#“you said the thing you should know how you intended it” well.

[faetreides]

Would modern!coryo like being called daddy? Like reader is all dumb from him overstimulating them and it just slips out.. how would he react?

This is so me, like i’m scared of this happening. no one has made me cum tho so i’m probably safe

╰ • ✫ - ❛LILY OF THE VALLEY!❜ ✎ᝰ.

cw: daddy kink, typical coryo warnings, reader is so baby in this and he’s so bf like 😖, school stress, cunnilingus like he EATS you out to the bone fr, pain play, mentions of blood kink and piss kink, pet play coded, unedited porn for the soul, afab reader, THIS ONE GOES TO OUT TO ALL MY FREAK MODERN!CORYO TRUTHERS, reader and coryo at their most real, pretentious use of latin pet names, hinted breeding kink

You’ve been keeping it to yourself for so long, still wallowing in the idea that you should be shy about your kinks. You’ve never had a partner like Coryo before, you haven’t had a partner, period. Normally you just muffled it into a pillow while you fingered yourself to an unsatisfying orgsm and called it a day. But now you had an insatiable boyfriend with a sizable sadistic streak… among other things.

Are Daddy kinks the worst thing someone could be into? No, and you know that perfectly well. You also know that there’s enough stigma around it for you to keep it yourself. You didn’t need conversations about “daddy issues” or creepy men who assumed that that information gave the green light to do whatever they wanted to your body.

You had never admitted this to Coryo, but one of the reasons you were so nervous about your first time was because you knew it was only a matter of time before it slipped out. All the rumors and spilled stories from his past flings and hookups (things you prefer to not let get to you too much) made it even more clear that if anyone could drag that out of you, it was him.

It’s a miracle you didn’t blurt it out during your first time, you were so fucked out he could’ve told you that you said anything and you would’ve believed him. No, despite Coryo’s casual dominance that is apparent in how he pecks your lips after every bite you take from the fancy finger food held in his hands, your secret is kept safe.

That is… until the stress of assignments piling up builds up to a boiling point, and you’re left sobbing into your boyfriend’s chest.

“Shh, petal, get it all out.” He hums, slowly dragging his fingertips up and down your shaking back. “You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t calm down, baby. Let’s take some deep breaths, okay?”

“Okay..” You heave.

Coryo gently pulls your hair and directs your forehead to knock against his. It startles you out of your teary state for a moment, you blink in confusion and he chuckles. His eyes are so warm, they could set you on fire right there on his lap. His hold on your head doesn’t let up, and you sniffle as you place your hands on his chest.

He directs you to breathe with him, “One… two… three… four… hold it… now breathe out through your mouth, do that a few times with me, alright, dove?”

“One… two… three… four…” You repeat his words, which helps you center your focus on the pure love in Coryo’s stunning eyes.

After every set Coryo makes a childish ‘woosh’ sound, purposefully blowing hot air into your face. It has the intended result and he grins triumphantly at your watery giggles. Once he’s calmed you down enough, he’s leaping into action and raining down an army of kisses all over your cute face.

You’re too sensitive for it, but he wants to tease you for being “Daddy’s little crybaby” so fucking bad. This isn’t the moment though, perhaps when it’s something different, like tears of joy because of how much your engagement ring sparkles in the sunlight.

Yeah, he knew before you came right out and said it, have you forgotten who exactly you’ve promised your soul to? Don’t be silly.

After a certain point the sticky kisses become more and more heated, and by the time he reaches your lips he’s pressing your mouths together. Coryo slowly tilts your head to the side, opening up your mouth and lazily sucking your tongue. Like you always do, you start bucking your hips against his crotch in short and subconscious movements. He smirks into the kiss, pulling away to speak.

“I bet I know just the thing to get you all fixed up, huh petal?” He coos, nodding your head for you. “Come on then, up you go. Don’t trip on your way to the bedroom.”

That’s just the start of his well intentioned meanness, that and the spank he gives your ass as you obediently hop up from the couch and speed walk to the bedroom. You’ve gotten so thirsty for him in the months you’ve been together, he’s almost proud.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t to feel your brain leaking out of your ears and Coryo’s pink tongue deep in your puffy pussy.

Your hips are kept pinned to the bed by his nails clawing into your flesh, you’re honestly surprised you haven’t started bleeding but you wouldn’t mind if you did. He jabs his tongue again and you squirm, attempting to kick your legs out on instinct. Coryo tightens his grip on your hips, smacking your inner thighs and digging his nails in your hips even further.

It’s his mission to tear you apart in any way possible, in every way. A small hidden part of you is soothed at the reminder that there are some things you never have to ask for. He already knows, he’s the best like that.

Coryo stops tongue fucking you to spit on your clit, staring all wide eyed and whorish up at you as he gives it little licks. You whine when he doesn’t adjust his slow pace, wishing you were in love with someone who didn’t like teasing you as much as he adored spoiling you rotten.

You ruffle his blonde curls, pouting and having a fit. He smacks your thighs harder and scratches lines down your legs as he purses his lips around your clit. He honest to god somehow laughs as he latches on the swollen bud and firmly sucks. In between sucks, his tongue roughly plays with your now throbbing clit, viciously slapping it around like it wants to beat it up.

“Fuck-fuck-uhhhhhhhhh-you’re gonna make me cum-Daddy-shit, yes-just like that, Daddy, just like that just like that-oh my god, Daddy!”

Your squealing makes him laugh again, and when he registers your slip up, he clutches onto you so hard his nails break skin and blood starts trickling down your body.

He pats the area where your womb is a couple times, a silent ‘Good dove’ that goes straight to your core. You’re lucky you aren’t ovulating right now, or the sheets would be even more soaked than they already are. His eyes narrow at the little pouch on your tummy and there’s the slightest hint of teeth in his sucking, but he backs off to spit on your dripping pussy again.

“Mmm-that’s all sweet pets need to do right? Lie back and drool from every hole for their Daddies?” He asks, nuzzling the patch of pubic hair at the top of your mound and taking a deep whiff.

And you’re so good for him, you don’t even need a warning glare or a fierce hit upside the ass.

“Yes-yes, Daddy-um-um- ‘m your bunny-all for you, Daddy.” You pant as you try to catch your breath.

“Glad you’re smart enough to know that, baby.” Coryo bites the skin over your womb, caressing the indents of his teeth. “Never have to doubt my intelligent little flower, do i?”

“Nuh uh, Daddy.” You shake your head in agreement so fast you get dizzy, and he smiles before bringing his attention back to your warm pussy.

He flattens his tongue and licks fat stripes over your folds like a wild animal giving his mate a tongue bath. Simultaneously meant to induce arousal and bring comfort to his partner. He winks at you several times and regularly darts up to french kiss your aching clit, burrowing his nose so deep in your slutty pussy.

The sensual nature of it has your eyes rolling back, and this time you’re the one being savage, your bedazzled extra long acrylics make a mess of his shoulders. He lets your trembling legs go, keeping you in place by his raw determination to literally eat your heart out. His curls bound and fly as he shakes his head vigorously, pushing your clit and hood back with his thumb so he can focus on slurping your slick from your hole like it’s his job.

“No no no-stop, please-fuck- ‘m gonna make a mess-feels like i have to pee, Daddy- shit shit-no, Daddy wait ‘M GONNA!-”

Your orgasm rudely cuts you off, and you gush on Coryo’s mouth. You always say shit like that when you squirt, but you never know when your boyfriend wants your words to be true. You squirt until you can’t hold yourself up anymore, and you collapse against the bed in a huff. Coryo laps up your release with his signature pleased grin, he’s so glad to put you in your place and give you what you deserve. Trust him, petal, he’ll never fail you when it comes to that.

You don’t speak, you’re still twitching and coming down from your euphoric high. Coryo lays his hands on either side of your head and cages you in, hovering above you and cooing loads of praises and sweet nothings into your sweaty hairline.

“How about it? Feeling any better, dove?” He gingerly delivers the question with a loose hand around your throat and a quick squeeze to your tit.

You lean into the barely there pressure on your throat, too out of it to be embarrassed, “Uh huh, thank you, Daddy. ‘Love you.”

“Oh you are so very welcome, mellilla (little honey). Daddy loves you too, more than your bunny brain could ever imagine, don’t you ever forget that.”

It's 2 am by the time you’ve come back to earth. Coryo makes you pancakes with your favorite strawberry syrup after you eagerly show him your appreciation in the shower. He wipes your mouth clean when you’re done with the star shaped pieces. You fall asleep during an elimination on MasterChef, but he’ll rewind it for you tomorrow.

if you liked this, consider leaving a tip or commissioning me !

[an-impulsive-pen]

Hair

Elliot X GN reader

Elliot decides his spouse needs to take better care when washing their hair, so he takes things into his own hands!

Fluff, a tiny bit suggestive at the end

“We really should trim the ends, too, you know,” Elliot sighed as he guided his partner to sit and lean their head back over the running sink. They huffed. “I can wash my own hair, y’know.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Elliot mumbled. “Tell me if the water’s too hot.” “It’s fine,” they shifted in their seat. “... You really don’t have to do this.” “I beg to differ,” he said, arranging the shampoo and conditioner he planned to use on the counter. “You work out on the farm all day, sweating and building up dirt and grime. You really should take better care of your hair if you intend to keep it like this. And, frankly,” he took his spouse’s hand and lifted it to his lips, “I’ve grown quite fond of it like this,” he grinned and kissed their knuckles softly.

The farmer’s face flushed, but there was no more argument. “Alright, here we go,” Elliot smiled as he began rinsing their hair. “Just relax and let me pamper you for a while.”

With a soft exhale, they did just as they were told. They melted instantly as they felt Elliot’s fingers running through their hair, massaging his scalp.

“... Feels nice?” He asked. The farmer hummed softly in confirmation, earning a small chuckle from Elliot. “Good. I’m glad. I’m going to start with the shampoo, alright?” “Okay,” they nodded the little bit that they could with their head tilted back.

They shivered slightly as they felt the cool of the shampoo contrasting the warm water. Elliot smiled down at them as he worked the shampoo through their hair, making sure not a strand was missed. “... This is nice,” he said. His partner looked up at him.

“... Yeah…?”

“Yes. Your hair is nice, and…” his voice softened a little. “... I enjoy feeling like *I’m* taking care of *you* for once.”

“What do you mean?” they asked. Elliot sighed as he began rinsing their hair. “... You spend so much time working. My writing helps, sure, but the farm is our only *consistent* income. You’re the reason we have this roof over our heads and food on our table. I just… I like feeling like I’m contributing in some way.”

The two sat without speaking for a moment, only the sound of running water filling the silence. The farmer finally broke the quiet as Elliot reached for the conditioner. “You’re *always* taking care of me,” they murmured.

Elliot paused and looked down at them questioningly.

“... You’re the one I get to see every morning when I get up, and every night in bed. You help around the farm, and you’re always here for me. You go out of your way to do all these big, romantic gestures, and you… You make me feel *cared about*,” they said softly. Elliot hesitated before giving a small smile. “... I’m glad you think so, dearest,” he said, beginning to apply the conditioner. “I want nothing more than to make you feel loved and cared for.” “Well, you’re really good at that,” their face flushed, and they let their eyes fall shut again. Elliot chuckled.

“Good. You deserve it, love,” he hummed. “So just relax, and let me spoil you.” His partner smiled softly. After a moment they opened their eyes. “... Is that… Pomegranate scented?” “Only the best for my beloved,” he grinned down at them playfully. They laughed softly. “Well, thank you,” they looked up at him. “... Even though I could’ve just taken a shower and washed my hair.” “I don’t know if I trust how thorough you’ll be on your own,” Elliot smirked. “If you like, though, we can certainly do this in the shower next time…”

[kienium]

i have such a hard time with tone indicators still because i don't know what the fuck i mean either. how am i supposed to fake it until i make it in these conditions

[burinazar]

(post contains mia s2 spoilers and also may be semi incoherent i've been brought low by 4am belaf and vueko feels and must exorcise them like demons to sleep and have spammed the ganja server enough today already)

belaf and vueko are thematic opposites but in a complementary manner, not an oppositional manner. her big symbolism thing is darkness, and his is sight, which requires light/visibility, the opposite of darkness -- but there is no clash between these ideas as they manifest between the two. instead he encourages her to look INTO the dark. he understands the dark is a safe and warm thing for her. his quest for a revelation through gazing with determination and fondness isn't meant to cast a searing light into it or tear it away.

and Vueko so values what she finds when she looks into the darkness that she dies with those words on her lips, thinking about two things: how much she loves Irumyuui, and how grateful she is for Belaf’s words about gazing fiercely into that dark, the act of which led Vueko to her.

[avvocarlo]

like I'm not even sure what it is but across so many work industries it's always the grunt level worker who is to blame apparently. any excuse in the book to counter what you say or did. you feel like you're going nuts, I'm reasonably reflective and can see where something went wrong or where I can do better. does this make any sense?

[theghostofashton]

.

[arabriddler]

important ! In recent years especially this year I’ve noticed a lot that the internet language picked up so many Islamic phrases and, from a muslim perspective, it makes the internet a little more welcoming. the thing is, a lot of the time with Islamic phrases you have to be careful about when and where to say them they hold their own weight and demand their own respect so here is a list explaining each phrase and some notes about it.

In sha allah

It means “ If God wills “. It’s mostly a response that can mean yes or no. If someone asks you to do something you can say in sha allah as in “ I heard you and I’ll try to do itc but I can’t claim that It will happen “ . Muslims say it because we’re unaware of what future holds it’s actually blasphemous to claim to know the future, so saying so means “ If it’s the will of god it will happen if not it won’t “ and you’d also say it about future events.

Ma sha allah

It means “ this is what god intended “ and it’s a compliment. Saying so is like saying WOW! But it’s also kind of a prayer of protection? If I see someone with pretty hair I should say “ Ma sha allah your hair is very pretty “ the ma sha allah protects the person from the evil eye. By saying that I’m also saying I’m not jealous I’m genuinely enamored and I don’t wish any harm to go to it.

Astagfurullah

it means “ to god I repent “ or “ from god I seek forgiveness” it’s usually used when you make a mistake but people also use it when they see something bad or when they want to avoid saying something bad. Like once my card refused to work and I’d say that so I won’t say any curse words and to calm down my anger

wallah/wallahi

okay this one is important. This one shouldn’t be used so lightly. It means “ by god’s name “ and it’s basically swearing in Allah’s name. You are only supposed to say it if you genuinely mean what you’re saying. It’s such a heavy word that I only say it very rarely and if you say it and don’t follow up on what you said you have to fast for three days as repentance.

ya allah

ya is an addressing word? Like talking to someone or calling them? Like saying O’ ( someone ) so ya allah means O’ god

Al hamdullilah // hamdullilah

it means ‘ praise/thanks to god ‘ said when something good happens or when you feel relieved about something— for example, my shirt is stained badly and I’m worried it won’t clean well. I clean it and the stain is gone so I say “ al hamdullilah “ kind of like phew!. Sometimes people say it as an answer when they’re asked how they are it can either mean things are good or bad but we preserve .

One more note is that with the name of Allah you should also be careful it’s not supposed to be written on papers that’ll get stepped on or lightly used in art because it also has its own weight it’s regarded heavily. Like even in home decorations it should be elevated and not overshadowed. If I have to throw away a paper I have to sit down and color over the name of Allah or burn the papers so it won’t get thrown in trash.

another note is that those phrases aren’t Muslim exclusive. Some Arab non-Muslims use them as well. This is only my explanation from a Muslim perspective.

Another another note is this is what I can remember at the moment but if you have additions or enquiries let me know

[getvalentined]

An open letter to @staff

I already submitted this to Support under "Feedback," but I'm sharing it here too as I don't expect it to get a response, and I feel like putting in out in public may be more effective than sending it off into the void.

The recent post on the Staff blog about changing tumblr to an algorithmic feed features a large amount of misinformation that I feel staff needs to address, openly and honestly, with information on where this data was sourced at the very least.

Claim 1: Algorithms help small creators.

This is false, as algorithms are designed to push content that gets engagement in order to get it more engagement, thereby assuring that the popular remain popular and the small remain small except in instances of extreme luck.

This can already be seen on the tumblr radar, which is a combination of staff picks (usually the same half-dozen fandoms or niche special interests like Lego photography) which already have a ton of engagement, or posts that are getting enough engagement to hit the radar organically. Tumblr has an algorithm that runs like every other socmed algorithm on the planet, and it will decimate the reach of small creators just like every other platform before it.

Claim 2: Only a small portion of users utilize the chronological feed.

You can find a poll by user @darkwood-sleddog here that at the time of writing this, sits at over 40 THOUSAND responses showing that over 96 percent of them use the chronological feed*. Claiming otherwise isn't just a misstatement, it's a lie. You are lying to your core userbase and expecting them to accept it as fact. It's not just unethical, it's insulting to people who have been supporting your platform for over a decade.

Claim 3: Tumblr is not easy to use.

This is also 100% false and you ABSOLUTELY know it. Tumblr is EXTREMELY easy to use, the issue is that the documentation, the explanations of features, and often even the stability of the service is subpar. All of this would be very easy for staff to fix, if they would invest in the creation of walkthroughs and clear explanations of how various site features work, as well as finally fixing the search function. Your inability to explain how your service works should not result in completely ignoring the needs and wants of your core long-term userbase. The fact that you're more willing to invest in the very systems that have made every other form of social media so horrifically toxic than in trying to make it easier for people to use the service AS IT WORKS NOW and fixing the parts that don't work as well speaks volumes toward what tumblr staff actually cares about.

You will not get a paycheck if your platform becomes defunct, and the thing that makes it special right now is that it is the ONLY large-scale socmed platform on THE ENTIRE INTERNET with a true chronological feed and no aggressive algorithmic content serving. The recent post from staff indicates that you are going to kill that, and are insisting that it's what we want. It is not. I'd hazard to guess that most of the dev team knows it isn't what we want, but I assume the money people don't care. The user base isn't relevant, just how much money they can bring in.

The CEO stated he wanted this to remain as sort of the last bastion of the Old Internet, and yet here we are, watching you declare you intend to burn it to the ground.

You can do so much better than this.

Response to the Update

Under the cut for readability, because everything said above still applies.

I already said this in a reblog on the post itself, but I'm adding it to this one for easy access: people read it that way because that's what you said.

Staff considers the main feed as it exists to be "outdated," to the point that you literally used that word to describe it, and the main goals expressed in this announcement is to figure out what makes "high-quality content" and serve that to users moving forward.

People read it that way because that is what you said.

*The final results of the poll, after 24 hours:

136,635 votes breaks down thusly:

An algorithm based feed where I get "the best of tumblr." @ 1.3% (roughly 1,776 votes)

Chronological feed that only features blogs I follow. @ 95.2% (roughly 130,077 votes)

This doesn't affect me personally. @ 3.5% (roughly 4,782 votes)

[peaktora]

𝐂 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 ˚◞♡ ⃗ satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ your husband is unbearably clingy.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. no pronouns used or specified gender for the reader. intended lowercase. established relationship (#married).

a/n. — i’m warning u guys right now that this is not proofread 😭 .. i literally just typed this up rq and posted it bc it’s been too long since i’ve last posted something on here

p.s. the prompt was in my notes from a longgg time ago, but i believe it’s from @/creativepromptsforwriting .. if not please lmk !!

"c'mere, hold my hand," satoru pleads for what has to be the third time. he pouts at you, who’s sitting on the countertop.

your brows furrow as you look up from your phone, "but, you're washing the dishes?”

he twists the faucet handle, and a steady stream of water flows down. after a brief glance at you, he places the plate beneath the water and says, "i know how to multitask, baby."

clinginess is defined as “the tendency to stay near someone for emotional support, protection, ect.” but there has to be another term for what satoru is, because you can't give any of those things while holding his hand right now.

you let out a deep breath and turn off your phone, watching as the screen fades to black. "satoru, there's no way i'm sticking my hand in that dirty dishwater," you say, sliding your phone into your pocket.

he practically shoves the plate into the drying rack. "i can't believe this," he huffs. "we literally had vows."

