setting foot on. Henry is trying to be an island and Alex is out here going, "I'll just build another boat you fucker". A true 'ship if you will. He swam out to an island on a lake, he flew to a tiny island across an ocean. He is standing at Henry's borders and he isn't launching an offensive. He's just saying that if Henry wants to be cut off from everything then he needs to do the cutting himself.

Prince Henry felt like he belonged to Britain, Henry Fox felt like he had to belong to himself, and Alex turned up and went "nope. Mine now". (Insert additional historical quip about the English being colonised for once.) But there is still some truth in that: the Prince is part of England, and we should all belong to ourselves even in relationships. Henry just learns that the different parts of him can co-exist. Bit like how water and land can co-exist without one destroying the other.

Henry is Alex's North Star but he's also his solid ground. Insert quip about Alex colonising Henry and claiming him for his own, planting of flag, your innuendo of choice goes here. Pyramus wished there wasn't a wall - Alex straight up scaled Henry's.

There's a divergence between Prince Henry and Henry Fox, but at the heart of them both there's Henry. And this is the man that Alex sees, this is the man that Alex loves. Alex swims out to the island for Henry Fox, Alex pushes through the rain for Prince Henry. Alex holds steady in the storm of talking with King James/Queen Mary and the public.

And it started with Alex literally making his way out to Henry on an island: be that England for the Royal Wedding, a pontoon island on a lake, or knocking down Henry's walls.

To this moment. Which is very hard to grab a screenshot of, but Alex asks Henry to "take a walk" with him. This time it's Henry going to/with Alex. The fact that he's there is one thing (and a rant rather than a meta) but at this point they have each other. They belong to each other. Where one of them goes, the other one follows. Independent, together, co-existing.

Anyway. I'm sure there will be more bullshit ramblings and metas at some point. Follow me if you want more of that (but be warned: blank and empty blogs are blocked on sight) because we are not islands in this metaphorical storm of life. Let us swim out to one another, dry off with one another, and live a life with broken down borders and walls.

ETA: I now have another name to add to the thanks. Stephen Goldblatt, from the bottom of my soul, thank you

[hollowwish]

me when I'm talking about the real half of me no one knows thats so hard to conceal and my hair and the walls turn transgender and then I hug my dad again the whole house becomes transgender and my police officer dad has a trans pin on his shirt and there's a protect trans kids flag in my room and my whole story is about acceptance and whatnot.

But yeah no Gwen Stacy isn't trans it's her Peter and she was protecting him from terrible transphobic Ned or whatever. Because ya know normalizing allies having trans flags is a good thing!! Even tho said trans character is a side one who's dead and in flashbacks and probably will be in beyond for 0.1 second if even and not one of the two main characters of the spiderverese trilogy and her own squeal movie. Yeah normalizing allyship with a trans guy killed in a backstory is better than a main trans girl character who was widely interpreted as so and potentially somewhat impiled to be. Or whatever

[fondwand]

not to be brave and controversial but rw&rb the movie is exactly what antis and puritanical fandom wants from queer media like the most bland sanitized rote dull unsexy no tension no chemistry unfunny surface level romance and representation. give me dirt give me real bodies give me imperfect humans give me natural dialog give me complex relationships explored in the silences give me kink and complicated sex and guilt and anger and selfishness and imperfection, imperfection, imperfection. and most of all give me forgiveness for imperfection and the knowledge that an imperfect thing becomes beautiful because it communicates with the imperfection all fallible beings experience on a day to day, not because the beholder is morally corrupt.

anyway. sorry if you liked it there's nothing wrong with that. go forth and live your life.

[tonycries]

Madam Gojo - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, arranged marriage, Satoru is a little (very) INSANE and down bad, the elders are awful, oral (fem receiving), use of “madam”, unprotected, créampie, kníves, overstím, féral Satoru, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. I need clan leader Gojo SO bad you guys don’t understand.

They say that the head of the Gojo clan is the one person who could burn down this entire world and get away with it, too. 

The youngest of all the clan leaders - and the most infamous - a man who keeps his friends close, and his enemies even closer. Enough so that you’ve heard whispers of his cruelty at every nook and cranny of those stuffy social functions your family has dragged you to. And it was more than enough to paint a picture of such terrifying power.

Of a sharp blade and an even sharper mouth. Of an angelic figure that left no evidence, nor anyone to tell the tale - only the final, hauntingly beautiful image of cloudy white hair, and electric blue eyes.

Eyes that were currently locked with yours, and didn’t seem like they’d stop any time soon. Dangerous. Magnetic. Twinkling with such odd amusement from across the long tatami room. 

Gojo Satoru, the head of the Gojo clan - your future husband.

“Tch, the Kamo girl’s family had a much better reputation than this one.”

Ah, right. How could you forget?

You shift awkwardly on the mat, managing to rip your eyes over to the line of elders behind Gojo, whispering just loud enough that you’d hear - and, of course, remember once more that no, the marriage proposal hasn’t been approved just yet.

And considering those disapproving glares you’d been so warmly welcomed with, it seemed that they were well and fully intent on keeping it that way.

“I can assure you,” you fight to keep the polite smile plastered on your face, painful and slowly cracking with each passing second being interrogated. “My family is well-respected in the community.” Eyes snapping over to a silent Gojo, skin burning at his intensity. “Very well respected.”

“Come now. We’re just saying.” Another voice speaks up, strained and tinged with a venomous tone you knew didn’t bode well. “Your lineage isn’t exactly illustrious, is it?”

The emphasis on “illustrious” isn’t lost on you, and it’s so fucking dramatic than you think you could almost laugh. Apparently, a few of the elders think so, too - because they’re positively seething at the sight.

Muttering an icy, “Something funny, dear?”

“Nothing at all.” you bite back any insults, sifting around the contents of your untouched dinner - the last thing on your mind right now when it seemed like you were the main scrutiny tonight. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Such attitude!” That offended croak is met with murmured agreements and nods from the end of the room, “The madam of the Gojo household must be demure- I told the young master we should go with the Kamo girl.”

God, why did you agree to this again? Something about strengthening your family ties? You felt sorry for the poor soul who’d end up marrying Gojo, because no matter how much beauty or power he held, it certainly wouldn’t make up for this. 

Scoffing, the words falling from your lips faster than you could register them. “Then why didn’t he?”

And this little question somehow seemed to have struck a nerve - multiple, in fact, as you watch in morbid fascination as the elders visibly bristle. 

“B-because-” one sends a hasty glance at their stone-faced clan leader, flushing at his still-unwavering gaze on you. “You- It doesn’t matter. Someone like you isn’t suited to marry-”

“Right, because this clan is that great.”

You freeze. The elders freeze. It seems like everyone in the world freezes except for Gojo - who only raises his brow. Letting your words hang in the air like a foul stench, studying just how awfully you’re digging your grave deeper in this hellish marriage meeting.

Eventually, the elder closest to Gojo’s right mutters a painfully saccharine sweet, “I knew we shouldn’t have let the riff-raff participate.”

And oh it was like a dam burst open.

“-out of the thousands of girls, for someone like master-”

“The scandal, too- imagine letting the Gojo name fall this far-”

“Isn’t worthy. Can’t let the bloodline be carried by some whor-”

You’re on your feet before you realize it. Whirling at the elders head-on, and if looks could kill then all those old fossils would be six feet under and their graves a dance floor for you already. 

Fists clenched, you spit, “If he’s so wonderful then you all can marry this oh-so-great bastard yourself-”

Oh. You’ve done it now.

You were fucked. You were so very, very fucked. 

You don’t even bother to meet Gojo’s stare, instead wondering whether you’d be able to outrun the strongest clan leader alive. Sure, you could take those old toads but-

“Sit.”

Your heart leaps at the voice, the first time you’re hearing it since entering this room - deep, almost-melodic, and for a second you don’t even recognize who it came from. Not until Gojo’s flashing you a mirthful grin, blue yukata shifting as he moves to sit cross-legged, “Sit.”

Oh, God, you didn’t know of any torture methods one could do while sitting - but you didn’t doubt that Gojo was an expert in all of them. 

And as your knees buckle, sinking ever-so-slowly to sit back down on the floor, Gojo tilts his head in confusion. Brows scrunching together as he gestures downwards.

“On your…lap?” You question, as if the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious. 

The only response you get is a careless nod, Gojo spreading his knees further as if to prove his point. No care or concern as he plows on, “If you’d like, of course.”

It’s a silent staredown - you, and him - and the elders watching jaw-dropped, of course. None of you have ever known the young master to let anyone get this close - let alone give them a decision on, well, anything.

. 

A weighty beat passes. One. Two. 

He wins.

And you find yourself walking unsteadily towards Gojo’s imposing figure, all eyes on you as you plop down unceremoniously in his waiting lap. Warm - and it catches you off guard. Gaze flickering over his broad shoulder to look at the aghast faces behind you. Tension crackling in the air as they wonder the same thing as you at this very moment - just what type of torture method is this? 

