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intrepidacious · 1 year

Text

almost believing

summary: You and Bucky aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. That doesn't mean you're getting out of having to pretend to be married for a mission.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 5.4k

warnings: miscommunication dialled up to eleven bc it's me; friends to lovers with lots of seething in between; set around christmas, but not a christmas fic; slight spoiler warning for wakanda forever just to be safe

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

prompt: fake dating, baby 😌 title and initial inspiration for this fic were taken from "so close" from enchanted. yes. that scene.

a/n: this was written for my wonderful tiff's sweet as sugar writing challenge!! @traitorjoelite i'm so proud of you and i hope you enjoy this fic. i really thought this one would be short i swear. big shoutout and thank you to @sweetascanbee for listening to me rant about this for weeks, i appreciate you so much!!

masterlist | read on ao3

Here’s the thing: It’s supposed to be a simple mission. Just gathering intel at the hotel for one single night, the two of you pretending that everything is fine for a couple of hours more.

After all, it’s Bucky’s last mission with you before his reassignment goes through.

Well, it’s not like it’s going to make a difference to how much you’re seeing him, to be honest.

You’re not sure when he started making himself rare or why, but once you noticed it, it was impossible not to.

"Sorry, I’m heading out," when you ask him to grab lunch together seems inconspicuous enough, as does, "Ah, I’m already supposed to meet Sam," when you try asking him about that trip to IKEA you’d been talking about for ages.

But it doesn’t stop there. One excuse follows the next, and suddenly there’s always something more important than the two of you hanging out.

Of course, you try to rationalize it at first. Swallow down your hurt feelings, because Bucky is your friend, and sometimes people just need space. You’re fine. The two of you are fine.

Once he starts scheduling dates for Friday night, though—which has always been movie night, always, every week since you met him—you know that something’s wrong.

"Is he angry with me?" you keep asking Steve, who looks very uncomfortable and definitely knows what's going on.

"Just give him a little space," he suggests timidly. So you do. You let the whole thing go.

For like a week.

"I just don’t know what I did," you tell Sam over drinks, your head held in your hands.

"Nope," he answers, downing his dregs. "I’m not doing this. Nuh-uh."

"You know, too?" you cry, accusingly pointing at him.

"I don’t know anything," Sam deadpans. And then he puts his scarf on and leaves.

"Maybe try talking to Bucky about it?" Natasha suggests, either incapable of hiding her amused smile or unwilling to try.

"I would if I ever saw him for longer than a 'hi, how are you' at the gym," you mumble. Fact is, you’re getting pissed about him giving you the silent treatment without even knowing what you did wrong.

Because before this, whatever this is, things were fine. Great, even. Free afternoons were spent on each other’s couches, introducing him to your favorite tv shows and letting him teach you that stupid card game he loves so damn much. You’d even been starting to imagine that there might be something …

Clearly, you were wrong.

Now, you can’t even look at him without your throat closing up. It’s like you woke up a few weeks ago and he’s become an entirely different person around you, much more like he was at the beginning of your friendship, distant and cold.

He didn’t even tell you that he’d signed up for a transfer.

The mission call feels like your last chance.

A whole evening of teamwork and espionage, of him basically having no other choice than talking to you and finally telling you why the fuck he would get himself reassigned without even telling you beforehand. You could’ve hugged Fury for the opportunity.

That is, until you’re handed the file containing your fake identities for the op a few hours before you’re supposed to leave.

"You’re joking," you say as soon as you open the door.

"Great, you’re here as well," Steve says dryly. "Again, a) you both gotta learn how to knock, b) the whole thing wasn’t my idea or my decision, but I also think it’s the best directive for what you’re trying to do, and c) no, there’s no one else available for the mission. Anything I missed?"

Bucky deliberately doesn’t meet your eye, his arms still crossed as he stares Steve down with a look you can’t decipher. He doesn’t even acknowledge you standing in the door, but his foot is doing the tapping thing again.

You purse your lips and join the staring.

Steve sighs, rubbing his temples with the palms of his hands. "Listen, you two work well together and I know these past few weeks have been … strained"—you almost laugh at that—"but it’s just one night."