“what are y—“

“we had vows that said you’d love me in sickness and in health.”

"well…are you sick?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.

he pauses his task of washing dishes, leaving them untouched. leaning over the sink, he rests his arms against its edge. he steals a furtive glance at you, only to find your gaze locked onto him. with a hint of hesitation, he softly mumbles, "no..." before you can respond, he interrupts, "but i’m in health, and the vows said that you have to love and cherish me in this state too."

you lean back, searching your mind for what the alternative of holding his hand would be. because in no world would you hold his hand in dishwasher. then, it hits you. "for now, would a hug make you feel better?"

he answers your question with a hum, and you can't believe he's debating whether or not to accept your offer after all that drama over holding hands in dishwater. even so, he adds, "i'll have to give it some thought."

two can play that game.

“it’s okay,” you say, gracefully hopping down from the counter. a smirk spreads across your face. “i could just go—sit on the couch?” slowly, you start to walk in his direction and make your way over to the living room.

he doesn’t say anything, letting you do as you please. it’s not until you start to pass by him, that you get the reaction you wanted.

or atleast, somewhat similar to what you wanted.

"on second thought—" he exclaims, and the dishwater swirls around him as he turns around, his hands still wet and dripping.

you cringe as small puddles gather on the tiles. "hey—" but he interrupts you as he reaches out to grab your wrist. “ew—I—what the hell?”

you instinctively try to pull back, but he slips his wet hand in yours; sealing your fate.

“satoru—”

“what happened to nicknames?”

“satoru.”

"’m not sure who that is. i go by a lot of names, but not that one. lets go down the list, yeah?” he clears his throat. “i go by "babe, baby, swe—"

"you should consider adding "gojo" to that list."

"now, when have you ever called me gojo?”

"right now, in exactly ten seconds.” your husband gasps, hanging his mouth open. “satoru go—"

“woah woah woah—what’d i do to deserve this treatment?”

“you put your dirty dishwater hand in mine.” you jerk your hand back, struggling to escape free of his grip.

his grip tightens on your hand, “if you’re feeling like not loving me today then just say that.”

“hey—don’t discredit me. i offered you a hug and you said you had to “think” about it.”

“cause holding your hand ‘s better.”

you sigh, “after you’re done with the dishes, you can hold my hand as long as you want.“

he lets out a soft, thoughtful hum—the same hum that got you both into this situation in the first place. at the same time you shake your head, a mischievous twinkle appears in his eyes, and a smile twists onto the edges of his lips. "deal" he says, shaking your hand. “but before-“

you tsk, making him drop his excuse.

“wh—“

"the quicker these dishes get done, the quicker you’ll be able to hold my hand. so get on with it—go," you playfully command, and his grip loosens in response. seizing the opportunity, you slide your hand out of his grasp. you look down at it, seeing bits of food that’ve stuck to your palm. gross.

you walk over to the sink, feeling the cool water flow over your hand, washing away the food and dirt that clung to your skin. as you stand there, you hear satoru's voice grumbling from behind, "i hate doing dishes,” and you can’t help but snort.

before you know it, you feel his presence close behind you, his body pressing against yours. his arms encircle you, creating a cozy pocket of space between the counter and his body. satoru leans over your shoulder, gets a sponge from the soapy water, and starts washing a bowl. you simply lean back and look at his features.

the sight almost makes you want to stay in his arms forever. that is, until you realize the predicament you're in.

“you did not,” you whine. you desperately try to break free from the cage he’s trapped you in, but your attempts prove more and more pointless.

"oh, yes, i did," he declares with a smile. “what did you say earlier?" he clears his throat before proceeding. "the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you'll be able to hold my hand," he says, mockingly imitating your tone. "so, the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you can leave and do anything you want."

you sulk and moan while you reluctantly grab a dish and a spare sponge from the sink. “i hate you.”

“i love you more.”

[cupidhoons]

HIS CHEERLEADER

SUMMARY You and Heeseung are friends with benefits. But, why did you have such an effect on him? PAIRING sports player ! heeseung x nerdy fem ! reader (slight jake x fmr) GENRE oneshot & highschool! au, romance, fluff, f2l WARNINGS y/n and heeseung are said to be fwb, heeseung is down bad for you, kissing, swearing, grammar errors, bad writing of sports, lmk if there's more!

"STOP LOOKING FOR HER."

Heeseung whipped his head towards Jake, his expression cross. "I'm not looking for her. She's probably not coming to watch anyway. She doesn't like these types of environments." Heeseung looks down and fidgets with his fingers. "Though, it would be really nice if she came. I'd do better on court." His lower lip coming out without him intending to. Jake laughs at his best friend's sorrowness.

"You look like a lost puppy when you talk about her. Are you sure being 'friends with benefits' is all you want?" He questioned while making air quotes around friends with benefits.

Heeseung defends himself. "We aren't even doing that! We just kiss sometimes and that's it, but it's not a big deal."

Jake narrowed his eyes toward Heeseung. "So, if I said that Y/n was hot and I wanted to take her out one day, you would be okay with it?" His jaw clenched as he looked at Jake. "No, I wouldn't be okay with it. You can't do anything with her or I will-"

"Okay okay! It was a joke Heeseung. I wouldn't actually go for your girl." Heeseung's cheeks burn at Jake's last words. His girl had a pretty nice ring to it. There was no denying that he wanted to make you his.

"Y/n isn't my girl. She only sees me as a friend and sometimes we like to try things."

"I don't understand why you're so interested in her. She's pretty, but she's the complete opposite of you. She's got the brain and smarts and you are...well, Heeseung."

Heeseung looked down. "You aren't supposed to understand when you like someone. It just happens." Jake laughs at his friend before shaking his head. "So, you do like her."

"I don't."

"Yeah, and I don't have a dog named Layla."

"Fuck you." Jake laughs hysterically as Heeseung walks to the court and plays with the volleyball in his hand. His heart hammers in his chest as he gets ready to serve. But, he hears a voice pierce through the air.

"Go Heeseung!"

His focus is suddenly disrupted and the ball goes straight into the net. Fuck. Heeseung's eyes go wide. Even though there's tons of people cheering his name, it's different when he hears your voice. He malfunctions a bit. Why did his mind turn into mush when it comes to you?

"Hey lover boy, get your shit together!" Jake exclaims as Heeseung shakes his head and furrows his eyebrows. When did you have this effect on him?

You sat on the bleachers as you watched the boys play. You didn't expect to come, but you chose to be there for him because he was so excited to watch him play. Besides, you needed a change to setting considering that you were always in your room.

You watch as your friend serves again, and the ball goes in the air this time. You see that a lot of girls are here to cheer on the guys, and it's pretty obvious that a lot of the boys got the girls that want them. You wonder if anyone else has eyes for Heeseung.

You wouldn't be able to complain about it, he's cute and has an attractive build since he played sports. His muscles show that he's been working out and his tank top of revealing all of it. He looks perfect.

You can't also deny that you have eyes for your best friend, you find him attractive. Sometimes, you think that you feel a little bit more than you should. And it scares you, just a bit, though.

"Hey Y/n!" Jake says walking towards you during their water break. You smile as you hand him his bottle. "Hey Jake! How long have you been out here?" He settles himself beside you as you scoot over a bit for him. Heeseung's friends are so incredibly fine, there was no denying. "Mmm I'm not sure, maybe since nine? I don't know...But, I should tell you something."

You go closer to him and the glimpse him and see Heeseung staring at you both. Jake has a glint in his eyes that tells you he's about to cause trouble. How silly Jake is. "I'll tell you later since Heeseung is coming over. But," He puts his mouth by your ear and whispers. "I think Heeseung doesn't really like it when I talk to you alone. I think he might have feelings for you." Your eyes grow wide and Jake giggles at your reaction. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you later, sweetheart."

You smile shyly at him as Heeseung replaces his spot when Jake leaves. "What's up with him? Did you touch you?"

"No. Well, not in an uncomfortable way anyway." You nod. You feel him put an arm around you. You freeze.

He might really like you.

What's wrong?" He notices the way you look bewildered.

"Huh? Oh, it's nothing. Anyway, go play for me." Heeseung laughs as you slightly nudge him.

"Do you want me to show off or something?"

"Why not? I get to have the man that everyone wants." You scrunch your nose. There was a funny thing about you being her at his games. The way you would just say the flirtiest lines for fun to taunt him made him feel weirdly happy.

When he needed motivation, you were his solution. You pushed him to his limits, and he didn't know why. Maybe he wanted to show of just a little to make you proud. But, he loved when your smile seemed to be wider when you saw him. He wanted to see that everyday.

So, with courage, you finally let it out. Jake gave you a boost of confidence into saying what was on your mind, so you wanted to try. "Think of it this way, if you win this one for me...I'll go out with you. For real this time. Not as friends, but something more." Heeseung's jaw went slack as the words left your mouth.

The blush was evident on your face as the moment passes by, but Heeseung finally get his senses back and beams.

"I would love to go out with you as something more." You smile at his answer, thankful that he didn't reject your offer. You suppose you owe Jake for this. "Then, play well for me babe."

Now, it's Heeseung's turn to be blushing. You didn't know where you got the sudden pet name from, but you sure did love seeing a flustered Heeseung in front of you.

"I sure as hell will." He nods his blushing head.

You watch him walk back to the court. Jake look at you with a knowing glance. He knows damn well that you did something during the break. You feel like your sudden boldness came out of nowhere, and you weren't sure what to think of it. It's funny how a single guy can make you feel so giddy inside.

As the match begins, you watch as he dives for the ball to keep it up. When spiking it, he makes sure he gives it his all. Jake continues to glance at you from time to time, trying to understand what exactly you did to make his friend play harder.

With every hit, he looks over at you, who gives him the biggest smile. He feels euphoric.

THE MATCH ENDS in the next hour. The Decelis team destroyed the other side with a 2-1 game and the last set with 25-14 points.

He really tried this one. Your eyes are wide as his team starts to cheer and yell in victory. The girls from the bleachers running towards the group to congratulate them and probably ask them out. You see a few girls crowding around Heeseung, who seems to not care at all. His focus is on you and you only.

You laugh at him struggling to get through the crowd around him. You find it a classic that he had girls crawling to him as you still sat on the bleachers. His eyes on you, a wide grin drawn on his face because he knows what's coming. He rejects the girls asking him out and nearly trips on his way to you.

"You don't have to rush y'know. I don't wanna ruin the party." You say lightly as Heeseung pulls you up to your feet and presses his lips on yours. You're shocked by the sudden intimacy from your friend. You can hear Jake screaming at you two and it makes you want to laugh, but you can't. Not when Heeseung is kissing you like your his last breath in front of everyone. He's putting all his emotion into it.

You feel his arm snake around your face as you push him away. He chases your lips and you groan. "You are so sweaty Hee! Get off!"

"No. Not when you're finally mine." He holds you tighter to his body. You grab the towel around his neck and start to wipe his sweaty face and arms. You giggle as you lock eyes with him.

"Are you that in love with me? Your eyes say everything."

"Duh, I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since we became friends. Why do you think we were experimenting with kisses and couple-y stuff?"

"Well, I don't know. I just thought you wanted some fun." You shrug as he frowns.

"I wanted to ask you out first, but you beat me to it. And, I didn't like it when Jake basically made out with your cheek." You laugh at his remark. "I really did! Made me want to die knowing my girl let a guy kiss her cheek!" He added, making you laugh even harder. You whack him and push his clingily self off you to get your things.

"So, about that date? Where would you like to go?"

"Anywhere with you there. Also, promise me something." You nod as he intertwined his fingers with yours. Your heart feels like it's about to explode and its freaking you out. You see Jake across the court putting his thumbs up for you two. He's happy that you two finally got together. Heeseung kisses your hand and you blush harder than ever.

"Be there for me when I need you. Come to my games and kiss me often. I'm more of a physical guy y'know."

"I know, and I promise." You laugh and kiss him again.

As he stares down at you, Heeseung knows he made the right choice with you, His mom likes you, and you get along with his friends. You are only girl for him. You loved him for him, you were in this for him. He couldn't be any happier to know the girl of his dreams is finally his girlfriend and his number one cheerleader.

END.

NOTE hi :) if you made it this far, then thank you so much for reading and i hope enjoyed!! please like + reblog cuz it'll really be appreciated!! thank you sm for reading, and hope you come back to my blog for more of my works!

BACK TO THE SHELF !

[ithebookhoarder]

Truth or Dare (Anthony Bridgerton x Wife!Reader)

Summary: Married only a few months, you are very much one of the Bridgerton brood - something that often drives your poor husband mad, especially when you happen to be every bit as chaotic and unruly as his siblings... Also known as, you, Benedict and Eloise take a game of ‘truth or dare’ a bit too far. 

A/N: What can I say? It’s well and truly fluff-tober over here on my blog 😅

Warnings: Alcohol, mild smut, swearing, Anthony losing his mind, typical Bridgerton sibling shenanigans 

Masterlist

There weren’t many nights Anthony spent away from your side.

They were few and far between, but that didn’t lessen how irksome you found them when the odd occasion called for him to leave you over night. You didn’t know what it was exactly, but you never truly slept well without your husband there to hold you.

Of course, it had to be one of those nights that you truly found yourself in a spot of mischief. Though, in fairness, it had all started rather innocently.

Un-beknowst to you at the time, it was Benedict that had been first outside on the garden swing, sipping from a stolen bottle of whiskey he’d pilfered from the kitchens. He’d been sat there perhaps ten minutes by himself, staring at the stars and lamenting about some problem or other.

Then Eloise had come along.

As was her habit - you later discovered - she had been swift to follow her brother’s example, sneaking out of the house in her nightgown for a reprieve in the night air… and a cigarette or two. Apparently her second-eldest brother was something of a soft touch when it came to her, not that you could blame him for it. You doted on Eloise too.

Then, finally, completing the eclectic cast of characters, there had been you.

Now, in your defence, you hadn’t intended on going out into the garden that night, but had found no other alternative suitable given the blasted summer heat. It was worse tonight that it had been all week, and without Anthony in bed beside you, you saw little point in enduring with the effort of trying to get any rest.

So, you’d decided to make your way quietly through the house and sit outside a while, and pray for a breeze. You hadn’t, however, expected to find both Bridgerton siblings already sat there, having had a similar idea.

“My, what do we have here? Another night owl?”

It was Benedict who spoke first, smiling warmly at the sight of you appearing out of the darkness. He was quick to rise, offering you his swing as a perch to rest upon, beside Eloise.

You were about to protest that it wasn’t necessary and that you could find somewhere else to sit, but a warning glare from Eloise was enough to silence you.

She was all too eager to pat the seat next to her in invitation, looking remarkably pleased to have another addition to their little party.

“Come. Sit,” she ordered. “We were simply discussing how tedious Lady Tremaine’s luncheon will be tomorrow and how we could possibly avoid the whole thing. Now that you’re here, you can help us plot our escape. Benedict’s only suggestion thus far has been some kind of contagious summer cold.”

“I think I actually said that I would use such an excuse, sister,” Benedict corrected with a teasing grin. “Not that we would share it.”

“Traitor.”

“Hardly. It is every man - or woman - for themselves. Right, Y/N?”

“Alas, I think your mother would be rather suspicious at all three of us suddenly being absent,” you sighed by way of explanation as both their eyes turned to you. “Besides, I only came outside because of this heat, not to join some conspiracy.”

“Hardly,” Eloise chuckled. “We simply had the same idea, but I am rather glad you came to join us. Perhaps we should form some secret kind of club - Bridgertons against boredom?”

“And do what? Constantly find excuses not to attend social events we deem too tedious or odious to be dragged along to?”

“Sounds like a marvellous idea to me.”

“It would, sister dear,” Benedict teased. “You always have a talent for causing chaos and anarchy. You’d suit the cause perfectly, even if we both know our mother would never stand for it. She somehow sees through even our best efforts.”

“In which case, it’s time I take a leaf out of your book, Benedict. After all, you always say social events become far more bearable after a good drink or two,” Eloise smirked, gesturing towards the bottle of whiskey Benedict had been steadily nursing. “Perhaps I should follow my brothers  example and learn to hold a drink, maybe then things will be more fun.”

“Oh no.” Benedict was quick to shut down that idea, holding the bottle possessively to his chest and shaking his head. “No. I am not allowing you to start drinking. Mother would have my head if she caught you, not to mention Anthony would have all ours heads on a platter in no time.”

The thought of it made you laugh. Your husband was hardly a tyrant, even if he’d been known to have a temper but he was easy enough to handle. A few soft words in his ear or a kiss on the cheek and he was putty in your hands, helplessly and completely in love with you. Just as you were in love with him.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of Anthony, Benedict?” you giggled, causing Eloise to join you. “I assure you, he’s more a kitten than a lion and he’d probably prefer you to allow Eloise to sample alcohol here, under your supervision, than when she inevitably decides to rebel and has her first drink later on, in the middle of some public ball…”

The warning was clear and you all knew very likely true. Still, Eloise was beaming in victory as Benedict cursed to himself, muttering about Bridgerton women and the likely death he’d receive should Anthony ever find out he had allowed Eloise to sample whiskey. “Just a few sips, El. I mean it.”

“Oh hush,” she snorted, taking the bottle before he could change his mind. She was quick to throw back her head and down a rather brave mouthful, causing you to laugh even harder as she scrunched her face up in disgust. “Oh! That is revolting.”

“I told you.”

“Now you, Y/N,” Eloise grinned, turning and offering the offending item towards you. “Go on. Join us trouble makers - I won’t say a word about it if you don’t.”

“Oh, for goodness sake… Give me that then,” you sighed, earning a cheer from them both, knowing it was better to simply surrender rather than try and fight their mischievous whims. It only increased as you took an ambitious swig from the bottle, wincing at the acrid burning sensation it left in your throat.

If only Anthony could have seen you. He’d have probably had some kind of seizure - especially as you took another quick swig before handing the bottle back.

“There. Your turn again, brother dearest.”

“My my. You really are quite surprising,” Benedict sniggered, before winking up at you in admiration. “Who knew it? You can hold your drink better than Colin. He seems cursed to choke any time he drinks anything stronger than a brandy.”

“Well, it is your sex that falsely deemed us the weaker,” Eloise quipped. “It’s not our fault you were ignorant.”

“I’d like to remind you I wasn’t part of that decision and you also looked ready to choke a moment ago, El.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’re still one of the enemy,” she giggled, earning another raucous laugh from you. Oh, you loved her. If you’d ever been so blessed to have had a sister, you hoped she’d have been just like her. “Now, it is your turn again, brother.”

“Oh … joy.”

“Else we shall have to have some kind of forfeit.”

“A forfeit?” you scoffed, finding the idea absurd. “Like what?”

“How about… truth or dare?”

Benedict froze. “Oh no. Not again. Pall Mall is one thing but we swore we would never play that game in this family again-“

“But Benedict-“

“What’s truth or dare?”

Your innocent question ceased their bickering instantly. Their eyes widened as they turned to you, a knowing and nervous look passing between them. Somehow, you knew this evening was about to get wildly out of hand.

Sometime later, you’d been fully apprised of the rules of ‘truth or dare’. In fact, you’d been something of a natural at it, even if you knew the copious amounts of whiskey you’d all consumed was more than likely the responsible culprit. Else, you’d probably have known better and snuck back off inside before you could make a fool of yourself.

By the end of the night, Benedict had climbed a tree, confessed to being oddly scared of spiders, and been forced to sing the national anthem in French.

Eloise had also made an admirable effort, despite her obviously lower tolerance for drink. She still permitted Benedict to try and arrange her hair, before daring to steal a sock from Colin’s room whilst he’d slept. Then she’d loosened a leg on a dining chair. (Alas, none of you could remember which one but that somehow made it even funnier - even if it would not be come morning when you were forced to sit at the table for breakfast in some kind of roulette.)