“Interesting…I need this one.” You blink up in confusion, heart racing and oh- shit, when did he get so close? But Gojo’s chest only rumbles with laughter. Circling his long fingers around your waist, pulling you flush against his sculpted chest, “As the new madam of the Gojo household.”

What? 

The elders behind let out stifled gasps, as bewildered as you were. And you swear you saw one faint, though, you don’t get to take a close look, because Gojo’s gently grabbing your chin, tilting your head up at his pretty face. 

“Wan’ me to kill them?”

“Kill- why?” you sputter - both from his idea and the heat of his proximity. 

“Why not?” He looks at you through his long lashes, so deceivingly innocent that it makes your head spin. Tone so light, as if he was talking about something trivial like the weather. “An early wedding gift, maybe?” And he sounded like he was joking - you wished he was joking. But you knew better. 

So you swallow thickly, “N-no…thank you.”

At this, Gojo’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah, real interesting.” he coos, voice so uncharacteristically playful. And his lips are so close - too close. Running a thumb along your bottom lip, “Gorgeous, too. Tell me, pretty, what do you think of ruling over this trash?”

And you could feel every eye on you as you mull over the question. Weighty. Scrutinizing - except for Gojo who seemed like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Hell, might as well give ‘em a few heart attacks right?

Words that never come - because your body moves before your mind. And you’ve got one hand gripping his expensive Yukata, the other scrambling for his broad shoulders. Softening the blow as you crash your lips onto his.

Soft - it’s the first thing you register. Followed very shortly by the taste of those cheap lollipops from those local convenience stores you loved - strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because the kiss is over as soon as it happens.

Gojo’s pulling away with a strange light in his eyes, lips flushed a pretty pink, yukata dangling off his shoulder already. You have to train your eyes away from the milky skin, and over to the elders. Yeah, one really had fainted - three, now, actually. 

And only one of them is brave enough to pipe up a rapid, “You- how dare you dirty-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. In a split second, there’s a long dagger pulled out from his yukata, embedded deep into the tatami mat - not even an inch away from the elder who’d opened his mouth. 

“Out.” 

It’s so abrupt that for a second, you think Gojo’s talking to you, voice soft, and so so eerie. It sends shivers down your spine as you raise your eyes to look at his glare at the frozen crowd behind him.

Eyes wide, aura menacing - a grin gracing his features, absolutely nothing like the one he’d sent you - it was something so dangerous and cold. The temperature in the room dropping about ten degrees as he mutters, “I won’t say it twice.”

And immediately, it’s chaos. Each one stumbling over the other to run out the sliding doors first, none of them daring to look you in the eyes now. 

“O-of course, master.” the leader, seemingly, chokes out. One foot out the room already, “I’ll um- check that the servants are doing their work-”

“No. You all will stand outside.” Gojo murmurs, not even bothering to look at them. Instead, cupping your face closer towards his, “And close the door.”

That door could not have been shut faster, ringing in the tense silence. And suddenly you’re too-aware of the audience outside. Too-aware of being left alone with…your future husband? And the way he was looking down at you with something so dark in his eyes.

“So…” he runs his nose down your neck, breathing in your scent. “If you don’t want me to kill those bastards…what else must I gift you, my wife?” 

“Like what?” You gulp, back arching involuntarily into him. 

Gojo laughs at the reaction, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “An estate?” Dancing ever-so-slowly, up your jaw, “All the cars you could want?” He blows gently in your ear, chuckling as you yelp in surprise. “Maybe jewelry?” Kissing the tips of your ears, “You’d look gorgeous in blue. And the Zenin clan has the perfect necklaces I can…convince them to send over.” He pulls away, taking you in entirely, “Or maybe-” Lips now ghosting yours. “-something else?”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Gojo’s lips were so sweet on yours. So addictive. Palms cradling your face so softly, while his lips were anything but. 

“Open your mouth, pretty.” he pants into your lips. “Kiss your husband properly, now.”

Shit, you barely even realize the way you’re listening to every single word he says. Jaw falling slack to let him lick at the seam of your lips. Such a messy clash of teeth and spit and him - so hot and starved. Like he couldn’t get enough with the way he hastily moves to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. 

“Satoru-” you gasp, and he nips lightly at your bottom lip once you immediately shut yourself up because shit, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Calling the clan leader Gojo by his first name? Hell, you’ll see the gates of heaven before you see an altar. 

But Gojo himself seems to think the complete opposite. “Don’t get all shy now.” he pries away the hand covering your mouth. “Call me ‘Toru’.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to will yourself to say this little nickname.

Too slow, apparently. Because his hands are suddenly everywhere - on your breasts, your hips, giving your ass a slow squeeze. “T-Toru-” you squeal. 

Gojo’s mouth drops into a soft oh! Immediately surging forward as if to claim your lips again - stopping mere millimeters from your lips with a pained grunt. Like it killed him to stay away. 

“See? Jus’ like that.” he angles your head just right, before spitting, once. Twice. Right into your pretty mouth. “N’ now you’re mine.”

And fuck if Gojo wasn’t going to prove it.

He’s laying you down on the mat, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Mine to wed. Mine to carry my legacy.” Thumb running over your hardened nipples as he urgently unbuckles your bra, throwing it behind god-knows-where. “Mine to-” Biting down, ever-so-lightly on your nipple, “-worship.” Hands dipping lower, and lower - just barely teasing the hem of your drenched panties. “Mine to ruin.”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - maybe from those words, which you’re sure he said loud enough for the elders outside to hear.

Maybe from the way he’s sliding a finger underneath your panties, sliding it up and down your puffy folds. Making you arch into him like such a slut as he pools your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips, popping them into his mouth with a low groan. 

“Oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck-” Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Not wasting a second before ripping off your flimsy panties, tucking them away into the waistband of his yukata. “Sweeter than I imagined.”

“S-so filthy-” you mewl, as he spreads your shaky thighs. Lips wobbling pathetically at how he’s admiring your glistening cunt. “Toru, no one’s ever…”

At this, his eyes are back on yours now. Half-lidded, pupil’s blown - and you don’t think you’ve ever even heard of the leader of the Gojo clan being so out of it, let alone see it first-hand. His voice strained as he breathes out a barely audible, “Shit- really? So then…” He’s moving to lick lewd little circles on your inner thigh, “...your husband’s gotta make this memorable, right?”

Gojo doesn’t give the time to even think about answering - he doesn’t trust that he has the fucking sanity to wait that long. Because you’re so pretty splayed out like this for him. Your moans too sweet. Your cunt too tempting. Too his. 

So, really, you can’t blame him when he’s plunging nose-deep into your quivering pussy, licking one, long stripe right up your swollen folds. And fuck the cute lil’ whines escaping your lips are so addictive that Gojo just can’t help but do it again. And again. And again and-

“O-oh my god, ngh- feels too good-” you card your fingers through his soft locks - something that would usually result in a lost hand or two. But for you - anything, for you. “More, Toru.”

Shit, if Gojo thought he’d lost his sanity before then he definitely wasn’t ready for this. 

“So needy.” he’s chuckling into your glistening folds. One hand throwing your legs over his shoulders, the other thumbing over your needy clit. “So perfect. Can’t believe no one’s ever hah- eaten out this pretty cunt before.”

Immediately, he’s squeezing his hot tongue past your folds. And it’s all you can do to buck your hips up so sluttily when he licks at your sloppy entrance. Your throbbing clit. Anywhere and everywhere Gojo could reach.

“Hngh- yes yes yes, too good.”

“Yeah? Ya like this?” He moves his fingers down from your already-ravaged clit, circling your sopping wet hole. “Ya like making such a mess on m’tongue?”

“W-wha-” The words get caught in your throat as you whirl down at the sight below you - Gojo. Gojo, with strands of white hair sticking to his forehead, eyes so glassy. Gojo, tongue lapping at your sweet juices, looking like he wanted to devour you with his eyes, as much as his mouth. 

At your reaction, he grins, furrowing his brow in mock-concern, “What’s wrong, pretty? Can’t talk?” Bullying his long fingers past that first feeble ring of resistance, massaging your plushy walls. “N’ you were so hah- feisty earlier. Thought my new mmpf- wife would be mouthy?”

You give his hair a warning tug, whispering, “Sh-shut up-” But it comes out more breathless than you intended. 

Gojo notices, of course he does. Because he’s letting out a whiny, “Sh-shut up.” Wrapping his pretty pink lips around your pulsing clit, “As you wish, madam Gojo.”

You hear a dull thud from outside, but you can’t even think about turning your head to look because Gojo’s drinking you in like a man possessed. Pumping his fingers in and out, expertly hitting that one spot with each and every thrust. Looking nothing like an infamous clan-leader and every bit on cloud nine as he rolls his tongue over your clit. Over and over and-

“P-please ah- oh-” you squirm.