"We need to pretend we’re married," you say. "How’re we going to pull that off if he can’t stand being in the same room as me?"

"I trust that there won’t be any issues." Steve raises an eyebrow at Bucky as he says that, but of course he doesn’t get a reply. That would necessitate talking in your presence.

"One night," Bucky repeats through gritted teeth.

Not for the first time, there seems to be some sort of silent conversation between the two of them that you’re not privy to. You roll your eyes.

"I’ll see you later."

You leave with your back straight and without a glance over your shoulder, the door slamming shut behind you.

For a moment, you’re tempted to barge into Natasha’s office next, but you have a feeling like she’d just give you another one of her looks again, which really won’t better your mood. So instead, you slam another door and flop onto your bed, blankly staring at the ceiling for a while.

Surely, there’s some twisted sort of irony in this whole situation, but you’re not laughing.

Usually, before a mission, you’d get bagels together from the bakery around the corner. You haven’t done that in a while, but you’re still quietly begging your phone to show a new unread message when you look at the time however long later.

Instead, there’s just your lockscreen picture of Bucky’s grinning face that you can’t bear to get rid off, no matter how many times it stings you. It’s almost a year old, now, back when you’d taken him to go do your holiday shopping with you, insisting that "no one’s gonna recognize you, look at that great cap you’re wearing".

It’d started snowing halfway through the afternoon, and he’d kept reaching for your hand in order not to lose you in the crowd. You both gave up halfway through your list and just went to get coffee instead, strolling through Central Park and talking about nothing and everything.

That’s when you’d realized you'd been falling in love with him, laughing and fingers freezing around your paper cup, a strange new warmth spreading throughout your body.

You need to change your lockscreen.

***

Half an hour before pick-up, you leave your room with a duffle bag slung over your shoulder and almost run into Bucky. He’s leaning against the opposite wall like he’s been waiting for you, and it stings because that’s what he always used to do, back when you were still talking. When you could still pretend that maybe, just maybe, your feelings weren’t quite so hopeless.

Now, though, his easy smile is missing. Instead, an ever-present frown is furrowing his brows again, his mouth opened just a little, but nothing comes out.

"Look, I don’t want to do this any more than you do," you sigh. "But it’s a two-person job."

He nods, his tongue poking his cheek. "I know."

"Do you think you’re gonna be alright with us pretending we’re madly in love for a whole evening?"

Bucky’s jaw tightens. "I’ll be fine."

Of course he’s going to be fine.

You grab the strap of your bag more tightly. "I wish you would just tell me what I did."

"You didn’t do anything." If he’s telling the truth, though, why does he look so numb?

For a moment, you want to shout at him, cry, beg, make him tell you when and how this went wrong, but you don’t. You just stare at him in silence, hoping he’ll get it anyway, and he refuses to notice it.

"So," Bucky finally says. "You ready to get hitched?"

There’s the ghost of a grin in his eyes, and even though it’s not enough to mask the uncomfortable tilt of his shoulders, you sigh. At least he’s trying, you suppose.

"Let’s just get fake-married so we can fake-divorce and go our separate ways," you say, walking past him.

"I’ve got something for you."

You turn around again, raising your eyebrows as he holds up a ring between the fingers of his left hand. There’s a giant stone set in its center, striking and sparkling and not subtle in the slightest. Tony really went all out for appearance’s sake. Your fingers involuntarily tighten around the strap of your bag.

Bucky drops the ring in the palm of your hand.

"Quite the present," you chuckle nervously. You don’t even want to know how much this thing costs, and you feel like they're going to chop off your head if something happens to it.

"Try it on, then."

It’s a bit too large on your finger, and it feels foreign. It’s not you at all. Then again, it’s not supposed to be you.

Before you can say anything, though, Bucky shakes his head. "What?" you say with a roll of your eyes.

"That couldn’t look more fake if you tried. Wait a sec."

He turns his back towards you and rummages through his bag for a while, his jaw still set as he holds out his hand once more. With a sigh, you pull the ring off again and return it, but before you can pull your hand back, he catches it in his own.