You could only pray you didn’t choose said seat.

You could also only pray neither of your conspirators shared your contributions with your husband. You weren’t exactly sure how Anthony would feel at the fact you gone for a midnight paddle in the pond, nor that you’d mixed up the papers on his desk, all before finishing the night with a final dare that involved stealing several cakes from the kitchens… you still swore Mrs Reynolds would notice, come morning, that there were no longer twelve perfect cakes.

That, and Benedict had somehow knocked flour all over the counter, causing you all to erupt in drunken laughter as you’d bolted back outside.  

Needless to say, you all looked a sorry sight as you lay in the grass together, staring at the approaching dawn. Had you not been so tired, or drunk, you may have suggested retiring back to your rooms before the house awoke shortly.

“Now that… was fun.”

“Fun? That was more than fun. I haven’t laughed like that in ages.”

“Told you it was a good idea.”

You hummed in agreement with your sister in law.

“I can see why you all favoured this game so much,” you sniggered, winking at Eloise as she sat in the grass beside you. “I can also see why you all agreed to stop playing it… I don’t know what Anthony would say if he saw what we’d been up to.”

“Something sensible and disapproving most likely,” Benedict sniggered. “Our brother, and your husband, can be a right prig, no offence.”

“Oh hush. At least I didn’t let my sister dress me up in her petticoat when she was five.”

Benedict’s jaw dropped.

“Who told you about that?” he demanded indignantly.

“I have my sources.”

Benedict’s eyes narrowed as he turned his head to glare at his younger sister. “Well, you can tell your source that she’s going to have to find someone else to fetch her lemonade at the Cowper’s ball tomorrow night unless she apologises. You can also tell her that I’ll accept either a verbal or a written apology as long as it’s suitably abject. And that means very, very abject,” he added darkly.

“Tell me, Benedict, was it a lacy petticoat?”

With a wordless grunt of annoyance, Benedict groaned, but it was hard to hear over the laughter echoing from you and Eloise. You resembled more a pack of hyenas than two noble ladies - you probably looked just as feral after your night of mischief.

And of course, as was always your luck, that was exactly how your husband found you mere seconds later.

How Anthony had arrived without any of you hearing a carriage pulling up to the house at this time of the night - morning? You couldn’t be sure - was a mystery. Yet, there he was, hands on hips and looking thunderous as he stormed towards the three of you with all the fury of an exasperated headmaster.  

“What in God’s name are you all playing at?”

You all froze.

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over you as your eyes widened, and you all turned to stare sheepishly at him.

“Oh, darling. You’re home?”

“Don’t ‘oh darling’ me,” Anthony sighed, attempting to scold you but without much success. His attempt at seriousness was somewhat undermined by his brother’s heckling, singing ‘here comes mother’ and that ‘someone’s in trouble’. That, and with the way you were lying, he was upside down. “What are you doing up at this god forsaken hour? And why are you … is that flour? And why are you soaking wet?”

“I went for a swim.”

“A - you went for a -“

“And Benedict did my hair,” Eloise interjected suddenly, waving her arms about as she gestured to the tangle of hair upon her head. “Isn’t it marvellous?”

Anthony’s expression very much said that he did not think it was marvellous. Nor did he find any of this vaguely amusing.

In fact, by the way he took a long deep breath, you knew he was doing his best not to lose his temper and wake the entirety of the household. His brow always creased like that when he was faced with dealing with his family, but the expression only made him seem more adorable and handsome to you, rather than authoritative. However, you’d never told him so, knowing it would hardly be deemed a compliment in his eyes.

You also doubted he’d appreciate your usual response right now, which was normally to kiss said brow until it eased back into its relaxed form.

“We were just playing a game to escape the heat, darling,” you soothed. “We couldn’t sleep and all had the same idea to seek refuge outdoors… we simply got carried away passing the time.”

“What game?”

“Pardon?”

“I said, what was the game you were all playing?” Anthony suddenly quipped, the warning clear in his tone. That, and his eyes landed squarely on his two siblings, who at least had the decency to look sheepish… and afraid. “Because there is but one game I can think of that would result in a mess like this one, and I’m confused, because I know for a fact that we banned that game under this roof, and any other roof that houses the Bridgertons.”

No one moved.

No one even breathed.

It was as if you were all too scared to risk answering Anthony, even if the empty bottle of whiskey did most of the talking by itself.

“I don’t recall the name,” you blinked. “Right, Benedict?”

“Oh, uh… we… we were just- Eloise?”

Eloise froze, the guilt written all too clearly on her face for her to even try and salvage the situation - though that could also be down to the whisky she had consumed… it was honestly hard to be sure at this point.

“Well, dear brother,” she began, only to trail off as Anthony lifted his hand.

The silence was instantaneous. 

No one dared to say another word, let alone move. 

You’d never seen Eloise or Benedict so still in your entire life. Hell, you weren’t even sure they were breathing - probably out of fear Anthony would decide to inform their mother about their mischievous exploits. 

If Anthony Bridgerton was scary when vexed, then Violet Bridgerton was a nightmare brought to life in human form. After all, as the matriarch of a family of eight children, she had learned a long time ago how to keep her unruly children in line - a harrowing experience you had only had occasion to witness once or twice since your marriage into the Bridgerton family. Once had been when Colin and Gregory had broken a priceless vase when racing around the house, despite being explicitly banned from doing so. The other had been when she had caught Eloise and Benedict smoking outside on the terrace one night. 

It was easy to say where your husband had inherited it from. 

“Not. Another. Word,” your husband growled, bending down and sweeping you up into his arms in a move that made you squeal in surprise. “Right now, I am taking my wife to bed and I suggest you two do the same - after you clean up your mess. I’ll deal with the lot of you in the morning.” 

A laugh escaped you as you tried not to look like you were enjoying the sudden turn of events too much. After all, you doubted he’d be too happy once you were more sober and he discovered the true extent of your nightly activities. 

It was why you were only too happy to let him put you to bed, grumbling all the while about letting his siblings run wild. He really was most handsome when he was flushed - a fact you were reminded of as he hastily changed for bed, flashing you a tempting glimpse of his bare torso in the process. 

You could tell without asking he was tired from his journey home, as well as fighting the urge to rip his hair out over the chaos he had found upon his return. 

Thankfully, his need to be in your arms outweighed the need to scold you over letting yourself be drawn into his siblings’ schemes. All it took was you pulling him down onto the mattress, and climbing into his lap to turn him into a needy, lovestruck puddle. 

You’d equally missed having him in your arms, but you’d be lying if you said that your sudden forwardness wasn't also due to a mixture of the whiskey you’d drunk, and the residual giddiness from a night of mischief. A confidence radiated from you as you began to run your hands over his bare chest, taking care to graze the areas you knew made him groan. 

“You’re lucky I love you so much,” he teased breathlessly, visibly unable to refuse your advances. 

“Is that so?”

Anthony chuckled, nodding as he surged his lips towards yours. “Yes, so come here, my delinquent drunken wife, and let me kiss you before you and those doe-eyes of yours drive me insane. Now.”

Your laughter and surrender was immediate. “As you wish.” 

Alas, for poor Anthony, that was not the end of the ordeal. 

In fact, it was the next morning as you made your way into breakfast that you faced the final consequences of your delinquency. 

Despite wishing to remain abed for the entire day, you’d been granted no such reprieve as your maid had entered your room at the usual appointed time and proceeded to open the curtains with no regard for the fact that you had slept a mere handful of hours. Whereas you would normally greet the day with a reluctant smile, you were in no state to manage much more than a groan as you were harshly ripped from your slumber.

If you had somehow not yet come to the conclusion that last night had been a bad idea, then the sudden flare of pain in your head at the bright intrusion was all the proof you needed. That, and the sudden churning in your stomach. 

You would never let Benedict or Eloise coax you into drinking with them again. 

You had not realised, despite how the idiom went, that what went up was sure to come down again - and you had come crashing down. 

Hard.

“If you’re ready to dress, my lady, then breakfast will be served shortly,” your maid chirped, a dress already picked out for you to wear. She either couldn't detect your fragile state, or didn't seem to care as she continued speaking at a painfully loud volume. “My Lord sent me to wake you as he is finishing business in the study. He was up frightfully early, I could scarce believe it went the housemaids told me they’d already found him awake when they went to start the fires this morning. Gave young Samantha a right fright he did, scribbling away at his desk.” 

“Oh?” you croaked. 

You hadn’t even noticed the empty space in the bed bedside you until then. 

Clearly Anthony had risen early, if he’d even gone to sleep at all. Why were you not surprised? Your husband was perpetually in motion, always claiming there was something or someone that needed his urgent attention as the head of the Bridgerton clan. It was just one of the things that made you love him so much.

“Is he still there?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the young girl continued, breezing about your room. “And that’s not the only strange incident this morning. It will tickle you rotten when I tell you the latest drama, but you see, Mrs Reynolds was ranting and raving about how she swore she had made three trays of fruit tarts last night, yet this morning, there were only two. The youngest kitchen maid, Betsy, is convinced it must be a ghost but my money is on Carter - the groom’s boy - he’s always snooping about the kitchen...” 

You winced. Ah. Maybe you hadn't been as stealthy last night as you’d hoped after all...

With as much enthusiasm as you could muster, you began to peel yourself from the mattress, trying to appear as if you were listening to your maid’s theories as she dressed you for the day. It then took all your resolve to make it downstairs and to the breakfast table without tripping over your own feet, or emptying the non-existent contents of your stomach. 

To your relief, only Eloise and Benedict had so far taken a seat at the breakfast table - and both looked about as miserable as you felt.  

“Good morning,” you mumbled, taking your usual chair next to the head of the table. You were quick to accept the steaming cup of coffee Benedict handed you, shooting him a thankful look. “Dare I ask how we feel?” 

“I think better than you and my dear sister here,” Benedict chirped, gesturing at a miserable looking Eloise. She had her head in her hands and was desperately trying to look at the plate of food in front of her with something other than repulsion. “Then again, I must admit I am somewhat more experienced in the art of late-night mischief than you both. I also did not have to deal with my brother before going to bed - thank you, again, for that noble sacrifice.”

“Your welcome,” you chuckled, a faint heat rising in your cheeks as you remembered the exact events after you and Anthony had gone to bed. “I just feel bad that you both got left to clean up the mess.” 

“Don’t be. I think we got it all.”

“You say that but I can’t remember anything after you started singing in French,” Eloise groaned, massaging her forehead once more. “I have the oddest feeling we may have forgotten something.”

You paused. You could only hope for your sake she was wrong. 

However, you were saved from such discussion by the arrival of the rest of the Bridgerton bunch. All conversation about your night-time escapades were quickly forgotten as Colin, Hyacinth and Gregory entered the room, bickering about something you couldn’t quite make out. They were swiftly followed by Violet and Francesca, who both looked unfairly cheerful for so early in the morning. 

You could only wish to look so fresh and composed before your first cup of whatever caffeinated beverage you could get your hands on. 

Then, finally, came your husband. Entering the room last, he turned and shot you a warm smile. Clearly, your shenanigans had been forgotten - for now - replaced instead by the memory of your other activities, much to the relief of you and your co-conspirators. 

In fact, you swore you saw Eloise exhale a breath of relief when Anthony didn't immediately launch into one of his lectures. Instead, he chose to join the rest of his family in helping himself to the awaiting breakfast spread, laid out on the sideboard for them, listening to some ongoing debate between his mother and youngest brother. 

“-but you said we could visit the park this afternoon.”

“I know, sweetheart, but I have to take Francesca and Eloise for their final fittings at the modiste. We shouldn’t be too long, and we can go after? Unless, perhaps your brothers will take you. Colin? Benedict? Anthony?”

Benedict looked physically pained at the idea of an afternoon at the park, what with his current delicate constitution and all. You honestly couldn't blame him. “Well, I uh - have a drawing class, this afternoon. Very last minute. Sorry.” 

“And I... um, have a meeting at the club?” Colin stammered hastily. “Anthony?” 

“Please, Anthony?” Gregory begged, all but pouting at his older brother as the pair made their way to the table. “I promise I’ll do all my lessons this week without complaining if you say yes. I’ll even let you have my pudding tonight.”

“As you asked so nicely, brother, I don’t see how an hour or so at the park could do any harm -” Anthony began, pulling out the chair next to you and lowering himself onto the seat in a moment that felt like it lasted forever as a horrifying sensation swept over you. 

You remembered what you’d forgotten. 

The chair.

“Anthony, wait-!”

The sudden crash was startling, as was the sight of your husband being sent flying backwards as the chair collapsed beneath him. 

No one moved. 

No one said a word. 

Benedict looked across at you and Eloise, the horror clear in his eyes as he choked the word you felt on the tip of your tongue: “Run!”

[gojorgeous]

"sure thing"

pairing: target!gojo x assassin!fem!reader summary: you've been hired to kill the satoru gojo. how will you pull it off... and what will you do when he figures it out? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, darkish content (all is well in the end), no established relationship, assassins/organized crime, blackmail, mention of a “suicide mission”, attempted murder (uhhhh), hidden identity, intended use of sex as a means to an end, mating press, unprotected sex, p->v, creampie, oral (fem!receiving), praise, pet names (gorgeous/sweetheart/baby), slight aftercare. a/n: me 🤝 describing gojo as having dimples welcome to my second 1k followers event fic! At this rate tho i’m going to hit 2k before i finish the 1k event LMAO. not that i'm complaining hehe. thank you for being patient and for all the support on my recent works! i really appreciate every ask, comment, follow, reblog, everything. they mean the world to me. check out the rest of my 1k event here. enjoy and remember that ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! creds: twitter template by @cafekitsune wc: 7.8k

“Who?!” 

No fucking way. There’s no way he just said what you think he said. 

“You heard me,” he scowls. He glares at you from across the desk. His seat is one of those cushy little office chairs, of course. Yours is plastic– cold and hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you hiss. There’s no other explanation for what he’s asking you to do. He’s lost his fucking mind. 

“We have a client willing to pay big money for this. Big money for just an attempt,” he answers. 

You laugh, but there’s absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Probably because he’s practically invincible. I’ll never even lay a hand on him.” 

Your “boss”, for lack of a better term, only scowls harder, the wrinkles forming near his eyes etching deeper in his skin. “Well, you’d best find a way to make it work. You’re taking this job. That’s final.” You scoff. Maybe you should recommend he see someone… “No. There’s no way. I’m not doing this.” You stand, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Get someone else to go on your suicide mission.” You take a couple strides toward the door before two very large men move to block your path. 

“Not so fast,” your boss calls. You pause, eyeing up your competition. You could definitely take them if you needed to. You sense only a very faint amount of cursed energy coming from each of them– not even enough to make you blink– but something in your boss’s tone makes you turn back. 

“Yes?” You cross your arms over your chest, fingering a blade hidden in your breast pocket. 

He fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up right there in his office. You don’t try to hide the way your nose scrunches up. “You want to do this job.” 

Your eyes narrow. Something tells you you’re not going to like what comes next. “And why’s that?” 

He takes a long puff, letting the smoke flowing out of his lungs with a slow exhale. “Because otherwise that little brother of yours is gonna be…” he pauses to give you a smile that makes your stomach churn. “Hmm… a lot smaller, shall we say? Maybe in several limb sized pieces?”

You think your heart stops. Time halts as ice runs through your veins. Nobody knows about your brother. At least, they didn’t. 

Your boss’s smile grows even wider. In all your time as an assassin, you’ve never wanted to kill someone more. But you know you can’t. Just an attempt on his life will end your brother’s. 

“Don’t worry. He’s all tucked away and safe at home where you left him.” Just a tiny piece of your heart thaws with relief. “But try to run with him, or run yourself, and he won’t be safe much longer.” Your pulse pounds so viciously you’re sure everyone can hear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. “Now, will you accept the assignment?” 

Your jaw clenches. He got you. In all these years of working for him you’ve been careful, meticulous about hiding every piece of your personal life to avoid situations just like this. But he still got you. He got you. 

“Yes,” you breathe. You have no choice. You will either kill Satoru Gojo or you will die trying. 

“Good,” is all he says, and then you’re being escorted out of the office wondering where the hell you went wrong. 

~

It’s been three weeks since that fateful meeting with your boss. True to his word, your brother has remained unharmed, but you see his lackeys lurking around every corner. Neither you nor your brother are truly safe and you never will be again unless you can pull this off and then put together some plan to escape your boss’s clutches. 

You’ll fail. You know you will. The thought eats you up inside with every waking moment. 

You’ve done your best to learn every possible piece of information about Satoru Gojo in the past two weeks. You know you can’t tail him closely– he’d pick up on your cursed energy and notice your incessant presence, so you’ve had to study from a distance with only minimal moments of proximity. You know where he works, who he works with, what restaurants, bars, and clubs he frequents and what days of the week he tends to visit. You know what his order is at his favorite ramen restaurant, where he lives, what time he wakes up. Hell, you know what fucking brand of dish soap he uses. He lives a surprisingly… predictable lifestyle. He makes no attempt to switch up his schedule or cover his tracks. In any other situation he’d be every assassin’s dream, but this is Satoru Gojo and Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to worry about assassins– assassins need to worry about him.

It took you the first week to come up with a plan. You had no clue how you were going to get close to him, much less kill him, and his infinity technique was going to prove particularly problematic. How were you supposed to kill him when you couldn’t even touch him? You had to get him in a situation in which he would willingly let his guard down for you. 

You’d been on the subway when it hit you. Sex. You’d get him to have sex with you. If you could get him to take you home, he’d have to turn infinity off for at least a short time. That would be your time to strike. 

You’d spent the next two weeks primping yourself. You’d bought the most expensive dress you’d ever owned, got a mani-pedi, whitened your teeth, and spent a small fortune on makeup. Considering your circumstances, you thought your plan was quite a good one. You knew when he’d go out to the bar with his friends, which bar he’d go to, how long he’d stay, how he’d get a taxi home. You also knew when you’d arrive, how long you’d stay, and how you’d get a taxi with him– everything planned perfectly to best catch his attention. But for all your planning, there was still one thing you didn’t know. What kind of woman did Satoru Gojo go for? Someone submissive? Teasing? Aggressive? Playful? In all your time tracking him you’d never seen him take somebody home. It struck you as… odd. He was Satoru Gojo, renowned for his power, wealth, and good looks– surely he had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was just a little more… selective. If that was the case you’d have to be even quicker on your feet when you finally met him. And that time is now. 

You’re in your bathroom, checking your makeup one last time before heading out the door. Your brother sleeps soundly in the room down the hall, safe for the time being. You’ve contacted a friend, one who is at least willing to try to get him out if– when– you fail. You doubt it will be enough.

You make your way to his room. A quick peek inside reveals he’s snuggled up with a plushie elephant that he carries around like they’re attached at the hip. You creep inside, a sad smile on your lips. This may very well be the last time you see him. You brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the crown of his head. With one last whispered ‘I love you’, you’re out the door. If you linger, you won’t be able to go– and you have to. For him. 

The streets of Tokyo are cold tonight, like the weather knows what you’re about to attempt, like it’s preparing for death, for failure. For your failure.

The club you arrive at is upscale, and one where you’ve already tipped off the bouncer to let you bypass the line. You hear a few groans from the people behind you as you saunter straight inside. 

You’re conscious of every little move from the second you step inside. At any moment, he could see you and it could make or break your entire plan.

You press your shoulders back. You have a plan– stick to it. 

You make your way over to the bar, weaving your way between groups of people who are somewhere between giggling a little too loudly and tripping over their own feet. 

You find a free space at the bar and lean up onto your elbows, your eyes screening the bartenders. You smile when you see a familiar face. 

“Hey, Dean,” you call.

He turns and the sight of his friendly green eyes sets you a little more at ease. 

“Oh, shit. Hey!” He slings a towel over his shoulder and comes to stand across from you. “You’re back,” he says. You nod and smile softly. Ever since you’d determined this would be the place you’d been coming periodically, chatting up the bartenders. The last thing you needed was to stand around in a corner alone with seemingly no friends. That wouldn’t attract anyone, much less Satoru Gojo. 