“Move your hips like that. Yeah- jus’ like that, pretty- fuck-” The most powerful man in the country letting himself be angled and pulled as you pleased, grunting each time you drag your pussy all over his mouth. Fingers frenzied on your clit - sloppy. Fast. 

But it still wasn’t enough for Gojo - he thinks it’ll probably never be. But that’s fine - the two of you have until the wedding night to perfect it, right?

So he’s looping a big arm around one leg, pulling your snug cunt impossibly closer, reaching over to toy with your pretty clit. And then he’s nose-deep in your sloppy entrance, preparing you for what was to come - fucking you both on his tongue and his fingers. 

Jaw grinding deeper, stretching you out, thrusting in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck fuck fuck- Toru m’so…”

“Close?” he slurs into your cunt, grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Fingers just digging into your hips, sure to leave pretty little marks for him to admire later - and to give a message to those old toads outside. “Cum f’me. Shit- cum f’me, pretty.”

Gojo realizes it before you when you’re finally cumming - because your gummy walls are squeezing around him so tight that it’s almost difficult fuck you through your high the way he wants. 

You’re shaking. Blood roaring in your ears, vision spotty. Crying out a hoarse, “Fuck fuck fuck- oh my god, Toru-” Barely even realizing the way you’re rocking your hips so hard into his hot mouth. 

And Gojo keeps going. 

Even when you’re blinking your vision back, big fat tears pricking your eyes at the sheer overstimulation. Even when white-hot electricity sparks behind your eyes each flick of his tongue. Still toying with your poor clit, tonguefucking you so messily. 

“Toru, s’too- ngh- much- fuck.” You can barely get the words out, jolting. Wondering how the fuck his mouth wasn’t tired, yet - how his fingers weren’t cramping up, tongue still as greedy as ever. “C-can’t-”

“You can. You will.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Running his mouth now, like he was drunk off your pussy. Words as fast and ragged as his tongue. “C’mon, faster. Harder. Fuck-” you flinch as he spits out little profanities into your messy cunt. “Fuckin use me. Use me like the good lil’ wife you are.”

“Oh- shit.” you whine. Clawing at the mats, Gojo’s hair, his shoulders - just anything to cope with the sheer stimulation as he made out with your pussy like a mad man. “Wait- cum- m’gonna…”

You’re cumming and cumming all over again. So hard, even as you grind your hips deeper into Gojo’s mouth. Riding out your orgasm on his pretty face, so painfully good. 

And only then is he finally pulling away. Absolutely wrecked, eyes miles away already, mouth glistening with your slick. Going all the way down his jawline, and onto the tatami mat in a deafening drip! drip! drip!

“Oh.” he runs his tongue along his wet lips. “Who made you cum like this?” 

A smile slowly splits across his face as you manage out a little, “Y-you, Toru…”

“That’s fuckin’ right. Me.” Hypnotized by the heavenly sight of you all fucked-out and twitching with the aftershock. Marveling down at his hand - glossy, and covered with your slick, “N’ m’gonna love you.”

And, well, a good husband always shares, right?

Because Gojo’s shoving his fingers past your kiss-bitten lips, pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way he knew would have your eyes watering, gagging around him so prettily. Eyes widening at the feeling of something so hard and hot between your legs. 

“C’mon, lil’ madam. Lick them clean f’me, will you?”

You’re gasping, “Mmpf- Toru-” Eyes flitting between a smug Gojo and the hand currently untying his robe. So teasing with the way he’s giving you just a flash of those boxers before oh-

Shit. 

You thought that he’d be big - it was expected, in fact. But this was fucking ridiculous. 

All sculpted curves and dips of his body, faint scars painting his milky skin - stories he’d tell you about later, you think. A fucking masterpiece. All the way down, down, down to where his throbbing cock was leaking all over those tufts of white at his toned pelvis.

Rock-hard, and so so angry. Prominent veins running along the side, flushed a shade of pretty pink that glistened with precum in the dim lighting. So intimidatingly long that it already had you worrying for your poor cervix, and thick enough that it had your thighs pressing mindlessly together. 

Something that Gojo obviously didn’t appreciate.

“Now now.” he tuts, pulling back his fingers to spread apart your thighs with ease. So far apart that it burned. “I need these legs open, pretty. I like the view, y’see.”

And he made it quite obvious, too. Spreading your swollen folds so shamefully apart with his thumb - wet with your split. All the blood rushing to his cock at the way you flinch in embarrassment, at the feeling of being so used. Cute. 

“Shhh, relax.” Gojo hums. Spreading the spit and slick lazily along your cunt with his fat head, purposely letting it smear all over your thighs. “M’gonna make this feel so good for you.”

And let it be known that Gojo Satoru was a merciless man - for everyone. 

Except maybe his cute lil’ wife. 

Because, yes, he’s suddenly splitting you apart on his massive cock. Yes, he’s holding your poor hips still, head dropping into the crook of your neck as he sinks in inch by fucking inch. 

But oh God does he have to hold back from fucking your tight cunt exactly the way he wants. The stretch too sinful, your pussy too heavenly. 

Instead he’s kissing away the single tear rolling down your cheek, muttering, “Too big? Aww, f-fuck, pretty. You needa breathe-.” Rich, coming from him considering that Gojo doesn’t know if he was breathing right now. Too caught up in the way he’s rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, gasping into your open mouth, “Trust me. M’gonna make it f-feel hah- good. So fucking good.”

“F-fuck-” Your head is spinning. And you can only give him such delirious little nods as Gojo starts to push in quick, lazy little grinds of his hips just to squeeze inside your gummy walls. Past that first, tight ring of resistance. 

“S’too big-” you squeal, nails raking down his back. “A-are you all the way in- yet?”

“Nope.” he’s popping the p, so unfairly smug. “Not even halfway in.” Drinking in all your cute lil’ sobs as he snakes a hand up to draw an invisible line across your stomach. “But you b-better be prepared, wifey. Because this-” Pressing down, hard. “-is where I’ll be.”

You didn’t know who wanted that to become a reality more - Gojo or you. 

Especially with the way your tight cunt is sucking him up so good, and shit for all Gojo’s reputation, he feels like he could’ve cum right then and there. 

“Shit- so fucking tight. God- you’re gonna make me lose my mind.” words so strained. So dangerous. He kisses down your neck, biting right above your racing pulse. “How do you want it? Like you’re my hah- wife- or my lil’ slut?”

A trick question, you think - as much as you could when you’re this cockdrunk, at least. 

Locking eyes down at the way your cunt was bulging so obscenely around his cock, clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in in in- Unstopping. Relentless. Mewling a little, “L-like I’m your…wife.” 

“Louder.”

“Like I’m your wife.”

Several things happen at once - that faint muttering suddenly increases tenfold, and maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed the few gasps. Gojo, however, does hear. 

It only takes an irritated growl and a split-second flash of metal for a second dagger to be struck deep into the thin wooden panel of the door - unfortunately for whoever just so happened to be on the other side. 

“That’s right. My wife.” And then he’s bottoming out - heavy balls smacking your ass, leaky tip nudging your poor cervix, letting you mark him up all you want as he rocks his hips faster into yours. “And you- ah- you realize they’re beneath you, right?” he’s stroking where he can feel himself bulging inside you. “That my lil’ wife just has to say the word n’ I’ll ngh- take ‘em all out?” 

You can only sob at the pressure, because his words are so soft but he’s fucking you so mean. Sounding like he was losing his sanity with each time your heavenly walls milked him. 

“I’ll kill ‘em- kill ‘em all-” he’s gritting out. “Hell, I’ll take down the r-rest of those clans ah- too if it pleases you.” Fingers getting so erratic on your clit, angling his hips just right to try and find- 

“Hngh- f-fuck, Toru- there-”

That.

So sloppy with the way he’s alternating between hitting that one spot and just abusing your cervix. Bruising - like he wanted to mark you everywhere n’ show it off, too. Biting down your neck, whispering into the skin, “Anything for you, madam.”

Rocking his hips harder, and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about the lewd little pool of slick and split forming on the mat below. Can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted. 

“Feels good?” he’s drinking in your adorable sobs, “S’what you imagined?”

You’re torn between running away and fucking your hips up so bruisingly into his, hells digging into the mat as you push and pull away. “Yes. Feels- ah- ngh-” And for all your mouthiness earlier, you can’t even form coherent sentences right now - something that makes Gojo balls squeeze so painfully.

Something that has him wrapping his arms around your legging, dragging you like some ragdoll back to him. Rocking his hips so bruisingly deeper and deeper as he babbles. 