This one slides onto your finger perfectly, and your eyes widen at the sight of it. It’s a lot subtler, with only a small emerald for decoration, but it’s so delicate and beautiful it takes your breath away.

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes, but he swallows whatever came to his mind. "That’s better," he says instead, and his voice sounds oddly rough.

"They gave you a backup?" you say, angling your hand this way and that to see how the gem catches the light.

"Mhm."

Something is off about this whole situation, but then you feel like you don’t really know Bucky anymore. Not like you used to, anyway. It used to be so easy to get a read on him.

You stand there in silence for a moment, and it’s only then that both of you realize he’s still holding your hand. He drops it immediately, and you pretend it doesn’t sting.

"How come you don’t get a ring?" you ask.

"Says who?" Bucky says, clearing his throat and activating the camouflage sleeve Tony had installed for his arm. Sure enough, there’s a ring on his hand as well.

You grab his hand curiously. When you touch it, there’s no difference between his fingers and the pseudo-platinum band, all of it just cool vibranium in disguise.

"It’s fake," you say. "It’s not the same."

"No," he agrees and pulls his hand away. "Looks real enough, though."

You notice the red splotches on his neck and wonder what it is that you’ve said this time, but it’s pointless anyway. He’s not going to tell you even if you asked.

Maybe you should be used to him icing you out by now, but it still hurts.

***

"Yes, Steve, I know," you sigh. "We’re just gathering intel, nothing else."

"I just wanted to have you say it again so we’re all clear. You both love taking risks when it’s not necessary."

"Alright, punk, we got it," Bucky says, tugging at his tie again.

You can’t even blame him for the nervous habit; you’ve been twisting your fake wedding ring around your finger for the entire drive.

This isn’t the first time the two of you had to go undercover as a couple; hell, it’s not even the first time you’ve pretended to be married. Usually, though, you could have a laugh about the whole thing together.

Now you barely know how to act around Bucky as yourself, let alone as some made up woman.

"I think we’re going to attract a lot of attention if we don’t get out soon," you say, readjusting the collar of your blouse underneath your coat.

You notice Steve staring at your hand for a moment, a frown between his brows, but his lips curve upwards a split second later. "Ready to do this?" he asks and you smile a little in confirmation.

Bucky takes another breath and then he nods curtly. "Let’s go."

The change that goes through him as soon as the two of you climb out of the car is so stark you almost turn on your heels again and beg Steve to let you off the hook, after all. His hand sneaks around your waist and pulls you closely into his side as you walk towards the hotel, all soft smiles and charm.

"Sorry for the holdup," he tells the bellman waiting next to your bags with a wink. "The missus and I just needed another minute."

You lightly slap Bucky’s chest in fake indignation. It’s quick thinking on his part, really.

When you’re checking in under your assumed names for the evening, he keeps his arm around you, and the content look stays in his eyes. A subtle glance at your surroundings tells you some of your persons of interest have already arrived early for the event tonight, looking around the sparkling lobby with the same feigned boredom.

Bucky nudges your cheek with his nose and then smiles again when you look at him. It makes your brain shut off for a moment.

When he looks at you like this, it’s so easy to forget the past couple of months and just pretend for a moment. What if there was no mission at all, and it could simply be the two of you?

But of course, that’s not possible. All of it is fake, including the way he looks at you. You know that.

So how come it doesn’t feel fake to you at all?

***

You hate this dress, you hate these people, you hate this dinner, and most of all, you hate how much you enjoy spending this much time so physically close to Bucky.

It feels so natural when he links your hand with yours, so fucking meant to be, even though he’s just putting on a show for the band of creeps you’re tasked to keep an eye on.

But damn if he’s not good at it.

It’s amazing, really, how his eyes immediately soften when you turn your head towards him, like you’re the only person in the whole room. He looks at you during this charade like you wish he’d look at you daily, even far from prying eyes around you; especially then. It makes your breath shorten, your heart pounding erratically because it thinks it’s getting everything it’s ever hoped for.

Hearts are often stupid like that.