Out of all the bartenders, Dean was your favorite– and you’d been oh so happy to learn that his schedule put him on every Friday night. 

“Yeah. Long day at work.” 

A smile pulls at his lips, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The usual, then?” 

You nod solemnly. “That’d be great. Thanks.” 

You watch him prepare the drink for you, feeling a little bad that it’s all a lie. There’s no bad day at work, you didn’t just happen to come in here one day and strike up a conversation with him. All of this is premeditated, planned, and it feels… lonely. It feels lonely to know that on what is probably your last night on earth you are surrounded by people who only think they know you. 

“So, anything new happening?” Dean drops your drink in front of you and you have a feeling it’s filled with a little more vodka than he’s supposed to put in there. 

Your eyes shift around the bar as subtly as you can manage. As much as you want to seem like you fit in, you also need to find Gojo. It’s a fine balance. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess I just feel like a lot of things are going to be changing for me pretty soon.” 

His brows pull together and the look he gives you is one of genuine interest and concern. It makes your heart wrench. “How so?” 

You swallow. “Dunno. Just… everything.”

There’s a moment of silence and then the tapping of a finger on your glass. “Damn, girl. Drink up. You need it.” 

You can’t help but smile. You have a feeling that Dean would have been a good friend of yours in another life. 

You take his advice, though, and bring your drink to your lips and force a smile. You can’t be moping– not tonight. 

The next twenty minutes are spent with Dean. Even when he’s making other drinks he’s still chatting with you, still being a good… friend. You dread leaving your little haven at the bar. The time is coming when you’ll have to seek out your target.

You’re shocked when it’s the other way around. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a light brush on your shoulder and you turn. It takes all you have to keep your features schooled and calm. Satoru fucking Gojo just tapped your shoulder. 

Nothing prepared you for how handsome he is up close. All those days of research, of tracking and tailing– none of it does the real thing justice. Even with those stupid sunglasses inside… he’s fucking beautiful. “I’ll pay for all of your drinks tonight if you let me skip this hideous line,” he whines. 

You give yourself no more than a second to recover. You school your features into a smirk. You glance at Dean with an ‘is this okay?’ look. He just smiles and shrugs. 

You turn back to Gojo, bracing yourself this time for the beauty you’re about to face. You meet his gaze and know you could get lost in it. “Be my guest.” 

His smile nearly blinds you and his dimples nearly make you pass out. Still, you keep your cool. 

“Yesssss!” He looks like a puppy just offered a bone. 

He spills his drink order to Dean and it’s far more than could possibly be just for him. He’s here with his friends, then. Probably the blonde man who always looks too tired to be here and the girl with the brown hair who always seems like she’s just along for the ride. 

You bite your lip to hide a laugh when he orders himself two strawberry daiquiris. Somehow you still catch his attention. 

“What?” he pouts. You can’t help but feel a small stirring of surprise in your gut. He’s far more… relaxed than you’d expected him to be. He’s almost… childish? 

You press your lips together and shake your head. You’ve reached the point where your research can’t take you any further. From this point on, it’s up to you to discover what Satoru Gojo likes in a woman. 

You debate how to answer. Play coy? Tease him? Stay silent? Any option could be as correct as the next. You didn’t know where to start… so maybe you’d just start by being yourself. 

“Just, um… not the order I was expecting,” you laugh. It’s halfway genuine. With the way he’s acting, it’s hard to remember that he’s the most powerful man alive. 

His pout only intensifies. “Well, what’s your order?” 

His question is answered when Dean sets another cosmopolitan in front of you. You laugh. “Never said I was judging, just that it wasn’t what I expected.” 

Another smile tugs at his lips and something stirs in your gut that you try your very hardest to ignore. This was a job. There was no room for actually enjoying it. This man was probably going to kill you later, in a matter of hours. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then a slight shift in his demeanor. He leans closer and you see a twitch of his lips. Your heart jumps. 

“You’re a sorcerer,” he says. 

You hold back an exhale of relief. You thought he might be onto you. If he is, he’s choosing not to reveal it yet. 

You nod and take what you hope is a casual sip of your drink. “And you’re Satoru Gojo.” 

A brow arches high enough for you to see it over his sunglasses. “You know who I am?” 

You force a chuckle, smirking despite the pounding of your heart. “Who doesn’t?” 

You’d decided long ago to tell him that you knew exactly who he was. It would seem more suspicious for a fellow sorcerer to have no idea what the Satoru Gojo looked like. 

He flashes you a smile full of white and stupidly fucking perfect teeth. “That’s true, heh.” You press your lips together to avoid a smile. Not too humble, then… 

“So, what’s your technique” 

You shoot him a glance that questions his sanity. Asking a sorcerer what their technique is… is personal. It’s not information you give out to a rando at the bar– even if it is Satoru Gojo.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You take another sip of your drink, trying your hardest to remain somewhere on the border or interested and casual. 

“Bet I could find out.” 

That makes you turn fully, angling your body toward his. “Oh yeah? You challenging me to a fight?” You smirk and shake your head. “I’ll pass.” 

He pouts again, but you see a hint of a smile peeking through. “Aw, come on. That’s no fun…” 

You chuckle and take another sip of your drink. You’re not sure you’re sipping just for appearances anymore. You think you probably just need a little liquid courage to see this thing through. “Sorry. I value my life.” 

You watch as he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough for you to get a glimpse of what’s behind. You nearly choke again and this time you don’t manage to hide your nervous swallow when he smirks. 

“You’re so sure you’d lose?” His voice is teasing now and you hate that it’s actually having an effect on you. Job, job, job, just a job… 

You clear your throat. “I like to think I’m not stupid enough to think that I could win.” 

His eyes are blue– so fucking blue– and you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul. Can he see? Can he see your filthy intentions? Your plotting? The rottenness of what you’re going to do? “What if I promise to take it real easy on you?” 

Your drink is forgotten now. You’re lost in what he’s saying– in him. “No thanks.” Your voice is growing lower and you feel like there’s some magnet forcing you to lean into him, to seek his warmth. 

“So you like it rough, then.” The trance is broken and your blood runs hot. Holy shit. This man is flirting with you and you hardly even had to try. He's trying to take you home. Little does he know, you’re a sure thing. 

You watch as he throws back the rest of his strawberry daiquiri with a pleased “ahhh” at the end. When he turns back to you his eyes have a certain spark in them that makes your thighs press together. “You wanna dance with me?” 

Fuck. This is going too well to be real. But you’re not about to pass up a good deal. 

“What about your friends?” you ask and eye the several untouched drinks still left on the bar. It’s risky– giving him an out, but you can’t seem too eager.

He follows your gaze only to bounce his eyes straight back to you. “I’m sure they’ll get a look at ya and understand.” 

The smirk he’s giving you is making electricity shoot straight between your legs. Damn. You really wish you didn’t have to kill him– or at least try to. 

When he extends his hand you only hesitate for a second. Your heart leaps when you feel his skin on yours, knowing he’s let infinity down. He pulls you onto the dancefloor and it’s not long before he’s running his hands all over you– groping your ass, pinching your thighs, nipping at your neck. Pretty soon the dancefloor evolves to a dark corner of the club with his lips on yours and goddamn he’s a good kisser. You’ve got your fingers in his hair and his hand way too close to your boobs when he whispers those fateful words– “let’s get out of here.”

You can only hide your swallow and nod before he’s pulling you through the crowd, leaving the club behind. He hauls you both into the backseat of a taxi and the door’s barely closed before he’s all over you again. You think you hear the taxi driver mutter something about ‘staining the seats’ but you’re too far gone to give a shit. 

Fuck, he feels good. He’s kisses you like he’s starved and your lips are the fountain of fucking life, like he’s never felt something so good and now he can’t get enough. And, god, he’s handsy. You’re forever grateful to your past self for discreetly hiding your blade in your bra– he would have felt a holster on your thigh at least ten times over by now. 

He groans when you arrive at what you know is his apartment building, though you don’t let on that you recognize the place in the slightest. The look on his face makes you think he’s feeling actual physical pain at the prospect of having to peel away from you for even a second. Nonetheless, he tosses a wad of cash at the taxi driver and pulls you straight inside.

He can’t even wait for the elevator to come, groping your waist right there in the lobby and then when the elevator finally does come, shoving you up against the metal wall a licking stripe across your collarbone. 

You can’t deny how nice it feels to be so desperately… wanted. Never once has a man made you feel this way– so consumed by him, him, him. Once again you curse the universe that you’re here with a mission other than getting laid. 

You find yourself giggling when he pulls you out of the elevator and presses his palm to a fucking scanner to get into his apartment. You try to pull yourself together, but when he laughs with you, you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he’s got you up against another wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. His sunglasses are long gone and you pull at his shirt, popping the buttons straight off the fabric until you slide the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.

“That was Versace,” he whines. 

You plaster your lips to his. “I don’t care.” All he does is chuckle. 

“So gorgeous…” he breathes and your head slumps back against the wall, giving him better access to the soft skin of your neck. Any minute now. Any minute he’s going to start stripping your clothes off and you’re going to have to let this charade crumble. You don’t want to. He’s practically worshiping you. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, and you don’t want it to end. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and suddenly you’re moving again– moving, moving, moving until your back is bouncing against the softness of a mattress and you’re fucking giggling again like a lovesick idiot. Maybe you’d had a few too many sips of those cosmopolitans. 

He’s smiling as he crawls over you and the sight makes your heart flutter with both lust and terror. Lust because he’s so fucking beautiful and terror because you know that any moment now you’re going to attempt to end that beauty forever. 

A lump forms in your throat and you try unsuccessfully to swallow it. You have to do this, have to try. There’s no other way, no other option. Not for you.

Your thoughts must not have been as perfectly concealed as you’d thought because he quirks a brow. “Something goin’ on up here?” His lips slide across your temple in a touch that feels far too tender for a hookup. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit.” He snickers at his own joke before burying himself in your neck. His hand slides down your side, pressing you up into him until you can feel every curve and cut of his muscles. 

You bite your lip. You’ve already slipped enough for him to notice your nerves– you can’t let it happen again. You have to do it soon. Now. As soon as you see an opportunity you have to strike. You have to. 

You arch up into him, scratching your fingers down his back, trying to seem as invested in the moment as you can. He gets greedier, leaving open-mouthed kiss down your neck, across your collarbone. You nearly freeze up when he kisses low into the valley of your breasts– as low as your dress allows. Then he moves over your clothes, kissing down your stomach as his hands rub your thighs. 

Now. Now, while he’s not looking.

You slide a hand into his hair and another up to your chest, trying to play it off like you’re touching yourself. You sneak your fingers into your bra, feeling the cool metal of your blade glide across your thumb. Now. 

You fist your fingers in his hair, holding his head down as best you can while you arc the blade toward his neck. Just one good hit, please… 

You think you’re going to strike true– you’re so close– and then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, stalling your attack just as it was about to land. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t look up right away, but you hear him sigh, feel his hot breath fanning over your thighs and stomach. When he finally does look up it’s with the eyes of a teacher who’s disappointed his student didn’t do their homework. 

“Come on now, baby. I was really hoping you’d forget about all this and we could just have a good night together…” He’s pouting, whining, like a child who’s been told he can’t have dessert before dinner. Your shock stills you long enough that he easily maneuvers the blade from your hand, throwing it with a thwack into the wall to his right. It lands perfectly. 

This is it. You’re going to die now. But not without a fight. 

You spring up from the bed, kicking him a couple times in the process. You’ve missed your only chance. Now, if there’s even the slightest chance of escape, you have to take it. 

You bare feet hit the carpet. No time to find your shoes. You dart for the door and hear him groan behind you. For a second you think you might actually make it, but you should know better. 

He appears in front of you, straight out of fucking thin air, and his pout has transformed into something a little more sinister. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s talk it out, yeah?” 

You take a shaky step back, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you. It’s over. 

You swallow and lift your chin– you at least want to die with a little dignity. “Just make it quick. Please.” 

He sighs again and slides his hands in his fucking pockets, like this is just a stroll down the street. He stalks toward you, forcing you back until you’re pressed up against another wall. This motherfucker really likes walls. 

His pout shifts to a smirk that borders far too closely on a grin. “Oh, no. I’ve always had a thing for taking it slow.” 

You nearly snort. He certainly hadn’t had a thing for taking it slow just a minute ago. His arms cage you and your world grows infinitely smaller until it’s just him and those blue-ass eyes staring you down. Some distant part of you thinks you might not mind if it’s the last thing you ever see. 

“Damn, I really thought you might give it up and just let me fuck you,” his pout returns. “So disappointing…” he sighs. 

Your lips part. “You knew?” 

That lights his face up like a Christmas tree. “Sensed you tailing me these past few weeks. Started on theeeee– 21st, no?” 

Fuck. You’d been so careful. You’d only tailed him in public spaces, where your energy would be more diluted by the crowds. You’d stayed far enough away that he should only have caught mere glimpses of you, even suppressed your energy. He should not have been able to sense you. But he was Satoru Gojo– things people were not supposed to be able to do came easily to him. 

But you have one thing on him. 

“The 18th,” you whisper. “Started on the 18th.”

There’s a beat of silence and then his smile is growing wider, wider, wider, until it’s practically blinding you. “Well, shit,” he laughs. “You’re pretty good.” 

You let a tiny smile slip through your terror. “I try.” 

His eyes travel up and down your body, his pout slipping away to a frown. “What to do with you… hmm…” You lift your chin, taking shallow little breaths through your nose. You’re looking death in the face, but you’d never thought it would be so beautiful. He sighs. “I guess I could let you go.” 

You freeze. He notices. 

He quirks a brow, another smirk sliding across his lips. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?” You stay silent. No way he’ll let you go. It’s a bluff. A cruel trick. “It’s not like you could try again, gorgeous. I know your energy now and what you look like. Sorry, but your chance is gone.” That was fine by you. Your breaths come a little heavier, hope pulsing in your veins. “But–” shit. “Letting you go is so… boring. Especially after where we left off, yeah?” 

Your jaw drops. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that we–” 

He cuts you off with a kiss, one that makes your toes curl in the carpet and your stomach clench in anticipation. 

“Oh, yes I am,” he chuckles. You feel his hand sliding down your hip, cool and calculating. “I know you weren’t faking the whole thing, gorgeous. Nobody makes out like that when they’re faking it.” You feel your cheeks heat. “And nobody gets this wet-” his fingers snake beneath your skirt, pressing to the wet patch on your panties. “When they’re faking it.” You gasp and reach out, hands clasping onto his shoulders for support. He only chuckles. “No worries, gorgeous. No need for any more faking tonight. I’ll make sure it’s all real.” 

Somehow you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist again and you’re headed to the bedroom– again. It’s like a replay– a redo. 

“Let’s keep it less killy this time, yeah?” 

Your back hits the mattress, your body bouncing lightly on its softness before he’s crawling after you. It’s simultaneously the best and worst deja vu you’ve ever experienced. 

His hands slide down your body again, fingertips hooking beneath the hem of your skirt and shimmying it up your thighs until your panties are on full display. 

“Shit,” you breathe. He’s moving so fast, like he’s desperate to go further, to get his greedy hands all over your bare skin. 

You can’t say you blame him. You feel the same.

His thumbs hook under the fabric of your panties and you know it’s over for you. You can feel his warm breath skating across your thighs, feel the calluses on his hands scraping against your skin. You reach a hand down, tangling it in his hair, and you nearly faint when he smirks and looks up at you with those blue fucking eyes. 

“I think I’ve seen this film before, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. “No more knives hiding anywhere, yeah?” 

You clench your jaw, trying to control your pounding heart. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you doing this? You wish you had a better answer than he’s beautiful and sexy and just a glance at him makes you want to rip his clothes off and climb him like a tree. 

“Silent, hm? Guess I’ll just have to check myself…” 

He’s pressing up the hem up your skirt, more, more, more, until he’s pulling your dress straight up over your arms and running his hands down your bare sides. 

“None there…” His fingers cup your breast and you gasp, unable to contain your shock and the jolt that just rushed through you. He traces the outline of your bra. “You had the last one in here, no?” Your chest heaves under his touch, pressing the flesh of your breast up into his fingers. He smirks. “Best check again.” You feel an arm slide beneath you back and then your bra loosens before it’s completely gone. 

There’s a beat of silence, of admiration. He gazes down on you and you see his snark falter for just a moment, replaced by a sparkle in his eyes. It makes your skin heat. His fingers brush the swell of your breasts, thumb trailing down over a nipple. You arch and gasp again. 

“Fuck. Quit teasing so much.” 

He chuckles and the sound washes over you until it settles in your bones. “Sush. I’m not done checking for weapons yet.” 

You scowl but before you can even move to open your mouth he’s sliding your panties down your legs, hooking them around your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you watch him settle himself down between your thighs, eyes never once leaving your center. “Don’t see any knives here, either, but maybe I should double-check…” he breathes. 

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and you shudder, your breaths shaky. Fuck. You were supposed to kill him tonight but if he keeps going like this you’ll be the one deceased. 

He meets your eyes when he takes the first long lick along your folds. You swear he’s smirking.

Your head rolls back and a pathetic sounding groan slips past your lips. You hadn’t realized how much he’d worked you up. Just the slightest touch feels like heaven.

His tongue nudges at your clits and your legs clench, tightening around his head. He laughs into your cunt and his warm breath skates up and over your tummy. Your fingernails scrape his scalp.

“I think you like this, gorgeous.” 

Each word sends little puffs of air against your folds. It’s driving you crazy. You stare down at him, letting a smirk pull at your lips. Your eyes dart over his mouth, wet with your slick, and you don’t fail to notice the way he’s struggling to hold your gaze, eyes flickering back down to your cunt every second. Your smirk grows. “I think you’re liking this, too.” 

He licks another stripe, from you pulsing hole to your throbbing clit, and this time he’s the one groaning. “Damn right I am.”

He eats you out like he kisses you– like a starved man, like he’ll die if he stops for just one second, like he can’t live without your juices on his tongue. 

You whine and bury both hands in his hair, tugging desperately when his lips wrap around you clit and suck. It’s so much, too much, and yet it’s just right. 

Your hips buck and squirm, but he’s got his fingers pressed deep into your flesh, holding you down to take whatever he gives. You think you see heaven when he slides two fingers into your walls, curling them into that gummy spot that has an unbearable heat building deep inside you. 

“S-Satoru-” you stutter and you hear him moan and mutter into your cunt like he’s unwilling to leave it for even a second.

“Fuck, yes. Say my name, sweetheart.” Who are you to deny him? You whisper, whine, and whimper his name with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue. It’s delicious. Every so often he swaps his mouth and hand, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can while his fingers rub dangerous little circles on your clit. Whenever things get a little too filthy he laps his tongue across your entire cunt and along your inner thighs, cleaning up every stray drop. You don’t know how much longer you can last under such a complete and total assault. 

“S-Satoru, ‘m gonna-” He licks a thick stripe through your folds that makes your sentence end in a whine, his lips settling to suckle on your clit again.

God, it’s messy. It’s fucking disgusting. His whole chin is covered in spit and slick– and you love it. “Cum for me, baby,” he breathes. 

You don’t need to hear much more. You let the heat inside you release with a whine, thighs trembling on his shoulders. Your walls pulse and throb around his fingers, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. His tongue continues to rub lazy circles around your clit, working you through your high and making it last so long you think you might pass out.

Warmth spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and your muscles tense and clench with each pulsing throb. You swear to god you see fucking stars.

It seems to go on forever, leaving you limp and shaking when the last waves finally slip away. 

He presses a final kiss to your clit, one that makes your hips jolt from the overstimulation before he’s lifting himself up. “Wow. That looked like a big one,” he chuckles. He runs a soothing hand along your thigh and you don’t even have the energy to give him some sort of snarky reply. There’s hardly even a pause before something shifts in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can get one that’s even bigger, yeah?” 