“Gonna make you c-cum. So hard.” He’s fucking you harder into the mat. Faster. Sloppier. “Gonna ngh- make you my beautiful bride.” Bouncing you on his painfully hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside - to leave marks for everyone in the clan to know. His balls on your ass, your nails down his shoulders, lips on your neck leaving little bites. “Gonna make you mine, pretty. And everyone else s’gonna know.”

And Gojo can tell when you’re close because he’s learned that you have a habit of squeezing him to insanity when you are. 

“Close?” At your delirious nod he’s giving you a blinding grin, “How cute. Why don’t you hah- cum f’me like the good lil’ wife you are, hm?”

Cum for him you do - thighs shaking, body jolting. So hard and violent that you’re covering him in all your sweet sweet juices. 

And he can only watch - awe-struck - as your pretty pussy squirts all over his angry cock glistening, and just drenched with your slick now. Beads of it getting all over his burning abs, trickling down every dip and curve as he uses your quivering pussy harder and harder-

“God, you’re so good f’me. Look how much you came.” Giving a final, harsh thrust. “So perfect f’me.”

So fucking smug as he finally cums as well. Letting out a low, muffled moan into your neck as he fills your poor pussy with rope after rope of seed, painting your walls such a sinful white. All the way until he was sure you were bloated with his cum, until he could feel it dribbling down the side. Looking down to confirm and- ah, sure enough, it was such a heavenly sight - thick globs drenching your clothes below. Spreading in a pool as his hips push deeper and deeper. 

Like it hurt to stop. Like it hurt to even think of tearing his eyes away from you. 

But, alas, this old meeting room could only take so much, and Gojo thinks you’ll enjoy his - your - bedroom much better for round two.

Which is how the elders outside found the door kicked open not too long after. Blinking up in shock at the tall figure of the Gojo clan leader at the frame holding you. Tired and limp in a princess carry, all bundled up your yukata and one of his outer robes. 

And they can only avert their eyes, faces burning at the hazy expression on your face, hair so unsubtly messy, bare legs twitching ever-so-slightly from where they were just peeking out from where the fabric had bunched up. Sinful. Desecrated. And evidently his. 

“Clean that room up.” 

Gojo’s stern command snaps them all out of their reverie. 

But before they could all run to do so, he’s plowing on, unapologetic and low. “Oh, and bow down-” chuckling lightly as they scramble to their knees before him - and your barely-lucid figure. “-to the new madam of the Gojo household.

A/N. On my period I’m gonna cry. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[casstelli]

literally gonna kms i have covid bro i wanted to hang out w my friends this is the worst

[mattberry]

that "'vote for Biden or all the evil things happening to Black and brown people will happen to people that matter'" post going around is so fucking stupid because it's like yes non-white people are already suffering from the current system.....so you want to make it even worse by splitting the vote and ending up under a drumpf regime again

[fushitoru]

i don't wanna lose this with you a spiderman gojo fic

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ an amalgation of misunderstandings and stress lead to a very big fight between you and satoru, but you certainly don't expect the way he wins you back.

warnings ⸺ college au, spiderman!au, angst, hurt/comfort, i warn you reader might infurate you, but she's just a woman in stem :(, tooth rotting fluff bc he's a loser for his gf, not edited sue me

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n you'll probably need to read the first installation (nsfw, so mdni) to understand this one :3

general masterlist | spiderman!gojo m. list

you've blocked gojo on all platforms.

you don't really remember what caused the "break up" (you didn't really break up). maybe it's the fact that you've been stressed about grad school admissions, your dorm's floor was covered in his boxers, and he's never been able to visit you pre-3am these days. somehow, the city's criminals are determined to keep your boyfriend away from you, and maybe it was your pms, or maybe it was truly just because satoru is annoying. regardless, it's when you guys have plans that's not an impromptu healing-gojo's-wounds-in-your-dorm-at-3am sesh and you're waiting at the coffee shop that you explode.

because he was supposed to arrive ten minutes ago, and when you move to go to the bathroom, you see him. through the window, his white hair is never not noticeable, and who you see next to him makes you falter.

he's standing next to a girl with blue tinted silver hair that you recognize as mei mei, and she's gripping his upper arm as she smiles while looking at his face, his lips with such fuck me eyes that you could tell they were having some sort of intimate conversation.

and if it were an ideal day, you would know that it's all a misunderstanding, you would know your boyfriend is someone you trust. but, again, the cards were stacked against you, and the only things that go through your mind all make your eyes all glossy. he's late to the one date that you planned because you and him were finally free at the same time and you've been busy because you've been desperately applying for internships because unlike your boyfriend you don't have a plethora of papers and coding experience and you've been getting four hours of sleep on average this week and ugh you've heard a rumor that satoru used to hook up with her and fuck now your tampon is poking at you in the wrong way—

great. now tears are fully streaming down your cheeks. in public.

as you rush to the table where your stuff is your vision is so blurry that you also almost fall flat on your face as you stumble over the legs of chairs and tables. blurting out a ensemble of choked up sorry's and excuse me's you hurriedly gather your laptop and notebooks in your backpack and book it for the exit.

the biting cold stings at your face, but you nevertheless determinedly move in the opposite direction of where satoru and mei mei are situated, praying your boyfriend doesn't recognize you. however, it seems that the heavens are working against you because you hear a yelled "baby?"

you don't look back because you know a new set of tears will leave your eyes, and with it being finals season, you're not very hydrated to being with. but you hear footsteps running towards you and fuck your boyfriend's long ass legs because he quickly catches up to you. then, he grabs your hands, attempting to stop you from running away and face him.

"baby," he breathes, baby blue eyes looking into yours as he moves to kiss your forehead. you stay silent, pinning your gaze to the ground while shivering. "where are you going? aren't we supposed to hang out right now?"

look, you and gojo have a good relationship. but recently, things have gotten...strenuous lately. you guys haven't been communicating, and it might not help that half of your calorie intake was from energy drinks. or perhaps what lead you to say what you said next was driven entirely by the brain eating mold on your unwashed dishes, but dumb excuses aside, you sneer. "shouldn't you be busy doing that with mei mei, instead?"

a small part of you--the part that knows you shouldn't be like this--feels relief that hurt doesn't immediately flash across his eyes, only confusion. but lack of sleep has not only stripped away at your sanity but also your people pleasing and overthinking tendencies, leaving you only as a girl frustrated, even irrationally angry, with her boyfriend. so you only avert your gaze when he dumbfoundedly asks, "what?"

"what do you mean, "what?"" you scoff, wrenching your hand from his grasp. "you were ten minutes late to our meet-up, gojo." it is at your use of his last name, instead of your sweet my love, that the hurt you've been looking for flashes across his eyes. he moves to speak but you cut him off, no longer wishing to be here with him. "if you're so busy talking to bitches you hooked up with before, why did you even bother saying yes to hanging out with me?"

he looks at you in confusion, eyes quickly flitting back and forth across you. then, slowly, as if he's still processing the weight of your accusations, he says, "i don't exactly know what you're referring to, but let's calm down---"

and you see red.

"calm down?" you snap, voice sharp and icy, just like the wind stinging your cheeks. "did you seriously just tell me to calm down? you were late again, gojo, and i find you chatting it up with her?" you practically spit the word, arms crossing as a flimsy defense against both the cold and the ache building in your chest.

satoru blinks, his confusion genuine, but you’re too far gone to care. "wait—mei mei? is this about mei mei? she's not—"

"don’t you dare finish that sentence," you cut him off, your voice rising as your blood boils hotter. "i don't want to hear how she's just a friend, or how it's not what it looks like. i’m so tired of hearing the same bullshit excuses."

"baby, you're jumping to conclusions—"

"and you’re jumping at the chance to look like an idiot in public," you snap, your hands trembling now, either from the cold or your rising fury. "god, what do you even say to her? let me guess, you go around telling girls you're spider-man to get into their pants, huh? bet that works like a charm."

the accusation hits like a slap, and for the first time, satoru looks genuinely stunned, his mouth falling open slightly. "what the hell are you even saying right now?"

"am i wrong?" you let out a bitter laugh, one that echoes in the frosty air. "you’re late to the one date i actually planned, and i see you with her, all cozy, like i’m not even waiting for you. like i don’t even matter."

his eyebrows knit together, frustration mixing with something softer. "you seriously think i’d—"

"i don’t know what to think anymore, satoru!" the words burst out of you, your voice cracking as hot tears well in your eyes. "all i know is that i can’t keep feeling like this. like i’m some afterthought while you’re out doing—whatever it is you do. swinging through the city or flirting with your exes or—" you choke on the words, wiping at your cheeks furiously as the tears spill over. "just forget it. i’m done."