A full night of glances and touches and the pretence of secret whispers will do all kinds of twisted things to your feelings.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and when Bucky squeezes your hand you realize he’s no longer the only one who’s looking at you.

You chuckle nervously. "I’m sorry, I got … distracted for a moment. What were you saying?"

"Ah, newlyweds," one of the investor goons laughs. He’s a particularly vile looking man whose suit is way too big on his spindly limbs.

Bucky, academy award winning actor in another lifetime, chuckles politely while the fondness in his eyes seems to increase tenfold. "We’ve been married three years, actually," he says, sticking to your official cover story.

It’d been Tony’s idea to keep your fake timeline as close to the truth as possible to avoid any slip-ups. It’s a great move on paper, really, but in reality it just adds another nail to the coffin.

Three years ago, you were on a mission in Brussels, only the second one ever where it was just the two of you. It was mostly surveillance, so one of you usually had downtime while the other kept lookout. It became customary that you’d entertain each other during those long hours, getting to know each other intimately for the first time, taking the first tentative steps towards the friendship you now share.

That mission was the groundwork of your falling in love with him in the first place.

"You seem to be doing something right if you’re both still so enamoured with each other," Spindly Arms says.

"I’m the luckiest guy in the world," Bucky responds, still looking into your eyes. "It’s hard not to do the right thing, then."

He presses a kiss to your cheek and you smile timidly. His lips linger for just a moment, and then he moves to whisper into your ear, something you’re sure looks like sweet nothings to everybody else but is actually a, "Don’t fall asleep on me."

You tilt your head, shove him teasingly as if he’d said something inappropriate, and because he’s always been quick to catch on he winks, obvious enough so that the other people that are part of this conversation can clearly see it.

It’s not long after this that you excuse yourselves, walking around the room with apparent aimlessness. Everything is sparkling with pure gold decorations and countless little twinkling lights that have been scattered around the room like millions of fireflies. You spot an actual orchestra right underneath the massive Christmas tree.

"Kind of tacky, don’t you think?" Bucky murmurs with a sideway glance at you.

"Maybe a little," you say.

The truth is, though, the room looks oversaturated and expensive and magnificent. Something straight out of a Hallmark movie, more like a movie set than a real place.

It’s the one thing that keeps this whole thing from being completely unbearable.

He must have seen the truth in your eyes, because he ducks his head and says quietly, "I’m gonna go check out the terrace."

You just nod and smile as he kisses your cheek again and then vanishes through the crowd with a few long strides. Sighing, you take another drink from the tray a waiter offers you, absent-mindedly rubbing your cheek.

"What a lovely surprise," a voice says next to you and you freeze for a moment before forcing yourself to calmly take a sip. "Miss … Winter, was it?"

"Mrs," you say with a pleasant smile. "Good evening, Director."

"Right, of course." Director de Fontaine eyes her martini warily. "I don’t suppose these olives are fresh, do you?"

Your mind is racing. If she’s here on official business, then your entire operation might be compromised.

"So," she continues, looking rather bored. "Met any interesting people yet, Mrs Winter?"

"Oh, yes," you say lightly, clinging to your role of unassuming young wife. "It’s all rather exciting."

"I’m sure. These kinds of events are all very … shiny." She looks into your eyes and there’s an almost explicit warning written in hers. "It’s surprisingly easy to get blinded."

You swallow heavily even as she smiles. "If you’ll excuse me, I think I see someone …"

You quickly walk over to the buffet table where some of the wives have formed a semi circle of gossip, trying your best to hide your sigh of relief when the director doesn’t follow you.

For a few minutes, you lose yourself in pointless gossip, until one of the women takes hold of your forearm.

"You must tell us, what’s your secret?"

"Excuse me?" you chuckle nervously.

"Your husband!" she exclaims, earning a few nods from some of the others. "He clearly adores you," she goes on. "I don’t think he’s looked away from you once since you joined us."

You steal a look around your shoulder. She’s right. Bucky’s gaze immediately locks with yours, an almost bashful grin on his lips. You caught me, his eyes seem to say, and you feel a rush of heat go through you.

He should be nominated for an Oscar with this performance.