Before you can even process what he’s said you feel strong hands slide under your thighs, pressing them tightly to your chest as he settles himself close to you

You grasp at the sheets, hearing the clinking of a belt buckle and then the familiar pitch of a zipper being undone. 

“Fuck,” you mutter. He’s big. Long and pretty and with a perfectly flushed tip. Your eyes are rolling back just thinking about having him inside you.

A strong hand smooths along your thighs, folding you in a way that feels more vulnerable and exposing than anything you’ve ever done before. He pauses for a beat, just staring down at you silently.

“Gorgeous,” he finally mutters, and something in your heart squeezes. His hand grips your hip firmly, holding you in place and you gasp when you feel him prodding at your entrance. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Big bad assassin turned simpering little bitch over some good Gojo dick. 

“Just relaxxxxx, baby.” His hand rubs soothing little circles into your side and it’s so divinely distracting that it catches you by surprise when he starts pushing into you. You gasp and he only chuckles. Asshole. 

He’s big– really big – and the stretch is somehow both painful and perfect. You groan into the air, struggling to take him. Every inch feels like it must be the last, but then there’s more. Your walls clench around him on instinct, trying to force him out. 

“Fuck, baby. What did I say about relaxing?” You hiss when his hand skates down your tummy to rub messy circles on your clit. The relief is instant and you moan when you feel him slide in a little further. “There we go. Good girl.” 

He continues feeding his dick into you, inch by inch, until his hips finally press to yours and you think you can feel him in your fucking throat. You hear him exhale, like it’s a relief to finally be fully inside you, like he’s been waiting for ages. 

You expect him to not hold back, to let himself go and pound into you relentlessly, but he doesn’t. He only leans down closer to you, settling in when he starts a pace of slow, sensual thrusts. His brows pinch, his eyes hardened in concentration.

“Ah, fuck. You’re so tight.” 

You want to shoot something back at him, but you’re hardly remembering to breathe with how deep he’s sliding into you. Instead, you just end up holding him tighter, your eyes fluttering shut. 

Lips dust across your cheeks, just below your lashes. “Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Wanna see you.” 

You blink, thinking that it’s a notion that feels a little too intimate for a hookup. Regardless, you do as he wants, opening your eyes and holding his gaze.

A smile splits his lips and he presses his forehead to yours, picking up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you’re both panting. His breath skates across your skin, hot and heavy, hitching with the groans and whines that spill from his chest. You can’t help but pull him closer, raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. The action makes him emit a noise you can only describe as a desperate whimper. “Fuck, baby. Yes.” 

His lips press to yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and teeth and tongue. You kiss him back with equal intensity, your body rocking with each heavy thrust. He’s pounding into you now, frantic for more, more, more of you. You want him to take it, take all of you. 

A familiar heat pinches in your stomach and you know it won’t be long before he’s pushing you to another release. His dick drags in and out of you, prodding at the gummy spot inside you with every thrust and brushing so deliciously against your cervix that you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips. It has you seeing stars again, has you clawing at him and panting into his mouth. 

“Satoru… harder,” you breathe. You need more– more of everything, of him. 

He groans. “You got it, gorgeous.” 

His hips slam into you and it’s so perfect that you can’t help but whimper beneath him. It only gets worse when you feel his fingers on your clit again, hand pressed between your bodies. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Your eyes roll back, that coil inside you rolling tighter. You feel his muscles tensing and shaking above you and you know he’s close, too. “Where do you want it?” he asks, and from the pinched look on his face you can tell exactly where he wants it. You know you’re an idiot for feeling the same. 

“Inside,” you breathe. He groans so loudly it rattles in your ears.

“That’s my girl,” he says, but it’s nearly a whisper with how strained it is. His hand continues at your clit, rubbing perfect little circles that make your legs tremble where they’re pressed against your chest. Your jaw hangs open, but you don’t dare close your eyes. Satoru is still holding your gaze intently, desperately, like he needs to see you. The thought throws you over the edge.

You cry his name, clawing at his shoulder and shaking like a leaf as you feel yourself gush and pulse all over his dick. For the second time that evening you feel the heat inside you swell and burst, washing through you in waves that nearly consume you whole. It’s a struggle to hold his eyes, to not let them roll back into your skull and give into the pure ecstasy of your high– especially when he’s cumming, too. You can hear him moaning in your ear, feel him twitching inside you, feel his hot cum coating your walls and there’s just so fucking much of it. You swear he cums for a minute straight before he slumps down onto you, burying his face in your neck as you pant. 

You’re shaking and so is he, breaths heaving in and out. Reality slowly starts to seep back in, even with his dick still softening inside you and his cum leaking down your thighs. 

You tried to kill him. You failed. You had sex. Now what? Would he really let you go like he’d said he would? You wanted to believe it, but life hadn’t taught you to be that trusting. You should move, untangle yourself from him and escape before he has time to change his mind. 

“You assassins are always thinking so hard,” He mumbles into the curve of your neck. “Maybe you should try to relax for once.”

You swallow when you feel him pressing his lips to your throat, trailing up to your jaw. It’s… tender, gentle, and it feels so nice. You can’t help the way you melt into the touch a bit. You feel him smile into your skin. “There we go.”

His hand settles on your waist, rubbing soothing little circles that send a jolt of urgency up your spine. No. You’re enjoying this– being close to him, laying here with him, breathing him in. That’s not what this is supposed to be. 

You tense again, shifting to get away from him, but he only sighs and presses his weight onto you. 

“Come on, gorgeous. No need to leave so soon. Just stay for a bit, yeah?” He nibbles at your jaw, but it doesn’t work this time. You have to go. You’ve failed your mission. You don’t know what that means for your brother. You’d never thought this would have an ending besides your death. 

“I have to go,” you mutter, pushing at his chest. 

He chuckles, but you don’t miss the strain and… hurt? “Got something more important than trying to kill me?” 

You clench your teeth, trying once again to shove him away. “Yes, actually.” 

He finally pulls back to meet your gaze, brows slightly pinched. “Like what?” 

You push in earnest now, anger and panic rising in your gut. You have to go, have to check on your brother, have to figure out what you’re going to do. “That’s really none of your business,” you seethe. 

You go for another shove, but strong hands clasp around your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His expression has gone flat now, serious. “Actually, I think it’s completely my business. You going to report your failure? Should I expect another assassin soon?”

You scowl, tugging at his grasp and trying to free yourself. “Yeah, probably. He’s an insufferable idiot. I told him it wouldn’t work and it didn’t, but I don’t doubt he’ll send another.” 

His face cracks, his brows pulling together again. “If you knew it wouldn’t work then why’d you take the job?” 

You struggle again, less angry and more desperate now. “Because he’s got my fucking brother at gunpoint and I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I’m going to save him!” you shout.

There’s silence for a long moment– a long, uncomfortable beat of it– and then his expression softens into something… tender. It sends a chill up your spine. Satoru Gojo was never supposed to be tender with you, and that’s all he’s been. 

“I’ll save him,” he says. Your heart jumps and his grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to slip free. 

“What?” you breathe. He sits back, allowing you to prop yourself up into a slightly less vulnerable position. 

He exhales slowly, but you don’t miss the way his hand settles on your bare thigh, a comforting weight. “I’ll save your brother and then I’ll take care of your boss.” A smirk creeps across his lips. “What? Don’t think I can do it?”

You stare blankly, lips parted. There’s no doubt he can do it, but that’s not the question swirling in your mind. 

“Why would you help me?” You’d tried to kill the man. You couldn’t make heads or tails of a reason why he’d go out of his way to help you. 

He chuckles. “Well, in case you didn’t know, I’m a hero of sorts.” You have to fight not to roll your eyes. “And… there’s something I want from you.” 

There it is– the catch. He wants something. You have no idea what you could possibly have to give him, but you’re willing for it to be just about anything. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

He grins, but you can see the glint of mischief in his gaze. His hand slides further up your thigh, up your side, over your shoulder, until it rests at the nape of your neck and his face is only inches from your own. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”

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[gutsby]

Benign

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying a former Soviet sleeper agent was your first mistake. Letting curiosity get the better of you and saying his trigger words before sex was your second.

Warnings: 18+. DUBCON - Bucky is partly brainwashed; R is reluctant at first. Reliving past trauma (i.e., grief, prior HYDRA captivity). Rough, unprotected p-in-v.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Marrying into the mob meant one of two things: turning a blind eye to your husband’s crimes or taking them up as your own. Most of the women who had gone before you chose the former, leading lives of willful ignorance while their spouses cut deals, shed blood, stole guns, and submitted only to the laws of secrecy and discretion.

You, unlike those wives, hadn’t had the luxury of choice.

Your life, unlike theirs, had been sold to a man you didn’t know, by a father you couldn’t stand, and now your dad was dead, and this man—your husband—was to blame.

The least Bucky could do was fuck you hard to say sorry.

But no, ever since the Winter Soldier had reared its ugly head that dreadful night in Madripoor two weeks prior, your husband hadn’t laid one finger on your body that was not soft, sweet, and sickeningly apologetic to you. He seemed almost scared to initiate sex, and when he did, couldn’t help but act like a touch might break you.

After all, one almost had. Those hands he’d hear you beg and plead to put on you now were the very same ones he’d used to kill dozens, if not hundreds, including blood of your own blood. To the world, Bucky’s reputation commanded fear. To his wife, now, he felt duly obliged to prove he was more—that you were safe with him, not from him. He’d carted you off to every GP, hematologist, nutritionist, and grief specialist lauded among Brooklyn’s elite to make that happen. Fast. Frankly, these days, the thought of fucking was the furthest thing from his mind.

Unbeknownst to Bucky, somewhere along the spectrum of grief, you’d already come to settle comfortably at the ‘Need-to-be-fucked-until-I-can-no-longer-think-or-feel’ phase, and every bone in your body was crying out for respite in the form of ruthless, mind-numbing sex. It didn’t make sense. You hardly knew what to do with it. You should have lashed out, shut down, cried rivers and lakes of tears for that integral part of family that had been lost, but for whatever reason, you had to go numb.

You wanted to do something really, really fucking dumb.

Remorseful as he was, Bucky and his explanations for who or what the Winter Soldier was had been sparse. He’d told you that he had once been held in captivity by HYDRA, had his brain re-wired some way to make him a merciless Soviet sleeper agent, and that the night in Madripoor was the first in ages he had been ‘activated.’ How did activation happen? Of course, he wouldn’t tell.

But Steve would.

Steve had told you everything you wanted to know about your soldat, describing in painstaking detail how he worked, trained, operated, and could be called to action. You were almost certain Rogers had said it all as a way to assure you that it wasn’t Bucky who’d killed your father—it was someone inside him. You were more than positive Steve had never intended for you to use his intel like this.

You hadn’t believed him. Couldn’t believe him. How the fuck could someone sever all ties to their conscious mind and just transform anew into a killer? You got to be hell-bent on knowing for certain whether it’d been Bucky or him, it, whatever the hell the Winter Solider was, and on knowing it now. If your husband was faking it all and simply using this persona to justify the killing, that would be it. Trust gone, marriage over. If he wasn’t, well…you hadn’t gotten that far into your own line of thinking.

“Tell me what you want, doll,” Bucky said, pulling you back to the present.

He shifted gently against you, cotton trousers raising the friction a little as he slotted between your legs. He was still dressed head-to-toe from his meeting that morning.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum. Please.”

You were bare, save for one small scrap of linen and lace that somehow passed as a nightie. Your gaze was soft.

Bucky didn’t want to say no, but he also felt too guilty to say yes. The way you were watching him now, eyes so helpless and pleading, body writhing for contact, he knew you didn’t want his touch so much as needed it. Desperately. Couldn’t bear to be burdened with grief so you brushed it aside, to the furthest recesses of your mind until all that was left was desire. Starvation, really.

He could satiate you for now, but that hunger might not ever leave. The corners of his lips twitched into a frown.

“Gentle?” he mumbled.

“Rough,” you countered.

“Baby—”

“I really don’t need another fucking lecture on death, Bucky. I know I’m not myself right now, but I can still make these decisions, okay? Don’t talk to me like I can’t.”

Anger flashed in your eyes for a second, then indignation, then nothing. Without much energy left, you pushed him away. Flopped back on the bed and, seeming to sink into yourself, heaved a low, feeble sigh.

“I know. Hey,” Bucky leaned over to press a touch to your tummy, and it made you want to hurl, “I’m sorry.”

You turned onto your side.

“You still don’t remember what happened?”

The question came suddenly, almost from somewhere outside your body, it seemed. For the hundredth time.

“No,” Bucky answered, for what felt like the thousandth.

“This Winter Soldier—”

“He isn’t me.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Couldn’t know. Wasn’t…programmed for it.”

Bucky was watching you now, eyes as contrite as they’d ever been while you rehashed this subject to the brink of tears. He never could stay composed when he saw you cry.

“Baby…” he started, arms reaching out for you.

Eyes still filling with tears, you shook your head and swatted him off. You sat up, and your brows pinched together in a look he couldn’t read. Contemplating.

At last, you made up your mind.

You would try something new—and really, really stupid:

“Zhelaniye.”

“What?”

Bucky’s own expression contorted with uncertainty.

“—semnadtsat, rzhaviy, rasvet—”

He heard that. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

You were curious. You had no idea what you were doing.

“Baby, baby, stop—”

“—pech, devyat—”

You were speaking so fast, surely it wouldn’t work like that. Either way, he had to stop you. He seized your arms, giving a sharp, deliberate shake, pupils blown to the size of saucers in his eyes. There wasn’t much time.

“Don’t—”

“—adin—”

No time at all.

“—dothisdon’tfuckingdothishoneyplease.”

Losing himself already. Feeling it stir inside his mind.

“—dobroserdechniy—”

‘Kind-hearted.’ ‘Benign’. You truly had no clue what these words were liable to do, much less what they meant.

Having enunciated this last part, you swallowed. Took the tip of your tongue and rolled it left-to-right across the backs of your teeth, waiting for your speech to take effect like some magical performance before your eyes.

It hadn’t, it seemed. You blinked. He blinked. You sat in a protracted silence for what seemed like seventeen years, and presently, your stomach began to churn. Nothing happened—you’d been right about this fuckery all along.

Then you remembered one last word of the sequence.

Faintly, you said:

“Soldat.”

The man above you straightened. Sitting. Stiff. Still perched by your legs at a comfortable distance but regarding you now with a pointed stare. Expectancy made manifest in a simple, sharp glare from his eyes to yours.

“...Bucky?”

The look on his face grew even harder. For a time, he persisted in that strange and silent grimace, and just when you started to suspect he was faking this whole demeanor of deadened stoicism, you heard a voice. Clawing out of his throat but sounding nothing like him:

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The words drove a fear to the greatest depths of your bones, and you hardly knew why. You stared back at the handsome, barren man still watching you with severity, and you couldn’t seem to find your husband anywhere.

“James?” You weren’t sure why you tried his name again. You just didn’t know what else to say.

The scowl seeped into his mouth, and he frowned.

“James,” he repeated, like the word was foreign to him.

You found yourself shuffling back on the bed just then—to what, you didn’t know. You just felt a gnawing need to put some space between you and this person, this glowering face, however you could. When he grabbed your ankle, you let out a startled sound, and when he followed you up on the bed, you did more than just whimper; you lifted your leg to knee him directly in the stomach. He caught it.

Then he stared again, expression bloodless and wan.

“You’re scaring me, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you tried to free your leg from his fist—grip unusually strong.

The man paused another moment, if only to soak in your words and let his gaze trail over your face. Your exertions did not register. And, for the very first time, you felt as though you were something more like a plaything in your husband’s eyes—not a full-fledged human being but a system to be gamed. The feeling was so unsettling that you had to turn away.

Or try to, anyway.

Craning your neck just far enough to spy your phone on the nightstand, your first thought was Steve; he would know what to do. But before you could even think to twist and lift your body in that direction, you felt a hand yank you to the bed, flat on your back. You looked up at Bucky and found yourself caged between two arms. He lowered himself to his elbows, shifted his weight to one side, and seemed not to notice your movements at all when you tried to slide away. The man just splayed his hand across your stomach and pressed it firmly. Stay.

You weren’t one to shy away from a challenge—or keep hope alive against the odds. You put your hand over his.

“James—”

“Zhena.”

The abruptness of Bucky’s word stole the rest of yours. You cocked a brow and followed his gaze to your hand.

To the gaps between your fingers, then the touch that fanned across them to settle on one digit in particular.

Bucky thumbed at the diamond and smiled. He smiled.

“Zhena,” he repeated.

You blinked.

“I— you...gave me that, Bucky. You did.”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

Bucky stared at the ring for what could’ve been five seconds or several years, and then he did something unexpected. He shifted his touch to the bodice of your dress—again, if you could even call it that—and he began to tug at the satin bow situated between your breasts.

Of course, this nightie being designed for honeymoons and supremely easy access, it didn’t take much effort at all for the folds of your dress to come apart. Your breasts spilled out of the fabric without so much as a hint of protest, your torso was quick to become fully exposed, and suddenly, shortly, your hands were fumbling at your chest in an effort to regain some smidgen of modesty. Your husband just shook his head, following your hands.

“Moya zhena,” he said, a touch more emphasis and fervor to the first of the two words.

Now it was you who was shaking your head. Trying to pry his touch away as you slid up the bed. When he followed, you saw the icy expression had been supplanted by intrigue and, though you still felt ill at ease, you couldn’t deny you were curious to know what he was thinking. Who was thinking it? Soft, plush lips swiftly replaced his hands, and before you even knew what he was doing, Bucky, or someone, was latching onto your left breast. Using teeth to graze the hardened nub and send a ripple of thick, guilty pleasure coursing through you.

You whimpered. Bucky groaned.

Your fingers slotted through his hair with every intention of pushing him away, but when you tried, he just flicked his tongue and made another delicious sound against you.

You pushed with even more force, and he groaned again.

Not Bucky, not Bucky, not him, you have to—

“Stop!” you cried.

A set of soft, warm baby blues darted up to meet you.

Some flicker of recognition seemed to cross them, too.

“Honey?”

You almost lurched toward the sound. It was Bucky.

Suddenly, your hands were making fists in the collar of his crisp white button-up, and you were trying to yank him up. You murmured his name in disbelief, relief, and gathered him up in your arms to pull him in for a kiss.

The lips that met you were soft for a moment—just one.

Then the teeth reappeared. Harsh, jarring, biting. You jerked back at the sensation, and when you found his face again, it seemed your husband was lost to you all over. The eyes were attentive still—nowhere near as cold and aloof as they had been before—but they did not radiate the same warmth and admiration that Bucky’s always did. You almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was gone, just like that, and there was nothing you could do to stop it from happening.

A broad palm cupped your cheek to bring you in for another kiss, and you weren’t sure if you should indulge. It didn’t seem you had much choice anyway, because the lips that were seeking yours were hungry. Starved. Searing into your mouth with a force you couldn’t refuse.

But something inside you wanted to find Bucky again.

Somewhere inside this stranger was lying dormant a trace of your husband; you’d seen it yourself, if only for a second. It made you curious. Where had he gone? What did he do when forced to retreat into this strange, preprogrammed being, and how could you get him back?

“Bucky,” you mumbled, more of a plea than a moan.

You were kissed harder than you had been in a long time. You didn’t have to think, or do, or breathe one puff of air that this man didn’t account for. His tongue wedged a gaping space in your wet, welcoming mouth for him to fill, and somehow, you didn’t feel the urge to protest. A familiarity in the way he kissed almost put you at ease, and when his body lifted slightly, yours lifted with it.

Before long, Bucky was sitting. Kneeling between your legs with an eye to your soft, shaking torso. You’d barely even come to notice just how hard you were breathing until you felt a palm on your stomach again. There was an oddly calming insinuation in that one simple touch.

And again, he smiled. Brighter than before.

“Nashe?” He sounded eager as he said it.