"wait." his voice is quieter now, more desperate as he steps toward you, his hand reaching out. "baby, come on, we can talk about this—"

"no," you say firmly, jerking your hand away before he can grab it. "i’m blocking you. on everything." then, mockingly, "you can figure out how to save the world without me."

his eyes widen, his mouth opening like he’s about to plead or argue, but you don’t wait for him to speak. you turn on your heel and storm away, the cold wind biting at your skin as the lump in your throat grows heavier.

you don’t look back. not when he calls your name, not when you hear his footsteps falter. you just keep walking.

it’s 3 a.m., and you don’t know if you exist.

well, you do, but after how light you feel after you’ve cried a disgusting amount, you just lie down on your floor staring at the ceiling and contemplating the meaning of life. or more specifically, the meaning of your life, which right now feels like it’s revolving around nothing but stress and a breakup you don’t even fully understand.

you wouldn’t be having these problems if you were a childless cat lady.

but alas, you’re just a college student. in the few days where you haven’t seen satoru, you’ve finished all your finals—miraculously, considering the fragile state of your emotional wellbeing—and now you’re finally on break in your dorm. you’re supposed to go back home in two days, but the thought of packing feels like trying to climb a mountain barefoot. you can’t summon the energy to do anything except wallow in your self-pity and selfishness, letting it wrap around you like a weighted blanket that’s somehow comforting and suffocating all at once.

you’d like to say this is rock bottom, but truthfully, it’s worse than that. because rock bottom implies a kind of finality—a place to push off from. this? this feels more like you’re sinking in quicksand, the weight of everything dragging you further down.

in your stress and impulsiveness, you’ve managed to kill your entire grind for internships. deadlines have slipped past while you spent hours doom-scrolling job boards and second-guessing every application. the ambitious, career-focused version of yourself feels like a stranger now, buried under the weight of your own doubts and insecurities. and on top of that, you may have potentially lost the love of your life.

it’s laughable, really, how thoroughly you’ve managed to self-destruct in such a short time. the worst part? you can’t even bring yourself to check your socials. if you unblock him and see there aren’t any messages, you think your heart might shatter completely. which, if you’re being honest, isn’t exactly fair to him. you’re the one who had the meltdown. you’re the one who blocked him on everything. he probably doesn’t even know what he did wrong because you didn’t even communicate anything.

your stomach twists at the thought, guilt mingling with the ever-present ache of missing him. he was supposed to be the one person who made everything feel a little less impossible, and now you’ve pushed him away.

there has got to be a taylor swift song for this.

so you make your way to your spotify account to listen to afterglow, putting in your airpods while somberly looking at the ceiling once again as the lyrics fill your ears. tears well up as soon as the lyrics start

i blew things out of proportion, now you're blue⸻

tears well up before you can stop them, hot and heavy as they trail down your cheeks. god, you’re a mess. and yet, as much as you hate it, you can’t seem to stop the flood of thoughts that follow.

you miss him. you miss the way he made you laugh even when you were on the verge of tears, the way his ridiculous confidence somehow made you feel like everything would work out. you miss how he’d stay up late just to facetime you when you were overwhelmed with schoolwork, how he always seemed to know exactly when you needed him most.

and now? now you’ve gone and ruined it. maybe he’s angry, maybe he’s hurt, or worse—maybe he’s just done with you entirely.

the thought makes your chest ache, your breaths coming in shallow and uneven as the lyrics hit their crescendo.

i need to say, hey, it’s all me, in my head—

then, suddenly the song changes. you frown as you hear early 2010's pop blast through your ears.

i threw a wish in the well, don't ask me i'll never tell⸻

why the fuck is call me maybe playing?

annoyed and rubbing at your eyes, you move the change it back to, now, the sad girl hours playlist spotify curated for your and assume your dead fish position on the floor once again.

however, it seems as if your spotify is genuinely tweaking, like it's realized it’s gotten your attention. when call me maybe starts playing again, you groan out loud and move your phone. but before you have a chance to switch the song again, it seems to switch.

baby by justin bieber.

call me, blondie.

i love you, i'm sorry, gracie abrams.

letstalkaboutit, aminé.

i don't understand but i luv you, seventeen.

please please please, sabrina carpenter.

and then, once more, as if to really drive the point home: call me maybe, carly rae jepsen.

again, it's 3am, and you're stuck in a surreal mix of grief and confusion, staring at your phone as your spotify queue seems to have gained sentience. each song feels like a pleading nudge, an unmistakable pattern forming, and your blood runs cold when you remember one very important fact.

you share a spotify account with satoru.

"carly rae jepsen," you mutter under your breath, a mix of exasperation and fondness bubbling up despite yourself. he's hijacking your queue. right in the middle of your emo songs.

you sit up abruptly, tossing your airpods onto the bed, and hover over the call button on your phone. there’s a split second of hesitation—your pride battling with your longing—before you give in and press it.

the line rings twice before his voice comes through, breathless, like he’s been pacing. "baby?"

the sound of his voice sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, sharp and raw like an open wound. the sound of his voice makes your stomach twist uncomfortably, equal parts relief and guilt. "satoru," you say, barely above a whisper. "why are you messing with our spotify?"

"why am i messing with our spotify?" he echoes, his tone incredulous. "why did you block me on literally everything? what was i supposed to do—send you a letter by carrier pigeon?"

you wince at the edge in his voice, your earlier anger wilting under the weight of his hurt. "i… i don’t know," you admit, the words tumbling out before you can catch them. "i was upset, and i wasn’t thinking straight. i shouldn’t have done that."

"yeah, you shouldn’t have," he says, still sounding a little indignant, though there’s something softer beneath it now. "do you know how many songs i had to go through to make my point? do you know how hard it was to resist the urge to rickroll you instead?" then, there’s a pause on his end, the line suddenly feeling too quiet. then he sighs, his voice softening into something that feels too much like an apology. "i didn’t know what else to do. i hate not talking to you. i hate knowing i made you upset, even if i don’t entirely understand why."

you close your eyes, the lump in your throat returning with a vengeance. the silence stretches between you, thick and unbearable, until you finally break it. "i’m sorry," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "i shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.” and now that the dam has been broken, it all comes rushing out as you start choking up. “i’ve just been so stressed, and i’ve been missing you and then i saw you with her and then got irrationally angry when i really should���ve trusted you and oh my god i’m like a possessive tradwife husband that doesn’t let you leave the farm i’m sorry and i didn’t even communicate before i blew up at you like that—”

"hey. hey, hey, it’s okay," he says immediately, his tone filled with an earnestness that makes your chest tighten. "i know things have been hard for you. i should’ve been better, too. more present. i hate that you’ve been feeling like this while i’ve been...doing spider-man things." then, he lets out a dramatic sigh, the kind that’s equal parts exasperation and playfulness. "but wasn’t fair,” and you can hear a whine in his voice, “you blocked me and then ghosted me like i’m some kind of random tinder match. do you have any idea how insane i felt when i couldn’t even check to see if you were okay? i thought you hated me."

your breath catches at his words, guilt twisting like a knife in your chest. "i don’t hate you," you say quickly, the words spilling out in a rush. "i could never hate you. i was just… stupid, and emotional, and i didn’t know how to handle everything piling up. i’m so, so sorry, satoru."

there’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, a little more vulnerable. "then why did you say those things? about mei mei, and… and me using the spider-man thing to get into girls’ pants."

you bite your lip, the memory of your harsh words making your throat tighten. "i didn’t mean any of it," you whisper. "i was just lashing out, and i know it wasn’t fair to you. i know you’d never do something like that, and i trust you, satoru. i just… i let my insecurities get the better of me."

"wait," he interrupts, his voice laced with amusement that shouldn’t make your heart ache the way it does. "you actually think i’d use the spider-man thing as a pickup line? that’s...wow. that’s genius. i should write that down."

"satoru!" you exclaim, half-laughing, half-crying, your emotions unraveling all over again. "i’m being serious!"

"i know, i know," he says, but you can hear the smile in his voice, warm and teasing. "and i’m being serious, too. i’d never do that to you. mei mei’s just...she tripped in front of me, i was just helping her up. i didn’t even realize how it must’ve looked, but i’ve never done anything with her. you’re it for me, okay? always."

you sniffle, wiping at your cheeks as your heart swells and aches all at once. "you mean that?"

"of course i do," he says, his voice soft and sincere in a way that makes your breath hitch. "i love you, even when you block me on everything and make me resort to spotify warfare." he sighs again, but this time it’s softer, the warmth in his voice breaking through his remaining irritation. "i’m not mad. i mean, i was mad, but mostly i was just upset. you really hurt my feelings, you know?"

the lump in your throat grows, your guilt threatening to choke you. "i know," you say, your voice cracking. "i’m so sorry, satoru. i’ll make it up to you, i promise."

"oh, you will make it up to me," he says, the teasing edge returning to his tone. "i want a week of boyfriend privileges—no complaining when i steal your fries, no making fun of my movie picks, and you’re buying me snacks for at least three of those days."

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. "deal," you say softly.

there’s a pause on his end, and then his voice comes through the line, quieter but no less sincere. "you really mean it? you’re not still mad at me?"