You peered up at him and raised an eyebrow in question. Perhaps you should’ve felt more exposed; after all, you were sitting half-naked with your husband’s assassin alter ego stroking your stomach and beaming over you, eyeing you expectantly, and you didn’t know what to say. Apart from the short set of words Steve had taught you, you were totally clueless to Russian, and you weren’t quite sure you were in a place to ask Bucky to translate.

When it seemed words might never come, the gleaming teeth above you were shrouded in a tighter, close-lipped smile, and Bucky nodded. Appearing to understand. Instead of forcing a response from you, he just let his hand migrate down your belly, fingers tracing the skin, then settle comfortably—momentarily—at the crest of your pubic bone. Then he pressed the heel of his palm into the place residing right below it, and without really meaning to, you moaned. A quiet maelstrom of pleasure circled low in your abdomen, threatening to draw noises from your throat you weren’t planning to make with every gentle gyration of Bucky’s lower hand.

You had to purse your lips to contain the sounds.

Again, he nodded.

“It’s okay,” he said, so quiet he almost couldn’t be heard.

He let the friction continue for a while like that: just palming you, watching you react to the simplest of motions against your swollen, aching clit and try not to writhe. At length, you squirmed a little bit. Bucky seemed to want to wait for something to happen, and when you bucked your hips, a look in his eye said that was enough.

He lowered himself between your legs. Shoulders bumping your thighs as he spread them apart, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, and lips smiling all the while. You sucked in a breath when his face came to rest just a few inches shy of your bare, aching warmth.

“Bucky?”

The man looked up at you and blinked.

“Yeah, honey?”

One thumb traced over the seam of your cunt, and your back nearly arched off the bed. There he was, again, gaze safe and secure to yours and hands moving in tandem as they always would. His tongue calmly followed suit. When you fisted his hair, he blinked once more and then directed his attention back to your wet, warm, velvety folds with a pointed look and a purpose.

The sound that escaped you next could hardly be classed as anything less than a scream, but the soft and unperturbed demeanor of the man between your legs showed he hadn’t noticed at all. He just sucked diligently—damn near dutifully—on your clit with a vigor you’d never felt, and when you yanked at his hair, he hummed.

It was like his lips had been trained for perfect suction; that was how well and thoroughly he descended upon your swollen little bud. An airtight kiss and a quick flick of his tongue, paired with his hot and heavy breaths fanning over your cunt, sent your senses into overdrive. Your toes curled inward, your throat let loose a gasp, and without fully realizing it, your walls were clamping down, pulsing and leaking out desire for more of this touch.

Then, without warning, Bucky brought a hand to the throbbing and slick cunt that was presently clenching around nothing, and he fed it two fingers. So forceful and deep he nearly buried his knuckles right along with them. Then he started scissoring those two fingers, sharply.

“Open, milaya,” he said. Again, it wasn’t entirely Bucky.

But you felt a faint remembrance there. You didn’t want him to stop. Maybe you were led astray by the gentle laps of his tongue or the prodding of his fingertips, or perhaps there was something stubbornly familiar about the way he was touching you now. You couldn’t tell.

All you knew was that both of your hands were holding tight to his head and begging him, wordlessly, for more.

Your moans rang all the way through the bedroom in your new, far-too-big penthouse apartment in Brooklyn, down the hall, reverberating through every inch of the space until all that could be heard were your sounds and his and the delectable little noises of your bodies working together. Bucky hadn’t even stirred to pleasure himself.

You wanted that part to change.

With your hip pinned to the mattress and Bucky’s tongue laving over your clit in ruthlessly quick movements, you probably would’ve liked to cum all over his mouth and fingers, but you wanted to see him pleased even more.

Just when he’d worked a third finger inside you and was driving you close to your peak, you pushed him away.

Bucky parted from your folds with a glistening chin and two furrowed eyebrows, clearly frustrated to have been torn from his mission before you reached completion, but you wouldn’t let that look linger for long. You used your leverage in his hair—however slight, comparatively, that grip might have been—to pull him up on the bed.

Bucky surprised you with just how swiftly he moved.

His steel-blue gaze was on yours in a second, equally penetrating and soft.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing—”

“My baby okay?”

He surprised you again; this time by how quick his demeanor was to shift the second he sensed something was wrong. Just like Bucky. It had to be him in there.

You nodded, still out of breath from the wonders he’d been working with his tongue. You squeezed his arm and tried to coax him toward you, to help him lower his body some, and when he seemed uncertain, you offered a smile. It’s okay to touch, you won’t break anything.

Bucky eyed you skeptically, but it was clear he was more wary of himself than of you. He glanced over your body, briefly to his, then slowly, apprehensively, sank down.

“Just fine,” you mumbled, hooking your legs around his back the second his chest was close enough to yours.

You felt an uptick in his heartbeat when your heels dug a little more firmly into the waistband of his pants. While your hands started working their way toward the front of that fabric, wedging clumsily between your bodies, his gaze flitted to yours, and his brows drew even tighter together. He didn’t try to stop you, but he certainly seemed confused as to why you wanted to include him so soon. Why you cared to show concern for him at all.

You noticed that then, and in just about every moment preceding, the man was taken aback by kindness.

Whether it was pulling him closer to you, tugging his pants down with a tender touch, running your fingers across the bulge in his boxers, or simply nodding your head and letting him know it was okay to touch you back, Bucky seemed unaccustomed to any care in this area.

When your fingers made it around his cock and started stroking him, gently, he just might’ve come apart.

His chest shuddered with the inhale of a short, strained breath, and his eyelids fluttered, as if meaning to close.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he started to shake his head.

“No, let me—”

“Let me,” you finished for him, wrist flicking back and forth quietly. You paused just to rub a quick touch between your folds, collect some arousal, then return to touching him when he met your eyes again and allowed you to continue. You skimmed his sensitive underside with your palm and let the warmth of him bleed into your fingertips as you worked him up to a comfortable pace.

Bucky rutted into your touch, probably harder than he meant to. Then he planted a hand beside your head and anchored his weight above you so that he was close enough to reach your lips—but he didn’t kiss you.

His expression hardened again, and he forcibly removed himself from the pulse of your fingers. He frowned.

“You want me to fuck you, no? Make you cum?”

He sounded irritated again.

Briefly, you recalled your words from earlier and nodded. It was true, you’d said it to him like that, and you’d meant it. You just couldn’t make sense of what he wanted now.

It seemed Bucky couldn’t wait to indulge you any longer. He fisted his cock in one hand, angled the head just outside of your cunt, and burst in with one thrust.

“Then let me,” he muttered, plunging down to the hilt.

The first go was rough, and the second was no kinder. Bucky’s face screwed up with indifference again, like he wanted to get something out of his brain and just do.

Like there was a task at hand that needed to be finished.

You couldn’t deny it felt fine at first. Fucking edifying after all those horrific thoughts had been eating away at your mind and rousing your own hunger for numbness. The drive of Bucky’s thick girth in and out, in and out repeatedly was no doubt capable of rendering you dumb. But being slammed into and taken so roughly was only good for you when you knew he was feeling good too.

This Bucky was back to being entirely flinty and lifeless—practically devoid of all emotion as he railed into you.

The back of your head was forced into the pillow with the weight of each thrust and Bucky’s thumb pushing into your chin—‘Better, milaya? Is this better for you?’—and frankly, you wanted to push him back and ask the same.

But you couldn’t. The pace he’d set was suffocating, and the stretch of his cock inside you was unusually tough.

Instead, you sank your nails into his arm and mumbled:

“Bucky.”

The man’s thrusts were both stabbing and rhythmic, sending a welt of pleasure blossoming up in your chest. You tried again:

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

And slowed.

“Bucky,” he mumbled back.

Seemingly mindless and mechanical, he snaked a hand behind your head to lift your face and tilt it toward the sight below: his cock splitting you open before him, parting your insides with an easy, welcome glide through the slick of your folds. You watched as your arousal enveloped him fully. Not a single inch of his rock-hard, throbbing shaft was spared; even his balls were soaked. They felt even heavier slapping your ass with each thrust.

“You remember?” you asked, hating how small you sounded.

The man’s nostrils flared, but he gave a curt nod. Expression taut and vigilant, as though anticipating something going wrong at any second. Still, he nodded.

“Years,” he answered.

“Years?”

Since he’d done this? Felt good? Become this way?

No, Bucky was activated in Madripoor just weeks ago. He didn’t look like he was ready to indulge in any ‘feel-good’ pleasure, and you weren’t sure when he’d last been with anyone else before you. Years could mean anything.

You chanced a few soft fingertips up to his cheeks, cupping either side of his clean-shaven face in an effort to anchor you both to one place. The pit of your stomach was reeling with warmth, and friction, and fullness. It took everything in you just to pull him in for a quick, grounding kiss before the feeling gave way to even more.

Bucky’s teeth nicked your bottom lip. He flinched back.

You ignored the sting and repeated his name, murmuring it carefully up to the seal of his mouth as if requesting entry with that word alone.

It seemed to work. Bucky kissed you back with a gentle, albeit guarded, sort of tenderness that made him soften. His thrusts weren’t as rough and punishing as they were before. The dull, throbbing ache between your legs transformed into something sweeter, and your body no longer had to brace itself against strokes that, to you, were nearly bruising and, to Bucky, were just necessary.

For once, your husband let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

“They never let us,” Bucky said as his teeth grit together, “It’s been years.”

“Since what?”

The face above you tempered more—this time with a trace of sadness behind it. He continued to rut into you, but now his thrusts were sloppy, and it seemed as though he were battling against his own pleasure with every motion. He lowered one hand between your legs and began to thumb at your clit, gaze torn from yours.

“Close now?” he muttered.

Ignoring the question you’d asked.

“Years since what?” you pressed anyway. The tiny ripples preceding bliss had already begun to stir inside you, maddeningly, with every flick of his thumb, but your curiosity to know the whole truth was stronger still.

Bucky’s hips were moving at a feverish pace now; his free hand made a fist in the sheets beside your head, and his chest heaved with a series of short, ragged breaths that were no doubt meant to mask his moans as well. Notwithstanding the burn you felt between your legs—he really was much rougher and stronger now, you saw—you cupped his cheek again to tilt his face toward yours.

What you saw made your stomach drop.

Your heart clenched like a fist within the confines of your ribcage, and there it was—that terrible ache you felt each time you saw something awful materialize before you.

Bucky’s eyes were wet with tears. He wouldn’t blink.

He tilted his head into your touch, as if for support, but really, the weight of it signaled to you that he just wanted to feel you. Be assured that you were there. His big, broad arms seemed suddenly unable to hold his weight, and then he sank into your frame with a grunt and another stuttered breath. Like he was ready to collapse.

“Don’t leave again,” he said quietly.

The pain in your chest elevated, in bloom.

“Bucky I didn’t— wasn’t—” you started to say.

The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You couldn’t be sure if you were talking to your husband, soldat, or some strange, inconceivable mixture of the two, but you could tell that this one was desperate.

Pleading.

“I can’t lose you again.”

The head of his cock grazed your most sensitive spot inside, and a whine seeped out through your teeth. Bucky’s whole body was blanketing yours, torso flush with your front and hips working an erratic cadence as he got a glimpse of release himself. He groaned out in pleasure and begged you to stay. You promised that you would. Your legs were still wound around his sides, but both of your bodies were slick with a sheen of sweat; it was hard to hang on. Bucky’s hair was wild and pushed back from his face, but his eyes were clear when they finally met yours, and you heard him mumble again, ‘Please stay.’

You didn’t know what else to say but okay, baby, I will.

You swore you would stay, and in between oaths, your mouth was consumed by a barrage of kisses—Bucky got to feast with a full set of teeth again, primal as ever—and then your climax hit. Euphoria washed over you whole with a force you weren’t expecting to feel, and you couldn’t help but cry out and whine as waves of pleasure coursed straight from the innermost depths of your core.

Bucky’s hips collided with yours in two more stuttered thrusts, and when he bottomed out at the last, you felt a heavy spurt of warmth. A groan coiling out of his chest. Muscles growing lax and two sturdy arms coming to bracket your head as your husband’s whole body weight went folding into yours. You kissed some more, in between frenzied intakes of breaths and steadying moments where you were simply trying to ground your body and get your heart to slow down to a normal rate.

You held each other in silence for a while. Bucky’s head fell next to yours on the pillow when the last of his spend had been emptied, but otherwise, he didn’t stir. At some point, his hands slid behind your back, and the second he hugged you to him, you felt secure in that embrace.

You were probably as far as you’d ever been from understanding who the fuck your husband was, but all it seemed you were capable of feeling for now was pity.

Pity for the years he’d lost to captivity; pity for what was little more than mere existence under HYDRA’s thumb; pity for all the things you still didn’t know about his past.

You held Bucky tighter, and, flooded with this strange, grating emotion and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, you wished you could protect him, too.

“James?” you mumbled into his hair.

Bucky didn’t respond.

You squeezed his shoulder. Still nothing.

Against your better judgment, you tried to shift yourself underneath his body. You figured you wouldn’t make it far at all, but at least he would be aware that you were trying to get up. Maybe even start to move with you.

He didn’t.

It took everything in you just to wedge an elbow back, struggle to prop yourself up against his weight, and when you were about to let out a huff of an exasperated laugh and tell him, Bucky, you’re crushing me, honey, could you please ease up a little, your request was answered before the words could even leave your mouth.

At the sound of two new muffled voices carrying up from the living room and what appeared to be noises from shuffling feet, Bucky rose straight from the bed, off you.

Your gaze trailed his to the door, and you reached for him.

“Baby, it’s just—”

Bucky was back on his feet. Yanking his boxers and pants up his legs and buckling his belt in no time at all.

The movers. It’s just the movers bringing in furniture—

You moved your hand closer to your husband in the hopes of stalling his movements for half a second, but then a set of ruthless blue eyes had you pinned, quick:

“Stay.”

Your outstretched arm was taken up in a much stronger, stiffer one, and you were suddenly pulled over to Bucky.

But you knew from the eyes it wasn’t him at all.

And you weren’t so much being tugged toward him as you were being hauled to the floor. Thrown on your knees beside the bed, next to Bucky. He was about to leave.

Without thinking, you reached for one of the legs of his trousers and sank your nails into the fabric to hold him in place, to tell him again that there was nothing to see out there but the people you knew, no threat outside at all. But Bucky was deaf to your pleas, it seemed. He shrugged you off easily and made a move for his gun, expression blank, stolid, calm, hardened. Decided.

You tried to rise to your feet but were stopped.

“STAY,” Bucky boomed again, this time an order that he didn’t even deign to complete with a look your way.

If he had—if he even possessed the ability to consider anything but the immediate task at hand—he would’ve seen his own hand knock you to the floor to keep you from standing. Might’ve caught a glimpse of the instant your head struck the edge of the nightstand before you hit the ground. Could’ve even made out the first traces of blood that came trickling out from above your temple. Would’ve seen you cower back, viscerally, out of fear.

But holding the side of your head and watching him leave, grim realization twisted at the pit of your stomach, and you knew the man wouldn’t have stopped if he had.

If your soldat’s objective was to protect you from any harm lurking outside that door, real or illusory, nothing you were capable of doing now could stop that. At expense to yourself, at expense to him, at expense to whatever lives stood between the Winter Soldier and that unwavering, hardwired goal, he still would not ever stop.

Thinking of new, innocent lives in the balance, now, you scrambled for your phone the next second to call Steve.

You tried him once. Twice. A third time crawling on your knees, then standing, then staggering over to the door and pulling the phone from your ear just to send a string of texts to your friend while the thing continued to ring.

SOS

Need help

Pick up please

Bucky’s stuck and he’s

About to hurt people here

A crash sounded outside. You hurried to the door. Your hand closed around the knob and tried to turn it. The handle turned freely, but something behind it was refusing to let you leave the room. You pressed again.

“Bucky!”

Your cry was useless in the face of the barricade outside.

You pushed your shoulder and, behind it, the whole force of your weight against it anyway, trying to get out.

The line went dead. You tried again.

Now with your phone to one ear and the bedroom door taking the brunt of your hits from the other, bleeding side of your body, you scarcely heard much of anything else. The ring started. Stopped. Began again when you pressed a shaky finger to Steve’s contact name, and continued in a cycle for some time while you tried to force whatever was on the other side of the door away.

The second a voice broke through the haze of your frantic, half-crazed state of consciousness, you cried:

“STEVE!”

“Mrs. Barnes?”

You were shocked to hear a woman on the other end. Your pulse was still racing, shoulder aching from the impact of each desperate push you’d been forcing against the door, and then you stopped. Another loud something sounded down the hallway, further away, but you were too startled and unnerved to take any note of it.

You started to ask, ‘Where’s Steve?’ when the voice continued:

“This is Mrs. Barnes?”

“Yes,” you answered woodenly.

You held the phone as close to your ear as you could, but still, the woman’s words were coming in and out in bursts. You must’ve mistakenly accepted the call when trying to reach Steve—you couldn’t think right now; could barely retract the phone far enough to see a strange number displayed on the screen. You swallowed.

“—from Lenox Hill Hospital at Northwell Health—”

The high-rise medical center on the Upper East Side you’d visited that week. Bucky had wanted you tested for nutritional deficiencies and anemia, of all fucking things.

“—if you had a moment or two to chat and maybe—”

No, you needed Steve, not this outpatient courtesy call.

You would’ve liked to hang up. Should’ve hung up. In fact, your fingers were practically itching to hit the button the whole time the nurse was speaking to you, but something in you just couldn’t be persuaded to do it. It took several more seconds before your senses began to creep back, and by then, when you were about to drop the call, you heard a phrase that stopped you on a dime.

“—but the doctor advises prenatal vitamins—”

“What?” you snapped, far more harshly than you meant.

The nurse paused a beat, whether from incredulity at how rude you’d just sounded or to consider something. When she resumed, she sounded a little more guarded.

“Yes…Dr. Watkins did reach out to you about your bloodwork from your last visit, didn’t she? I thought—”

“No,” you said, rushed and painfully brusque, again. You tried to rein in your tone some before continuing, “She didn’t—didn’t reach out about anything. What vitamins?”

Another pause.

“Prenatals.”

You hated that she gave you another second to chew on that word before taking a breath and pressing on.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry to be the one to spring that on you, Mrs. Barnes—I thought you knew…um—” The nurse was sheepish now, almost embarrassed to be speaking, “—you’re about…three weeks along in your pregnancy.”

Three weeks along.

Advised prenatal vitamins.

For the child growing inside of you.

A rivulet of blood trickled into your left eye.

Your whole body was apt to convulse, but it didn’t.

You hung up.

—

Taglist: (please lmk if I missed anyone! I can only tag 50 at a time so will continue in a separate post) @vicmc624 @she-could-never @mcira @kentokaze @identity2212 @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007 @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx @pono-pura-vida @geminiflanagansblog @buggy14 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @minimarvelingmarvel @kunakizen @ghostiebby06 @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grantspector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

[mellowwillowy]

"Stop the wedding!!"

So you get to see NRC food fighting RSA in the end lol Yan! NRC vs Yan! RSA x GN Isekai'd Player (Self-aware)

All the people inside the cafeteria turned their attention to you, an isekai'd player.

"(Name)!!" Idia beamed in tears, finally someone saving him! ... wait, someone? Oh no no no no! You are not just 'someone'!! Why did he even bother troubling you to this extent? He should have just kissed the bride!!!

"Make it right in time, you got me, Ace?" "Thank you for kicking me like a barrel toward the ghosts, pal," Ace replied dejectedly but posed no annoyance at all.

"Potato, since when do you have the funds to get yourself such a nice suit?" Vil questioned as he inspected your overall. The makeup and hairdo were not done to the utmost perfection but he can let it slide because anything on you equals absolute beauty.

"Oh, this? So you are smart enough to realize Crowley won't cover MY suit! I mean, he was trying teeth and nails to not let me join Ace and Co!"