"i’m not mad," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "i was never really mad at you, satoru. i was mad at everything else, and i took it out on you. but i’m not mad anymore. i just… i miss you."

"i miss you too," he says, and the raw honesty in his voice---the subtle way it chokes up, as if he had been crying and missing you too---makes your chest ache. "so, can i come over? or are you going to make me keep hijacking your playlists to get your attention?"

you laugh softly, the sound tinged with relief. "just come over already, you dummy. and bring snacks. good ones."

"done," he says, his grin audible through the phone. "i’ll be there in twenty. and for the record, you owe me at least a whole playlist dedicated to how amazing i am and you sucking the absolute soul out of my dick---."

"don’t push your luck," you reply, but there’s no heat in your words, only warmth (and you’re absolutely going to suck his soul out of his cock). regardless, for the first time in days, the tightness in your chest starts to ease, replaced by something lighter, something whole.

general masterlist | spiderman!gojo m. list

a/n he's so cute :( i'll keep on writing stuff for them whether it be small fics like this or long ass fics. i think my next one is gonna be freaky if you guys are nice to this one

TAGLIST im really sorry if i missed you if you sent an ask asking to be tagged pls feel free to remind me again im afriad ur ask has drowned in my shitposts and other asks

@chilichopsticks @livelaughloveisagiyoichi @moonchhu @k0z3me @seobluv

@m1gota @celloccino @satxoru @fishrene @myahfig4

@watermelonmuntchers @bxnfire @ayumilk @venussdovess @michelleeveline

@bochichi @applepi25 @6xillaa @almostdifferentstudent @mugamoo

@iv-vee @jaemissso @wil10wthetree @localartisttttt @rirk-ke

@backinmyphase @novaisbebita @heiejdhdh @blueemochii @helloalex80

@gojodickbig @kyon-cherri @nikkissecretlibrary @omg-its-rdj @isleqt

@suguruscousin @idkwhatursayinh @yourfavbabigirl

[arminsumi]

ㅤ★ ONETWOTHREEFOUR — MAX!

... bully!Gojo loves fucking you in the bathroom stall, turning his creampies into whipped cream inside you. But you know what else he loves? Plugging you up with a vibrator and surprising you by turning it on mid-lecture — and passing the control over to his best friend.

ㅤ★ requested by anon / promptlist

ㅤ★ cws; strictly no under 18s, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, secret public sex/nearly caught (poor confused Choso just getting moaned at), multiple orgasms/creampies, remote toy control, Suguru gets passed the remote, dirty talk, some spanking/ass slapping

There's just no way he can reach your little hole without bending his knees — and still you have to be poised on your tippy toes to let him fuck you.

Body shuddering with your hands splayed against the bathroom stall's pretty pink wall, your skirt fisted in his big hands and your thong pushed to the side of your puffy lips, bully!Gojo thrusts into your poor overused pussy 'till she cries, 'till she gushes, 'till he groans and releases another cumload against your cervix, 'till he turns his creampies into whipped cream.

Sure, his cockhead is oversensitive from plunging into your wet walls, and his balls are sore from slapping into your poor puffy clit for creampie after creampie, and yeah, there's cum dripping down the front of his thighs— but he's fucking you to put you in your place. And with how addicted he is to the feeling of being inside you, getting his pretty pink cock hugged tight by your walls, he just can't stop now.

His hips practically move on their own. His cock keeps telling him not to pull out just yet — it's telling him let's let her have it.

In mock affection, he presses his sweaty cheek against your forehead, white wispy bangs sticking to your skin, eyes glued to your jiggling breasts, big hand coming down to rub your clit. "Insensitive, huh?" he asks in a dangerous coo, "I'll show ya how fucking insensitive I can be." and with that, he's frantically massaging circles on your super fucking sensitive clit.

"Ah! Fuck! T-t-toruuu, I'm sorry! I didn't even mean it, I was just a-angryyy!" you sob out, feeling his mean cockhead rubbing sweet spots deep inside you.

His clit rubbing is ruthless, and he's a messy boy you know he doesn't care that his fingers and palm are coated with your slick.

"Nah, you meant it." he grunts back, blue eyes piercing you with a glare, hips pounding into you from the back, muscles twitchy 'n tensing, "Now stay still 'n take it. I told'ya I was gonna fuck that attitude out of ya, didn't I?"

You let out a strangled moan at his words, nearly going limp against the shuddering bathroom stall's wall. Satoru presses your head against it, smushing your cheek, getting rougher by the second.

He's still tightly fisting your skirt in his hand, other hand sometimes tugging harshly on your pathetically tiny thong — the one he told you to wear today, or else he's gonna throw one of his spoiled rich boy tantrums. He can't resist groping at your soft ass and spreading your ruby red smacked cheeks wide.

Satoru momentarily stills inside you, choking you up with how deep he chooses to keep his throbbing cock, and then he repositions himself; sharp polished black shoes clicking as he spreads his long legs further apart.

"New angle, hope ya like it." he jokes, angling his cock so it curves right against the gummy roof of your pussy, right against that spot.

"Oh fuck!" you cry out when he starts pounding up into your hole, nearly lifting you off your feet with the force of each thrust, makin' your sweaty body jiggle erotically.

He watches you widen your eyes when his cock hits a sweet spot just right, the one that makes your eyes twitch in pleasure 'n your knees buckle.

You're gushing around him, totally soaking his length, pussy too full of his gooey creampies 'n now they're leaking out and running down your thighs.

His cock hits that damn sweet spot again, with more precision than before.

"Oh fuck, fuck! Right there! Fuck me right there, 'Toru!" you chokingly moan, feeling a shockwave of pleasure pulse from your pussy to every point in your body.

"Damn, chill." he chuckles.

Chill? Of course he'd say that while he's fucking you like he's trying to get you cockdrunk. He's pounding into your gummy walls 'n rubbing your clit with this hate-fueled determination.

All you did was talk back to him in class. Just a cutesy little snide remark. You thought it would turn him on. Well, it did turn him on — it also turned his gaze cold and wiped the smirk off his face. Two things that sent shivers down your spine.

Oh, I'm fucked.

The way he leaned back and hummed had your pussy twitching, already getting wet at the thought of what he was gonna do to put you back in your place.

Whiiich brings us back to the last bathroom stall of the men's bathroom, the stall in which your bully is fucking up your guts and turning you into his personal cocksleeve.

He's close, you can tell because that's when his steady, deep strokes slow and he takes two inches out so he can rub annoyingly back and forth across his favorite ridge inside your pussy. And his tell-tale signs? Choppy breathing, brows twisted together, tightened grip on your body, 'n he's got this psychotic smile forming on his face which he likes to press against your sweaty forehead to let ya know how much he's enjoying bullying you.

Just feeling all his cum getting fucked out of your quivering hole makes you want to cum again. It's almost scary. What if you fall apart? You might even scream this time. Nah, who cares honestly? You can't control how your walls squeeze his cock now even though he bitterly scolds you for being too tight, too tiny to take him all.

You can hardly hear the nasty vocabulary he's using on you, 'cause you're too fucked-out on his thick cock, not even caring if the squelching sounds and choking moans escape under the door and echo down your college's corridors. Even if anyone barged in, Satoru would probably just do what he did last week — when someone barged into the spare room while he was in heat 'n balls deep in your pussy — tell 'em to fuck off.

"Fuck me." Satoru groans, "That hot little pussy 's gonna make me cum... 'm gonna cum... gonna fill you up... ahah... fuck."

He's just the type to giggle during the buildup to his orgasm. It sounds almost psychotic — yeah, you knew from day one that he's crazy and his cock is crazy.

His cock gets hotter, then it bursts with thick ropes of cum once again. The both of you savor in the feeling. It's in the aftershocks of his orgasm that Satoru wonders if he's actually falling in love with you.

Then he snaps-to.

"Shit, you're a fucking mess." Satoru grins almost sadistically, sweating like crazy under his uniform.

You're just shivering against the wall as he eases his cum-coated cock out your pussy, sliding past your folds. Cheek smushed against the wall, face looking like you just saw heaven for an hour, you're relishing the buzzy afterglow of getting fucked dumb by your bully.

His hard slap on your ass brings you back to reality. You hear the sound of him pulling his pants up his long legs, dragging up his zipper. The click of his button. Then he plants another hard slap on your stinging cheek.

You groan, teasingly wiggling your cum-filled pussy, feeling his big hands groping the plush of your cheek and spreading it to reveal your twitchy holes — and he just keeps grinning, watching his seed ooze out 'n drip down your pretty thighs — those thighs that are the reason he chased you in the first place.

You'd think he's looking at the Mona Lisa with how he marvels at the sight — but nah, it's just his white, gooey creampies smeared across your lips and inner thighs. "Aw, don't let it drip out or 'm gonna need to plug ya up..."