"At least he does something right for the first time," Leona added. "White suits you though I thought you'd surely go with Black as usual?" Trey cocked his head to the side questioningly.

"Look, this is what Neige lent me. And all his attires are almost pristine white! I'm telling ya'!" At that statement, you saw Vil twitch despite not being able to move, he must have been very pissed at the mention of Neige's name alone.

"Originally I planned on taking Cheny'a's but I realized how eccentric his taste is so I decided to go with Neige. The RSA students are kind enough to assist Neige in tailoring it to my size too! Got them right in time before Crowley could shoo me!"

"Dude, even the RSA knows how to respect them, I don't know if I should be angry or nah but it certainly leaves a bad aftertaste seeing them wearing what RSA makes for them." Cater whispers something to the person next to him, inaudible to your ears.

"What do you say if we steal the suit and then burn it down in front of them after we are done here? I'd like to give them a nice thank you hug too while we are at it." "And we should leave them some of my... flowers collection too. This alone should be enough to show our gratitude right?"

"I'd say we should try giving them a proper form of token of gratitude too, how about Master Lilia's cooking?" Sebek added with a grin, he had his fair share of Lilia's cooking to the point he'd like to share it with the others.

"Oh? Then I'd have to make sure to add extra 'love' into it." He replied, this time intending to poison people so its horrifying taste was multiplied at natural without him realizing it.

"Wait, why would we even bother giving them a handmade cooki-" Jack was immediately silenced by Cater's eerie smile. He had his fair share and he knew they meant nothing well from it at all.

"Hey Ace, do something! Stop throwing all your work on prefect!" Deuce yelled by the sideline, ready to chew his ears off.

"I agree, you shouldn't let someone magic-less handle this handful situation alone, get a hold of yourself right now will you, Ace?" Azul scowled and started to usher Ace into work.

"Dude! Now all of you are cornering me?" "You haven't finished, Ace?!"

And Riddle's voice was all it took to make Ace cowered like a puppy. Rook shook his head in disappointment, this had taken way longer than the original gameplay.

"Hurry! We should wrap things up as though we are changing a dirty tablecloth into a new one!" Epel yelled out rather... unique lines. Was he trying to be as poetic as Rook? If anything, both Rook and Vil said nothing regarding this.

"Riiiiighhhhtttt, I'm kinda checked out now, to be honest." Idia's eyes immediately widened, not you too?!

Just before the other could chant another "Smooch the bride", you immediately lunged toward the bride. All those gym class training paid off! Basically, this and that until the ghost inflated.

And instead of Rook ordering you and Epel around, you took the steering wheel before anyone could. "Move yer' ass you glorified wood logs! Move move move!"

The lucky person is the person who gets to feel you dragging them. Absolute win!

--

"Urgh, I'm so gonna have phasmophobia now." Idia rolled his eyes as the ghosts departed but to be honest? He was happy to see you barging into the cafeteria like a knight in shining armor for him! (It was mostly the others fighting lol)

Idia was taken by surprise the moment your hand smacked his back. "Would you look at it, the star of the show, a handsome groom adorned in black! You look positively breathtaking, senior Idia."

"Eep-! Oh no, they have graced me with their words that are enough to deafen me! What should I do? How should I show them just how grateful I am to be even considered by them???"

"What did you say? I couldn't hear you really well." "Well, brother said that-" "N-n-no! Nothing! I uh... am thankful... for your assistance." He answered bashfully, his hair tip turned into a shade of pink.

"Now now potato, it's time to change, wearing that must have been uncomfortable right?" Vil immediately pulled you away from the pink introvert. "No...? Neige said that it's meant to be comfortable and it's true!" "Well, we have something even wayyyy more comfortable for you, shrimpy! Come on now, let's take it off and dress you up in something else!"

--

Lilia was leading everyone with a basket of something, a speaker in one hand and Neige's suit in the other hand, "Hey you RSA whippersnappers! Get down!"

The head mage was coincidentally away that day and it allowed the NRC students to lead a protest in front of the academy's gate.

Lilia threw the white suit onto the ground while Leona whistled, signaling Rook to shoot an arrow of fire toward it like an Olympic grand opening. (What a duo.)

"Yeah! Eat this you good for nothing!" Cater and Ruggie immediately took out the pie from Lilia's basket and threw it right onto the students' face. Kalim was generous enough to sponsor lots of baking materials for Lilia with Jamil assisting with the baking. It was badly burnt but still hard as a rock.

Cheny'a was careful enough to avoid Trey and Riddle while Vil was feeling rather generous in feeding Neige~ Oh, and Malleus is always bullseye in his shots, hitting everyone down in no time. He was pretty pissed (sulking) that he was not invited to join your fun. Silver was not being merciful too, he didn't fall asleep at all during this whole thing!.

Rollo was feeling rather grateful but also sad that you did not come to him to ask for his help :( And Crowley just watched everything from the sidelines while praying that nothing bad will be sent to him after this. Well, he's happy with how bright his students are.

[xxxdreamscapexxx]

Be mine

Alpha! Natasha Romanoff x Omega!FemReader

Word count: 5.1k

Summary: Natasha may have lost some hoodies, but she gained a mate and in her eyes, that's a trade she'd be willing to make any day. Based on the above prompt, but with some twists ;)

Warning: NSFW, 18+, A/B/O universe, mutual pining, lesbian? relationship, heavy petting (clothed sex), oral sex (R receiving), penetrative sex, a tiny bit of breeding kink, mating, claiming, knotting. You'll have to forgive me if this isn't your typical A/B/O fic, but I haven't read many of those and I don't know much about the universe itself, so this may not be super accurate, but I did my best. I hope you guys will enjoy it none the less.

As soon as she entered the room, you could smell her. It was always the way with Alphas, their strong, musky scent was unmistakable, but with hers came a sense of relief. Natasha made you feel safe, made you feel protected, without being overbearing. You could always feel when she was looking at you and you knew she kept track in her head. She knew if and when you ate, knew if you drank water, and when she didn’t deem it enough, she would silently bring you some. She never forced you to drink it, never even said a word, she would just leave it in front of you and walk away. She also knew damn well that you drank it. She also knew that sometimes you were stubborn, but most times you were just anxious and she stayed with you during long nights, watching a movie, knowing that her presence calmed you, and when you finally fell asleep, she carried you back to your room and put you in your bed, so you’d rest, the way you should. Yes, Nat was a kind and caring Alpha and the way her smell filled your nostrils made you drop your shoulders, before you greeted her. “Good morning, Nat.” You smiled, turning around, holding a plate with your breakfast, only to see the woman in nothing but sweatpants and a sports bra. Not even shoes! Her bare feet slapped on the floor as she stepped confidently into the room and you immediately looked away, feeling shy. “Morning.” She grumbled distractedly, her eyes scanning the room for something. “Do you want some breakfast?” You offered, still avoiding her gaze and the absolute mouth-watering sight that was her torso. God, you loved those strong arms, with their well-defined muscles. Not to mention those abs. You wanted to straddle her and rub your pussy over those gorgeous abs and when you’re done, you’d lick them clean! But you tried to push that thought away, not wanting to spend the rest of your day with wet panties and smelling of desperation. “No…” Natasha answered absent-mindedly, barely even looking at you, when her head suddenly snapped at you. “Hey, you haven’t seen any of my hoodies, have you?” She asked with a curious expression.

Ah, yes, her hoodies. You knew damn well where they were. And, truthfully, you intended to give them back. When you first took one or two, you meant to give them back to her. But then things got out of hand. You would usually go on missions with her, you worked well together, and an unclaimed Omega, who knew how to handle herself, not to mention, who could resist an Alpha’s influence, the way you did, was a very useful thing to a spy. But then they told you, that you needed to go on a mission with a new Alpha. The Scarlet Witch, or Wanda to you, now that you knew her a little better, was not yet experienced enough and having a seasoned, well trained and collected Omega with her certainly helped your mission greatly. But it made your anxiety sky-rocket. So just before your mission, you took one of Nat’s hoodies. She had left it on the couch in the common room and it smelled like her so much, that you didn’t even think twice. You packed it in a separate, sealed bag and took it with you, placing it on your pillow each night, thinking that you’ll wash it and give it back to her upon your return. But things didn’t exactly go that way. Apparently, your mission with Wanda went better than expected and you were asked to train more with the other Alphas, to go to more missions and each time you thought of having to leave the compound, your anxiety and distress would spike. And that’s how you found yourself with most, if not all of Natasha’s hoodies in your nest. You’d take a new one each time you had to leave for a mission, promising yourself to give them back and then you’d get so attached, that you just couldn’t. “Your hoodies?” Presently, you pretended not to know what she talked about. “No, I… I have no idea.” You lied shamelessly and you walked away, completely forgetting your own breakfast, which is why you were there in the first place. Natasha only shrugged, scratching the back of her neck as her eyes continued to search the room, even though she knew that her hoodies weren’t here. Now if only she could figure out what happened to them… During the next few days, you could see Natasha asking various people about her lost hoodies and her eyes scanning training rooms and lounge arias and your anxiety had reached a new level. It wasn’t just that you knew that she’ll eventually find out about what you did, or having to make a fool of yourself by explaining that you wanted her desperately… You also didn’t want to give them up. You felt so attached to them now. So as a means to placate the woman and maybe get her off your trail, you went ahead and bought her new ones.

It wasn’t hard to guess what she’d like, considering that you had so many of hers and you made your way back with a happy smile on your face. Yes, you were sure this would work. The stunned expression on Natasha’s face, when you handed her the shopping bag and explained the content, was absolutely priceless. You watched with joy as she rummaged through the bag and took them out one by one, inspecting them and smiling. “These are great! They’re better than my old ones! Thank you!” She exclaimed, giving you a brief hug, before she returned to her new hoodies. “You’re very welcome, Nat.” You smiled, before trying to walk away, only to be stopped in your tracks by Wanda. “Hey, Y/N, that was a very nice thing you did. Why don’t you sit down, detka, I’ll make you something to eat. I bet you skipped lunch, since you were out shopping.” The disapproving look Natasha gave the witch did not go unnoticed by the Sokovian, but she only smiled, making her way to the fridge and picking out products for a quick meal. She suspected that you liked the spy, and she had a feeling that the infamous Black Widow had similar feelings and she also suspected that neither of you had the courage to say so. Natasha was a strong Alpha, in the field, she was mesmerising to watch, but in her personal life, she never believed to be worthy of a good, little Omega to make her own. And you? God, you had it bad for her, but an Omega needed to be claimed, so of course, you wouldn’t say a thing. But Wanda had the perfect plan to nudge you both in the right direction. Let’s see how much can Natasha sit back and watch her favourite Omega being flirted with. “What do you say I make you some pasta, hm?” Wanda turned to you with a gentle smile. “With that special sauce you like so much?” She suggested. “You don’t have to do that, Wanda… I can…” You were about to say that you can make your own meal, but you were quickly interrupted. “But I want to, pretty girl. You’re always so nice and sweet and you take care of us so much. Let someone take care of you for a change.” She said with a grin, loving the way Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Come, sit down and pick a nice movie for us to watch, while I make you something to eat.” She continued, practically guiding you to the couch and seating you, handing you the remote, so you’d pick a movie, while she cooked, all while Natasha glared.

She couldn’t explain why she felt so irritated, you weren’t hers. But you had went out shopping for her, you had bought hoodies for her, it was meant to be her that now complimented you and pampered you, not Wanda. It almost felt like the witch took her moment and it pissed her off. Grumbling, unable to watch this much longer, Natasha took the shopping bags with her, carefully unpacking everything and putting a few hoodies into the washing machine, so they’d be clean for tomorrow. She had already picked which one she’ll wear, appreciating a shorter, white hoodie with an image of a black spider above her left breast. It was gorgeous. You had wonderful taste in clothes. But with the memory of the nice gesture you made, she also remembered that you were currently spending your time with Wanda, the young Alpha complimenting you repeatedly and the image of that brought a fresh wave of irritation. It didn’t sit right with her, the way she flirted with you. So, with a brisk step, Natasha came back to the common room, only to find Wanda seated right next to you, her arm extended around your shoulders and pulling you close, while she was telling you how beautiful you looked. “I thought you guys were watching a movie.” Natasha snarled from the doorway, her hands balled into fists. “We will. We’re just waiting for the food to get ready.” Wanda informed with a sly smile, pulling you even closer to her, almost into her lap it seemed. “There’s plenty of room to talk on the couch.” Natasha pointed out, her eyes fixed on Wanda’s proximity and especially her arm around you. “I thought I’d get to know Y/N a little better. After all, she’ll be coming on another mission with me the day after tomorrow.” She announced, causing both you and Natasha to stare at her. You didn’t know anything about a new mission, especially so soon after your last one. “No one told me that.” You said, a little stunned. “They debriefed me this morning while you were out. Steve has all the files for you when you’re ready.” Wanda explained calmly. “It’s nothing special. Just 10 days in Brazil. We’ll be going after a cartel that recently seems to have gotten enhanced weapons and technology. Their leader is famous for having an eye for unclaimed Omegas. He’ll be arriving a few days earlier, so we’ll follow his movements and find out who the seller is.” “Sounds easy enough.” You nodded, trying not to show your distress.

You always got a little antsy when you had to flirt your way into an Alpha’s operation like that. They were suspicious, territorial and often vicious. Some killed Omegas, when they thought they were being spied on. Some did even worse things. You always feared what your fate would be, should your team fail you one day. Not that something like this had ever happened. Despite putting on a brave face, Wanda could sense the way you tensed up, the tightening of your muscles in her hold. You were scared, she could tell and a part of her felt terrible for bringing up so many unpleasant feelings. “Don’t worry, malush, I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” She assured, her words honest. “I know, Wanda, thank you.” You nodded, relaxing a little in her hold and allowing her gentle fingers to run through your hair. “You better make good on that promise, Maximoff.” Natasha growled from her spot, watching the scene unfold with mind clouded by a deep sense of irritation. She was jealous. Undeniably so and she couldn’t stand to see you being soothed by another. It was meant to be her, who protected you, made you feel safe, made you feel cherished and loved. You were meant to be hers. If only she had actually made a move. But how could she? Why would someone like you ever want her? With the bitter taste of regret still on her tongue, Natasha turned on her heals and left the room, not even letting Wanda respond to her words. She’ll give the younger Alpha a stern talk about you later… If she was going to stand by and watch someone else court you, she was going to make sure that they knew the consequences, should they ever hurt you or your feelings. Feeling angry, Natasha entered her room and fell on the bed with a thud. Her head turned to the shopping bag, still full of clothes that you had went out to get just for her and her heart warmed at the sight. She really should thank you. Getting up, she ran to the nearest store, buying a box of your favorite chocolates and a beautiful card, writing a few words of gratitude inside, before she returned to the compound.

Natasha looked at her hands for a moment, thinking if she should interrupt your movie with Wanda, but decided against it in the end, so she went to your room, deciding to just leave the small package for you to find. She didn’t think much of the action, having been in your room many times before, so she just walked right in. She loved being here, surrounded by you and she closed her eyes briefly, savouring it, but her steps faltered almost immediately, when her eyes opened and landed on your bed and the pile of her hoodies on it. She could smell your sweet scent in the room, all around her, but especially the bed and as she got closer, she could distinctly smell the way you’d practically rolled around in her things. She could barely sense her own scent on them now. Some of these she’d missed for months. “So that’s where they went.” She heard herself saying. As soon as the recognition came, so did something else. A question. Why had you taken them?  Why did you want her scent on you? Could you… No! That simply couldn’t be… You wouldn’t be in love with her? Perhaps you simply got attached? Omegas were such sensitive souls sometimes. And the two of you had spent so much time together. But deep down she knew she was just denying the obvious. Just like she was denying her own feelings. Unsure of what to do and how to approach such a subject, she stood frozen in place, her thoughts racing wildly. She was lost in her own world of worry and regret, desire and longing, that she didn’t even hear the approaching footsteps, until you were in the room, gasping at the sight of her. “Natasha!” You exclaimed, your eyes filling with fear and panic, as you realized she’d seen your stash of stolen hoodies. “I can explain!” You started to say, but were interrupted, when she dropped the box in her hands and closed the distance between you in a few short strides, capturing your face in her hands and making you face her. “Tell me it’s true.” She said, pleading, too impatient to even explain what she wanted to hear, her eyes soft and full of so much hope. “Please?” She almost whined. “It’s true.” You nodded, some of the initial shock dissipating. “It’s always been true. How can you not know that?” You smiled, looking up at her with hopeful eyes. That soft smile and that sparkle in your eyes as you looked at her was all the confirmation Natasha ever needed and she leaned down eagerly, claiming your lips in a gentle kiss, pouring all her passion and love into it, hoping that she could convey just how much she had been dreaming of this moment with you. God, your lips against her felt divine. She could hardly contain the throaty little growl that left her as she deepened the kiss, her arms wrapping around you in an almost possessive manner, while she pressed herself firmly against you, letting you feel the bulge in her pants, that only seemed to grow and harden the longer she touched you.

“I love you.” She whispered, lifting you off the ground and crashing your bodies against the nearest wall. It seemed to take her no effort at all to hold you up with one hand, the other cupping one of your breasts, while she pressed and rubbed her clothed sex against you. “Fuck, you feel so good!” She gasped, her hips slamming into yours, her bulge teasing your pussy and making you grow even wetter and more desperate for her. “So good, baby.” She whispered, detaching her lips from yours, so she could start trailing kisses down your neck. You shivered and trembled in her hold, back arching, so you could feel more of her. You wanted to rip the clothes from her body, feel her skin against yours, feel trapped underneath her as she pounded into you, the way you’d been dreaming of all this time. “Natasha!” You moaned her name and it drove her even more desperate with desire for you. She pulled on your shirt, hearing it rip and starting to fall apart, until she had your breasts in front of her face. Those delicious nipples were just begging to be sucked between her lips, she was sure of it, and she didn’t hesitate to do just that. “Natasha, baby!” You almost screamed this time, feeling the pressure in your stomach grow with every thrust of her hips. “Take me to bed, please!” You begged, nails digging into her shoulders as she bit your nipple. She used her tongue to soothe it and she stole one last quick peck from you, before she moved, carrying you just as effortlessly to the bed and dropping you on the big pile of her hoodies, her own body following right after and trapping you eagerly. “Don’t worry, baby, from now on, you’ll always have my scent on you.” She smirked, positioning herself between your spread legs and rutting against you with the same fervour as before. “Fuck, Natasha!” You let out a little whine. She was getting you so close. You could feel the pleasure rising, even through the layers and you were approaching an embarrassing orgasm much faster than you ever thought possible. “Fuck, baby, you gotta stop, you’re gonna make me…” You tried to warn, but she was having none of it. “Me too, Y/N. Come with me, baby.” She gasped, pulling you as close as she could, her body sweating from the heat and the intensity of the moment.

She couldn’t hold it back. Fuck, she didn’t want to. She just needed a release. She was going to claim you properly after this, give you the pleasure you deserve, but she needed this first. “Oh God!” You practically screamed, holding on to her for dear life, while her movements grew more erratic. She was practically humping you, but it felt so good that you didn’t even care. You just wanted her any way she would let you have her. “Fuck!” She grunted, a short and forceful thrust signalling the beginning of her climax, while she kissed you deeply and it was all you needed to fall off the edge right along with her. Your bodies trembled in unison and you held onto her as you whined, feeling the throbbing of your clit as you came. You felt the way her cock spasmed as well. It twitched in her pants as she released, a sigh of relief falling off her lips as she did. Eventually you both slumped against each-other, the pleasure and the intensity of the moment making you feel drunk and you weakly cuddled up to her, closing your eyes and inhaling her deeply. Natasha felt you fall asleep against her almost immediately and she didn’t have the heart to wake you. Instead, she waited for you to fully relax, before taking a quick shower, discarding her ruined boxers and putting on just her sweat pants and taking her previous spot next to you on the bed, loving the feeling of you in her arms. Her mind was plagued by doubt and insecurity and as she watched you sleep, she wanted to savour every second, too scared that you’ll wake up and realize that you’ve made a huge mistake, that she might have ruined her chance to stay in your life, now that she’d done this. Eventually, exhaustion took over her as well and she allowed herself this moment of bliss, hoping it will never end, only to be woken by soft breathy whines and little whimpers, combined with your sex rubbing itself on any part of her you could reach in the limited space of her hold. Your scent was impossible to ignore in this state and she could smell the beginnings of your heat and the desperate way your body tried to relieve some of the unbearable pressure it felt. You were still asleep, and so beautiful, features dominated by pleasure in your peaceful sleep and she admired your beauty for a long moment, before she decided to wake you. “Wake up, pretty girl.” Natasha whispered, stroking your cheek. “Open those eyes for me.” She encouraged, watching the way you scrunched up your nose, as if the mere thought was offensive. “If you’re gonna use me like that, you have to at least look at me.” She added after a moment.