Trembling, you listen to him unzipping his backpack and rifling around. "What d'you mean?" you ask, looking back at him with a dazed afterglow on your face, but when you do he's already sliding something into your pussy.

"Ahhh, fuck!" you squirm, feeling that hot pink toy push inside and stretch open your cum-soaked walls again. "I'm so tired, gimmie a break!"

"Relaaax, it's just to plug ya up..." he grins mischievously.

"Oh... o-okay... if you say so."

Oh, but what a liar he is.

It's ten minutes after you and him cleaned up and scurried off to your class and took your seats.

Shit — late again. You curse Satoru and his dummy big cock as you settle down.

... then you feel something start to buzz inside you.

"Oh!?" you let out a small gasp.

Vibrations against your sweet spots make your eyes flicker. Your filled pussy freaks out, spasming and twitching like crazy around the toy.

You give a glare of disbelief back at Satoru, who sat two rows behind and above you — duh, so he could always get a nice view of your breasts.

He sees you. He smirks. He raises a pink little controller shaped like a flat egg, and tauntingly shakes it in his hand before clicking a button.

One notch up.

"Nn!" you tighten around the toy.

He watches you freak out from afar, his sweaty face contorting into a diabolically naughty smirk.

Two notches up. Three notches. Off. Onetwothreefour — you gulp and smack the desk — earning a look from your seatmate, Choso.

The toy temporarily turns off.

"... sorry, this question is just so frustrating." you apologize, playing off your random desk smack.

"Yeah, tell me about it. I'm failing this class for sure."

"S-same, honestly." you reply shakily, soothingly rubbing up and down your clenched thighs.

You text Satoru with fervency.

You

'just a plug' my ass! wtf is this thing!

Toru

lol 🍑🔜 and chill... it's just a lil something i picked up for ya

You

ur the devil. i hate u.

Toru

ur hurting my feelings 🥺

Onetwothreefour — max!

"Fuck...!" you gasp again, feeling a dizzy rush as the toy buzzes at max deep inside your pussy.

Choso gives you a concerned side-glance.

"Sounds like you're really having a rough day." he jokes.

You look at him. He's sitting pretty close.

"You have no ideaaaaaahhhhhhh~" you moan back, accidentally cumming right there in front of your classmate.

Immediately clapping your hand over your mouth, you blink at him. Oh no... you just orgasmically moaned against poor, confused Choso's face.

His eyes widen. He blinks. " H u h ? "

Satoru sees this and slides down in his seat, holding in his laughter behind a toothy smile, pearly whites all on display. Now his best friend gives him a look.

"Satoru..." Suguru sighs, catching onto what was happening. "Give the girl a break."

"You wanna try?" he offers Suguru the remote control.

Suguru looks at it. He looks at you, then Satoru, then the toy... and takes it into his hand and chuckles with his best friend behind their textbooks, clicking it to a new pattern.

You just twitch your eyes and then shut them in pleasure, cursing the both of them in your mind while you feel your thighs tremble and feel the toy pulsing. Your pussy squeezes the pink silicone.

And you can hear those dastardly best friends giggling behind your back, watching you wiggle in pleasure, trying to contain your moans. Every time you glance back at them, Satoru makes mocking ahegao faces at you. Suguru just smirks and continues to play with the vibrator.

Oh, you were definitely gonna get 'em back for this.

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢

𝐓𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 💗

[nightingale-prompts]

Danny lives in a horror movie-DC x DP prompt

Based on my favorite book series "tales from the gas station"

It's not every day that a mission requires the league to travel to middle America in a bid to obtain a highly cursed artifact but it certainly is today.

Locating the Seal of Silent Ashes was a task usually given to Justice League Dark but Constantine was currently busy. So that meant it was left to the poster boys to get this done. They dressed in civilian attire to investigate the last location of the seal starting with the first building on the edge of town. A small dusty gas station near the woods.

The inside had an awful smell, like death and cleaning fluid. The lights gave off a greenish-blue tint. Rats could be seen out of the corner of your eyes. Most of the chips were offbrand and crappy.

Behind the counter was the teenage boy chewing gum. He looked up at the group before going back to reading his book. He had clearly seen better days but didn't show signs of caring about the state of his hair or bags under his eyes. He drank his coffee.

The air felt off.

"Hey kiddo, do you mind giving us directions?" Clark started.

The kid narrowed his eyes as he popped his gum.

"You're not from here. That or you're from that cult in the woods. Listen I'm not joining. Seriously, cosmic nihilism and fatalism sounds doomed. Hey wait-" the teen checked his notes " No, the cult killed themselves in that mass suicide 2 weeks ago. I forgot, sorry."

The teen didn't say anything else as he went back to his book.

The horrified look of the adults shared was almost hilarious. At least to the teen if he looked up.

"Oh, and stay out of the woods. I don't want the police to come back and ask about who saw you last. Seriously if whatever is in there tears you apart I won't feel bad. I put those signs out forever ago and if I get one more girl covered in blood running in here screaming about her dead friends I'll get a headache." The teen shrugged turning the page.

"What do you mean?! Why would-?! Who's killing people?!" Barry asked frantically as Bruce serched for more reports of missing people in the area.

"I don't know. Why would I know? If you want to go in the cursed forest go ahead. I mean that's how they all die. It isn't my job to stop you. My job is to sit here and watch this store." The teen huffed in annoyance.

Before anymore questions were asked the signal of the radio was disrupted and a demonic howl screeched through the radio.

"God damnit. That cunt is back. Stay here." The teen growled as he grabbed his bat from under the counter and walked out the back door. "String bean! Get off the fucking roof you bastard! You know that radio is all I have here!"

A chattering laugh like a death rattle was heard and the sound of 2 sets of feet was heard on the roof then they lept down.

"Come here so I can beat you to death!" The teen ran around the building towards the front of the gas station chasing-what the fuck is that!

It was like a human that was twisted to crabwalk on all fours backwards. Its face was contorted into a black stretched-out smile with no teeth. It had no eyes just black sockets. All its limbs were stretched out to an extra meter in length. It was a skinwalker of some kind with chalk-white skin. It was skittering away from the teen who was swinging his bat at its head.

"Stop running! I told you before what would happen if I found you fucking with me again!" The boy meant it as he finally landed a hit and began wacking it over and over it.

The skin walker screeched and tried to run for its life but couldn't.

After reducing the monster into a black puddle the black-stained teen came back inside to sit back down not paying anymore to the monster blood he was covered in.

"Sorry about that. Most of the freaks around here have learned to stay away from this place. That one is new and he doesn't listen. You'd think they'd learn but Sting Bean thinks he can torment me. Petty bastard." The teen sighed "anyways are going to buy anything or are you going to waste what oxygen we get in here with this shitty ventilation.

Diana couldn't help but admire the boldness of the boy. He had no hesitation or fear against the beasts of this area even if was crude.

"Does Constantine have a cousin or something? Just a more angry one" Barry whispered to Hal.

[madamechrissy]

I'm about to show you, baby, slow down

How the JJK men eat it

PWP- MDNI- Explicit oral sex. Overstimulation (Choso and Geto) breed kink and dacryphilia (Gojo) Talking you through it (Nanami) pussy smacking and spitting (Toji lol) rough oral/edging and degradation (Sukuna) WC- 1.8k

JJK men x F!reader- featuring Choso, Gojo, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji and Geto !

A/N- Based off the poll I made, this is the order of the biggest munches - but we all know they'd all be- comments and reblogs appreciated if you enjoyy <3

Choso Kamo - doesn’t take a breath

Choso loves drinking all the juices that pour from your pretty pussy, he loves parting your lips and watching it drool out of your little hole. He’s lap it up greedily, as your hands yank on his pigtails, only urging him on with your moans. He’s been at it for almost an hour, watching you writhe, your clit twitching under his tongue when that barbell hits it.

‘Cho, p-please…. Cho, I can’t t-take it!” You whine out, he looks up at you with those big violet eyes, face covered in your slick, lapping another flick on your overstimulated clit, making you cum again.

‘That’s it, pretty girl, look at you, so p-perfect’ Cho is grinding his cock on the bed, he’s so close to cumming just from drinking your slick cunt, his black nails are pressing into your thighs as he holds them apart, shoving his tongue in your velvety walls and feeling you spasm around the wet muscle.

He doesn’t mean to overstimulate you, it’s just he can’t get enough of you.

‘Please fuck me baby please.’ you're begging him, fuck he's throbbing as he hears it, but he's just not ready to detatch his mouth from your little clit yet.

‘One more, pretty, please?’

You glare now. ‘Cho get up here now.’ he presses another sloppy kiss on your clit, sliding up your body, seeign the sheen of sweat on your skin, finally pressing his reddened, drooly tip between your folds.