You blinked your eyes open in confusion, your face brightened up by the sight of her still in your bed, before you realized what you were just doing, momentarily stiffening. You opened your mouth to say something, but you were immediately shushed by a finger on your lips. “Don’t you dare apologize.” Natasha smirked. “I just need to know if you still want this.” She told you, some of her insecurity showing. She knew you were vulnerable right now, the uncomfortable feeling of your heat only growing with each passing second. It would be so easy for her to take you right now. But she didn’t want it that way. She wanted you to be sure. “Natasha… I have loved you for so long, wanted you more than you can know, I’ve spent countless days thinking of you, countless heat cycles moaning your name and wishing you would make it better. Alpha… Please make it better this time?” You practically whined, eyes filling with unshed tears as you felt your insides churning with need. You were sure you would die if she didn’t fuck you right this second. Natasha didn’t say a word this time, pulling down your pants and panties in one smooth motion, gasping at the gorgeous pussy that presented itself to her hungry gaze. You were so wet already, your sweet smell filling her nostrils once more as she ran a finger through your wet folds. “Alpha, don’t tease!” You whined again, your hips canting up for her. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of you.” She said, taking no time in finding her place between your legs and dipping her tongue in your wetness. “So delicious, baby.” She moaned at your taste, immediately needing so much more of it. She took her time cleaning you up first, savouring your taste with every flick of her tongue, before she finally wrapped her lips around your clit, drawing slow circles over it and driving you crazy with the way she made you feel. She ate you like a woman starved, sometimes sucking on your sensitive clit with fervour and drawing deep moans of pleasure each time. She could hardly keep your hips in place, not that she cared much to try, loving the way you rode her face with clear abandon and she wasn’t surprised when you reached your climax with a strangled cry and a chant of her name. “Fuck, so good!” She murmured, after helping you ride out your orgasm. She was just about ready to start all over again, her own pleasure entirely forgotten, even if she was humping the mattress, but your hand in her hair stopped her. “Yes, that was good… But I need you inside me now, Alpha.” You pleaded, your legs spreading even wider for her. “Only your cock can make it better, please.” You practically begged and it triggered something in the older woman.

She pulled down her sweats in one swift motion, showing you her cock for the first time. God, she was big! You could see the veins that ran along her length and the precum that dripped from her tip. She was perfect. And the look in her eyes was ravenous, so she didn’t hesitate for a second, easily flipping you over and putting you on your hands and knees, letting you present yourself like a proper little Omega for her. She rubbed her length at your opening, getting her cock slick with your juices while you squirmed, but her teasing couldn’t last. She had dreamt of having you this way just as much as you had and she needed to finally claim you. Needed to finally be inside you. “Please.” You begged once more, your hips chasing her and the brief feeling of pleasure and relief that she provided every time she rubbed herself on you. “Like that, baby?” She asked, pushing herself against your opening, her tip sliding inside easily. God you were so warm, so wet, so tight around her and it took everything in her to keep her pace steady. She wanted you to feel good, wanted you to enjoy every second of being with her, she wanted to be so good that you’d never even dream of any other Alpha ever touching you. Not that she’d allow it. Now that she had you this way, she was realizing what she was missing all this time and she wasn’t going to ever let you go. “Just like that, Natasha, please!” You gasped, pushing yourself against her and taking the rest of her cock inside you, all at once. “Fuck!” She grunted, her cock spasming at the feeling of being fully buried inside you. “Is that what you want little Omega?” She asked, she teeth gritted. “You want me to ruin that pretty pussy?” “Yes! God, Alpha!” You screamed, her pace picking up quickly. You could feel your ass bouncing off of her with every thrust, her cock hitting deep inside you each time, her hands squeezing your hips in a grip so tight, you were sure she’s leaving imprints and it was heavenly. She was so good. Better than you ever imagined she would be.

“Come here!” She growled, burying her hands in your hair and pulling you up against her. She held you close, her nose buried in your neck and breathing you in deeply. “You wanna be my little Omega? Want me to claim you, baby girl? Make you mine for good?” She asks, biting your neck gently, just scratching your skin, right on that sensitive spot that drove you wild. “I’ll take good care of you baby. I’ll protect you and keep you safe, I’ll make you happy.” She promised, words soft. She could feel her knot forming at the base of her cock, her release approaching quickly and she barely held it back. You could hardly respond, all your thoughts fading into nothingness at the feeling of her cock deep inside you. You just knew she’s right where she belongs, right where you need her most and you never want it to end. “Feels so good! Yes! Want to be yours! I’ve always been yours.” You pant, soft whimpers cutting off your words, as you felt your orgasm approaching. “I’m so close, baby!” Natasha panted behind you. “You gonna come with me?” She asked softly, pulling your head further back by your hair, to make sure that your neck is fully exposed to her. “Yes, so close! Please! I want you to come inside me, please!” Watching you beg her like that was truly the last straw, and with a final, sharp thrust, Natasha felt her knot slip into place, triggering her orgasm. Endless spurts of white flooded your pussy as she felt the best orgasm of her life. This was the best moment she just knew it, her teeth sinking into your neck to mark you for good, while her legs shook and her cock throbbed inside you, making her see stars. Her knot slipping in triggered your orgasm as well and you cried out, a deep sense of satisfaction washing over you when you felt the spurts of her cum fill you up to the brim. Not even a drop slipped past her as she still rutted against you, prolonging both your pleasure. But it was her teeth sinking in that really had you experience extasy, a second orgasm crashing over you, right after the first and you milked her of everything she had as you felt yourself being claimed. When it was all over, Natasha laid you down gently and settled on top of you, your bodies still perfectly connected, chests heaving. As you turned a little, trying to look up, Natasha did her best to accommodate you and after look down at you, eyes hooded from lust, she silently turned her neck, silently offering it for you to leave your own mark on her and seal your connection for good. You licked at her neck a few times, feeling her shiver in anticipation and you sunk your teeth into her, just as she had done, hearing her soft whimpers of pleasure at the action and you tried to soothe the wound as best you could, offering her little licks and kisses that she happily accepted, even if each one made her cock throb once more. “I don’t want you going on any more missions.” She finally said, her voice thoughtful. “Especially if I can’t be there to keep you safe. You’re my mate. My love. I don’t want you in danger. I don’t want other Alphas looking at you, thinking they can have what’s mine. Don’t go tomorrow, love?” She confessed, almost pleading with you to understand. “I’ll talk to Steve.” You nodded, placing a small kiss on her lips. “And I’ll talk to Wanda.” Natasha grumbled, remembering the other Alpha and the way she had her hands around you. Her words made you laugh and the older woman looked down at you confused. “What? You think I didn’t see her hands around you, touching your hair, talking to you like that. She can’t have you!” Natasha insisted, more firmly now. “Oh, baby…” You smiled, shaking your head in disbelief. “You really don’t know?” “Know what?” She squinted down at you. “She never wanted me. I know for a fact she has her eyes on a certain robot… But I sure am grateful she gave you a push.” You laughed and this time Natasha laughed with you. “Good luck mating him.” She joked, finally relaxing, allowing her eyes to close in content. She finally had her mate. _____________________________________________________

Dear anon, on the 12th of June you sent me this request... I don't know if you still use Tumblr, I don't know if you still follow my blog, or read my fics, hell, I don't even know if you remember sending me this, it was so long ago... But should you ever see your request and read this fic, I hope you'll enjoy it!

[ptolemaeacles]

pls write more for hazel omg i loved the cheerleader hcs maybe like a childhood best friends to lovers so lots of pining and smut maybe

♡ you belong with me

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

synopsis: hazel has had a crush on her best friend since they met in the 1st grade. they were freshman in college now and hazel realizes she can’t keep her feelings to herself anymore.

warnings: 18+ minors dni (both reader and hazel are 18), smut, childhood best friends to lovers, switch!hazel, switch!reader, top!reader, bottom!hazel (no pun intended), let me know if i missed anything!!

notes: aw thank you !!! im glad you liked the hcs. also small disclaimer, i'm a horrid smut writer and i rushed the ending because i didn't want to keep you waiting. hope you like !!!

word count: 2.5k

“god, i’m so excited. i mean this is the first time a girl has asked me out. usually it’s guys who approach me and then i get weird comments when i tell them i like women…” you rambled on but hazel could barely focus. she could only feel the empty pit in her stomach. 

you were so happy to be going on a date and all she could think about is if you would ever be this excited to go on a date with her. she tried to convince you to not go but there was only so much she could do without giving her feelings away. 

hazel thinks she’s loved you since the day she met you. before she knew what ‘love’ meant or what it looked like, she loved you. to her, you were the very definition of that word. 

hazel’s hopeless crush started in the 1st grade. it wasn’t some cute interaction where one of you saved the other from a bully or something. it was simple with the both of you. it always has been. 

you came up to her during lunch and told her you would give her half of your sandwich if she agreed to be your friend.

“what kind of sandwich is it?” hazel asked, from her seat on the lunch table.

“peanut butter and strawberry jelly.” 

“i’m allergic to strawberries.”.

“then don’t eat it and just be my friend.” you sat next to her without another word and the both of you left it like that. simple.

since then, she knew she would never escape you. and she never wanted to. but right now, she felt like if you didn’t stop talking to her about this date, her head would explode. 

hazel watched you walk around your room, shuffling through your closet for an outfit to the movies with the girl who asked you out. she never bothered remembering the girl’s name because she thinks it would the whole situation worse for her. she didn’t want to know anything about that girl.

“...and she said we’ll get ice cream later which i hope-” hazel interrupted you.

“hey, i think i should get home. my mom’s probably wondering where i am and shit, so… i’ll see you later.” hazel wanted to get away as soon as possible. not from you but from the giddiness she could practically feel radiating off your body at the thought of your date. 

“oh.. i thought you told your mom that you were going to study at my place after classes?” you questioned. hazel’s quiet behavior didn’t go unnoticed by you. she was always quiet but after more than 10 years of friendship, you could tell which silences were good and which weren’t. this definitely wasn’t a good one.

“yeah well, we aren’t studying so. i’d better get going, bye.” she spoke in a flat tone, with her head down, as she grabbed her backpack and made her way out of your room.

you stood still, staring at the open door of your room and wondering if you had done something.

hazel walked into her house, red in the face and a vicious grip on the doorknob. she ran up to her room, and threw her backpack in a random corner, probably knocking her guitar down. but her guitar was the last thing on her mind. 

she was pissed at you. mostly herself but you as well. she knew she had no right to be angry at you but how could you never see that hazel was right there. she was right in front of you, waiting for you to even glance in her direction. it’s all she wanted. to be the one who makes you laugh, the one who you’d think of when you saw romantic tiktok slideshows, the one who took you out on rollerblading dates, the one who got to kiss you before dropping you off back to your house, the one who got to slide her hand up your skirt, the one who got to be in between your legs-

she groaned and loudly, flopping onto her bed and stuffing her face in her pillow. she needed to apologize before her stupid feelings ruined your friendship.

hazel had a plan. she was going to go to your house after your date and apologize. apologize for being a dick, apologize for falling in love with you, apologize for every and anything she could apologize for so that you wouldn't hate her. she expected you to yell at her or ask her what was wrong with her. what she didn't expect was you to be calling her phone, right now.

she pressed the green 'accept' button and put the phone up to her ear.

"haze.." she could hear you sniffling through the phone, "i-, uh, can i come over, please? my date- it just- it went horribly and i really want to see you. please." hazel felt her heart drop 10 stories.

"yeah, yeah, i'll come pick you up, angel, where are you?" she questioned.

"outside your house."

hazel ran down the stairs and opened her front door, to be met with your red eyes and puffy face.

you immediately wrapped your arms around hazel, burying your face in her chest. her hands went landed themselves in your hair, stroking it gently in an attempt to comfort.

hazel helped you into her room, setting you down on her bed.

"do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly.

"she- she, um, she stood me up." you could barely get a sentence out without hiccuping. hazel reached over to her nightstand and pulled out an unopened water bottle, unscrewing the cap and handed it to you.

you whispered a thank you and took a few sips. it was hazel's turn to speak now.

"fuck her," you give her a confused look, "oh no, not fuck her, don't do that, i meant that you should just forget about her. she obviously isn't the one for you if she stood you up, and there are so many other people in the world-"

"hazel."

"yes?"

you didn't waste anymore time. you grabbed hazel's face in your hands and crashed your lips into hers.

hazel was sure this was a dream. there was no way you were kissing her right now. she definitely fell asleep and she's imagining this whole thing.

while hazel was having her loser lesbian crisis, you noticed that the kiss wasn't being reciprocated.

'fuck.' you thought. you just ruined your closest and longest friendship. you pulled away from her.

"shit, haze, i didn't mean to do that, i'm not sure what i was thinking-" you started but were quickly shut up when hazel pulled you back in for another kiss.

relief flooded your body. she wanted this. both of you wanted this.

hazel felt you smile into the kiss and took that as her 'go ahead'. she tilted her head, deepening the kiss. shyly, she moved her hand from her lap to your waist. you moved one of your hands to the side of her neck and the other in her hair. you could practically feel her pulse beating rapidly under your palm.

hazel gained a newfound confidence and pushed you back onto her bed, slotting herself between your legs. her lips hovered over your neck before attacking your neck with sloppy kisses. her lips trailed down your neck, making sure to savor the taste of you. her lips met the fabric of your blouse.

"can i take this off, please?" she asked in a breathy manner, as if she had just ran a marathon. you nodded, at a loss for words.

“need to hear you say it, baby. need to know you want it just as bad as i do.” hazel wasn’t aware how raspy her voice was, as if she hadn’t drank water in days. 

“take it off, haze, please. take it all off.” you whispered and caught her lips with yours while she lifted your top off your body. once she had your top thrown in a random corner in her room, she went straight for your pants, not even bothering to take her own clothes off. 

“fuck, hazel,” you were breathless, “i want to see you, too.” you swallowed, gripping the beige button up she was wearing, hoping she knew what you meant.

“you will, princess, don’t worry. i just want to focus on you right now, okay?” you nodded, not fully sure what ‘focusing on you’ meant.

hazel had you in just your bra and underwear, her eyes scanned your body hungrily. if this was a dream, she prayed she remembered every single moment when she woke up. you were better than any fantasy she could conjure up on those lonely nights, when she couldn't think of anything but you. 

you felt her strong gaze settle on your body and you felt self conscious thoughts take the forefront of your mind. you raised your hands over your body, starting to think hazel didn’t want you like you wanted her.

“hey,” hazel grabbed your hands and gently pushed them to your sides, “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted you like this. how many nights i’ve stayed up thinking about you.” hazel started kissing down your neck, making her way to your chest. 

she pulled your bra down, not even bothering to fully unhook it before latching her tongue down onto your right nipple. 

the wet feeling of her mouth made you cry aloud, completely forgetting her mom (and jeff, too, probably) were a few feet down the hall.

hazel lifted her mouth of your tit with a pop, moving her hand to squeeze it instead.

“i’d love to hear you, angel, but i need you to be quiet,” she feverishly pecked your lips, “just tonight, hm?” you murmured a response, more concerned with the ache between your thighs than anything else. 

you guessed hazel read your mind or something, as she started moving down the bed towards the place on your body that needed the most attention. she looked up to you, as if asking once more, if this was what you really wanted. 

“haze, please.” you whined. that was all the confirmation she needed. she slid your panties down slowly, watching a string of wetness connect your pussy and your underwear. hazel felt herself growing wet at the fact that she did this to you. it filled her with a new sense of confidence. she didn’t even wait for your panties to completely slip off your legs before diving in between your thighs.

your back arched off the bed the moment you felt hazel’s tongue make contact with your swollen bud. she slipped her wet muscle throughout your folds, desperate to catch every single drop of wetness she could.

“fuck, haze, feels really fucking good.” you moaned and brought your hand to the back of her head, gripping her hair between your fingers in ecstasy. 

she hummed in response to the praise you were giving her, sending vibrations throughout your core that nearly made you choke. hazel continued to suck on your clit, holding your thighs apart with her hands hooked under your knees. she slid her face side to side with her tongue flat against your pussy, moving your clit with just the right amount of pressure. 

you felt a pressure building in your lower belly and tried to move hazel’s face closer to your mound to chase your release. 

and she stopped. 

you lifted your head from the pillow and stared at her kissing your thighs, before going to unbuckle her own pants. 

“wait hazel,” you put your hands on top of her jean button, “can i?” you spoke so quietly, hazel barely caught what you were saying. she nodded her head, unsure of what else to do.

you gently unbuttoned her jeans before sliding them and her boxers down and allowing hazel to step out of them. you lifted her button up over her head and unclasped her bra, letting them fall onto the space on the floor next to her. she was in awe of you. you were so gentle to her and she would never believe she deserved it, even if you reminded her of it everyday for the rest of her life. 

once she stood completely naked in front of you, you led her to lay down on bed, stomach facing up, before separating her legs and hooking one of your own over hers. 

you looked at her face for any sign of discomfort, only to be met with the rapid rise and fall of hazel’s chest and her eyes shut in euphoria. 

“hazel,” you caught her attention, she stared right at you, “keep your eyes on me.” you lowered yourself gently, placing your clit right on top of hers. both of you let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of your juices mixing with the others.

placing your hands on her stomach, you moved slowly, rocking your hips back and forth against hers. hazel struggled to keep her eyes open, getting lost in the pleasure you were giving her. she always thought of moments exactly like this and imagined it being a lot different. she imagined that she would be the one on top of you, taking charge and pulling orgasm after orgasm from you. but after feeling the movement of your hips against hers and the way your breasts bounced slightly when you would pick up your pace. hazel fought her hardest to keep her eyelids from drooping. she didn’t want to miss a single move you made.

you quickly found a steady rhythm and went faster, prompting hazel to cry out. you leaned down and caught her moans in a rough kiss. 

the familiar coil in your belly seemed to get tighter and tighter. hazel must’ve noticed the way your hips started to rock faster and knew you were about to cum.

“c’mon, cum for me, baby. give it to me, i’m almost there too,” she started rambling as she felt her orgasm approach her as well, “keep going, just a bit faster, angel.” both of you fought to keep your moans from being heard from anyone else in the house.

“fuck hazel, i’m cumming, i-” you were cut off as your orgasm hit you in waves. warmth spread throughout your body, making your limbs weak and causing your legs to nearly give out. 

you kept going, over stimulating yourself, trying to get hazel to reach her orgasm. by the looks of it, she was on the edge. her baby hairs stuck to her sweaty forehead, her face scrunched up in pleasure as her back arched into the air. 

“fuck fuck fuck fuck-” she rambled as her orgasm washed over her, quickly quieted by your mouth capturing hers. 

the both of you gently rode out your releases, breathless and sweaty. you carefully lifted yourself off of hazel and laid next to her on the bed. 

“we should talk about this, you know.” hazel started.

“we will. in the morning, i promise. for now, i just want to be with you.” that seemed to be enough for hazel.

you draped your arm over her waist, pulling her closer to you. she tucked her head in the crook of your neck and the both of you drifted off to sleep.