‘S-sorry baby, you just taste too good.’ your eyes roll back when he finally sinks his cock inside, you can’t ever be mad at your sweet boyfriend when he feels like this.

Satoru Gojo - are you cryin?

‘Aw, look at her, slutty pussy wasting all my cum’ Satoru says, cooing at your abused hole as he watches his milky white cum dripping out of it. You pathetically whine, already fucked out from the load he's put in you, your eyes so dilated they’re almost black, tears drying on your cheeks.

‘T-Toru… can’t anymore, fuck!’ Satoru chuckles, shoving two of his long fingers deep in your cunt, grinning up at you, teeth glinting, eyes fucking insane blue.

‘You’re so weak baby, c’mon don’t waste it. Need to have my babies.’ he huffs now, fingers pressing in the spot in your gummy walls, the one that makes you blinded, while his tongue is lapping at your clit.

‘Ngh!’ he chuckles as you cry out, it’s so nasty hearing the mess he’s making, with his cum pouring out and your arousal squishing in the room. You have bruises and marks all over your pretty tits and thighs from his biting, nipples shimmering from his saliva, your back arches as you are blinded by how fucking good it feels.

‘We taste so good together baby’ Satoru shoves his two fingers down your throat, gagging you and making you sniffle, you’re so pretty when you cry, Satoru is rock hard again, but not before he swipes his tongue in your cunt, sipping out his cum and moaning, you feel that pressure as you get slicker and messier all over his hands. 'that's it, you can't help yourself, so needy for me huh?'

‘C-cumming, toru!’ you scream out, and he eagerly laps it all up, tasting the tangy mix of you both, kissing and nipping your breasts and sore nipples, grinding his pretty pink tip on your overstimulated clit, you're crying pretty tears, only making him harder for you.

‘can you take more baby?’ you weakly nod, and soon he’s slammed his length back inside you, ready to fill and clean you again.

Nanami Kento - talks you through it

Nanami loves eating his pretty wife’s pussy, especially how your back arches, how your fingernails press against his scalp, how you cry out. He loves your honeyed arousal pooling down his lips, as he’s bruied his face against your heat, moaning against you, his big hands pressing into your waist.

“Kento… it’s s’good I… I’m s’close…” You’re whining, making nonsense, just babbling, Nanami’s straight nose bumps your engorged clit, making you cry out, jerking your hips, earning a firm smack on your thighs.

‘Ah- ah darling, I’m not done yet’ he orders, when his voice gets so firm like that it makes you even more sensitive, he takes two fingers, dipping them in and out of your drippy cunt, teasing your entrance, sandy blond hair falling over his handsome face, you bite your lip as he teases you. ‘Need something, pretty girl?’

‘More, more please… your fingers- ah!’ you scream, echoing in the room when his two long fingers start scissoring your cunt, and you feel it, your entire body reacting, he smirks down at you.

Nanami may be a gentleman but he’s a damn fiend when in the room.

‘That’s it, you can do it darling, cum all over me. Let go, I got you' he dives his face back down as he pumps that spot in your slick walls, fluttering around his digits 'Lemme feel you’ he looks up with his hazel, lidded eyes as he starts sucking on your clit while fingering you, and you’re done.

You shatter all over him, gushing and making a mess, he drinks you all up moaning, before sliding his fingers up and down your pussy, while you jerk from after shocks, chuckling softly when he leans over you.

‘K-Ken… fuck I love you’ you mumble, you’re so cute, already fucked out, when he slips tongue back up your slit again.

‘Not even close to done with you yet, darling.

Toji Fushiguro - bring that ass here

Toji Fushiguro could eat your pussy all goddamn day, he laughs against you while he has you pressed on the wall, he couldn’t be bothered to make it to the bed, he’s got your leg thrown over his shoulder, mouth buried against your cunt. His scar rubs your inner lips, his tongue messy and nasty when it swipes up a stripe from ass to clit.

‘T-toji, fuck can’t stand…’ you whine out, hips rolling, fucking his face just how he likes, he’s got a hand full of your ass, your head falls back and your eyes roll when he bites at your clit. ‘T-toji!”

‘Ah-ah’ He pulls back, smacking your pussy then, you whine out pathetic when he yanks you down, slamming you to the floor and shoving up your skirt. ‘Y’know what to call me, doll’

You flush, so fucking overheated as you look into dark green eyes, your breaths making your breasts rise and fall. ‘Daddy.’

Toji’s feral then, burying his face back against your hot, eager cunt, he’s so sloppy and nasty with it, your hands are pressing against his broad shoulders while he yanks your hips, bringing you even closer. ‘Fuck my face doll, that’s it, nasty, slutty girl’

You’re doing just that, rolling your hips, he then shoves two fingers in, pressing into your gummy walls, that spongy spot hits and there’s so much pressure, you panic. ‘Toji! I’, gonna…. Slow down I…’

And you’re squirting all over his face, much to his pleasure, he drinks as much as he can, pulling back and rubbing your clit back and forth so fast, making you cum even more, he’s laughing, licking that scar as he is covered in you ‘messy little fuckin slut, just f’me doll, yeah?’

‘For you’ you manage to mumble, when he’s kneeling over you, lapping your cum up.

‘Open, doll’ you eagerly obey, and Toji is spitting your squirt into your mouth, smacking your cheek and chuckling ‘that’s it, gonna drink this up with me, need to clean up that mess’

Ryomen Sukuna - tch, pathetic brat

‘Don’t try to run from me, brat’ Sukuna drags your cunt back to his face now, you are whining out, shaking as he eats you from the back, two fingers shoved in your cunt, tongue circling your clit as he fingers you so mean.

“Too much, Kuna, c-can’t’ he leans up, smacking your ass, your bound wrists are going numb behind your back as he smacks your ass again, and again, chuckling.

‘If you can’t take it you can choke on my cock again, hmm?’ you moan at the thought, hole drooling even more arousal, much to Sukuna’s pleasure, he’s taking out his fingers, pulling you by your hair, shoving them in your mouth, you feel his breath on your ear, the prick of pain making everything even more sensitive. ‘You like that idea, slutty brat, huh?’

You nod, swirling your tongue on his fingers, and he moans,ruby eyes glinting and  kissing you with plump lips, his kisses are so sweet for the brutality of his smacks, his words, his fingers, then he pulls back, shoving you back down on the bed, pressing your head into the silk pillows. “Kuna… need you…’

‘I’m not done with my meal yet, now arch that ass up. There ya go, good girl.’ he cooes, pulling your ass up as he buries his face against your cunt again, tongue fucking you, chin pressing into your clit, you scream out, thighs trembling, his huge hands are pressing your thighs as far apart as they go, as he devours your pussy mercilessly, chuckling when he feels your walls tighten around his tongue.

You’re so easy for him, so pathetic, but also… You taste so fucking good. He pulls back, just before you’re gonna cum, making your pussy throb as you try to move, but he's pinned you down.

‘Kuna, you jerk!’ your words are amusing, muffled, weak.

‘Hah, not yet brat’ He’s smacking his thick, long cock on your hot little cunt, ready to edge you as long as he wants to

Suguru Geto- will do it anywhere

Suguru Geto's long silky hair is in your fingers as you're pulling him closer, right in the back seat of his car, you looked so pretty for your date he just couldn't help himself, not when he'd played with your slick cunt and felt how wet you were from just kissing him. then, you'd been on his lap, rolling your hips, it was too much, he has to have you on his tongue.

'Sugu, it's s'good- ah!' you're crying out as his tongue swirls in calculated slow circles, teasing you while you drip down his face leather seats, your hips arching up. he's moaning, he doesn't care if it's fucking cramped in here, he needs your cum all over him.

'You can do it, Princess, that's it, right fuckin there' he fingers you with one long digit, watching you with dilated violet eyes, licking your clit, tongue ring hitting just the right spot, and you fall apart for him.

'S-Sugu f-fuck!' you're whining now, tears falling as he flicks that barbell so fast you can't think, your eyes roll back in your skull, you're pulling his hair so hard it hurts him, but you're gushing all over his pretty face, and he's drinking you up.

he shoves his tongue deep in your walls, which are convulsing, you're sobbing out at how good it feels, trying to pull him off you, but now he's having too much fun with you. He smirks against your inner thigh as he kisses it, biting the plush there, you're panting, the sound of your drippy cunt and him drinking you fills the little car.

'Please, fuck me. Please' He smirks again, lapping at your clit once more and biting it, you're cumming again, a trembly fucking mess, when he sits, dragging you on his lap, sinking you down on his cock, your lips find his.

'F-fuck Princess, you feel s'good. taste yourself, how fuckin sweet you are?' He asks, your answer isa weak nod, and then you're licking your slick off his mouth, before he starts pounding your pussy.

You're not making your date.

Ahhh I hope you all enjoyeddd, these were the rankings aha. if you like this style I can try again for requests!

[ugh-yoongi]

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.