Quickly, you turn around again to meet several expectant pairs of eyes.

"I don’t know what to tell you," you say. "He’s just … always been like this. I mean, he’s my best friend. I really don’t know what I would do without him."

There’s not a word of a lie in what you’re saying, and it elicits a round of coos and murmurs even as your heart gives a sharp pang.

"Dance with me?"

You flinch, turning to look at Bucky’s outstretched hand, at the sad, hopeful look in his eyes, and the line between reality and fiction blurs a bit more.

You take his hand, and he pulls you onto the dance floor, some cheery Christmas song ramping up to its big finale. Then, the band switches to a slower song. To you, it sounds mournful.

"That was nice," Bucky mutters into your ear. "What you said."

"I meant it, you know," you whisper, but he turns, and you don’t think he’s heard you.

Bucky places his hand on your hip and you hide a shudder. His gloved fingers wrap around yours, and then you start moving again.

You barely know the steps, but he’s a great leader, and he doesn’t say anything when you step on his toes. In fact, his gaze softens even more when he looks at you after the third time, the hand around your waist pulling you a little closer.

"How are you doing this?" you say without stopping to smile.

"Easy," Bucky says, and the way he says it almost makes you believe it’s true.

You bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from breathing him in. "I didn’t mean the dancing."

With the last note of the song, you stumble over his foot again and he snorts. "Me neither."

The melody changes and neither of you lets go. His steps are getting slower, smaller, like he’s just trying to keep both of you in motion. Your head is spinning. The twinkling lights are starting to blur into a great mass of stars in the background, like you’re at the center of a music box and everything else is just background noise.

You wrap both hands around his neck as you’re swaying, then, your foreheads only inches apart. You could stay in this moment forever, you think, as it stretches into blissful infinity. Somewhere, a clock strikes ten.

Bucky leans in a little closer and your breath hitches again.

"It’s time," he whispers, and your eyes fly open.

You’d almost forgotten about the mission.

"Val is here," you say quietly.

His expression hardens for just a second. "What?"

"She came to talk to me earlier. She knows we’re here."

"Why didn’t you say something?"

"I … There wasn’t time."

"We’re just gonna have to be quick and discrete."

You open your mouth, but then you see the distance close in again between you two, and so you just nod.

The plan is almost laughably simple, but it’s probably going to work out just as you’ve laid out beforehand. Everyone in the room has watched the two of you staring at each other for the past couple of hours, so no one bats an eye when Bucky nudges you gently and you make your way up the stairs to the fancy elevator that’s going to take you up to a bedroom.

Or, more specifically, to a bedroom that’s being used to store all kinds of evidence, but no one else needs to know that little detail.

You notice the director talking to Spindly Arms and a couple of other people, but you force your gaze not to linger on her. Instead, you grab Bucky’s hand more tightly.

He lets go of you as soon as the elevator doors close behind the two of you, dragging a hand through his hair and messing it up. There aren’t any cameras in the elevator, but you’re both pretty sure there will be on the floor you’re going. "CIA exposure, that’s exactly what we needed."

"There was nothing I could’ve done," you say, tugging your sleeves down your shoulders.

"I’m not blaming you, sweetheart," Bucky says distractedly, loosening his tie. Your heart makes a very heavy thud. "But if Walker shows up tonight as well, I’m gonna shoot first and ask questions later."

"No, you won’t," you say with a grin, mostly because you know he didn’t bring his gun because the male attendees were all frisked at the entrance.

"Maybe I’ll throw a knife. I could say it was an accident."

The conversation lasts barely a moment, but it reminds you so much of what the two of you used to be, it hurts.

You follow him stumbling out of the elevator onto the right floor with a breathless laugh. There’s no one in sight as you subtly check the room numbers before making him follow you with a coquettish smile for the security camera.

You find the right door without much trubble, pulling the keycard out of your inconvenient little handbag. "Come on now," you murmur as the lock rejects it at the first try.

Suddenly, Bucky’s hand is on your waist again, and you gasp as he spins around. The keycard drops to the floor.

He presses you against the wall, effectively trapping you in his embrace. Your hands are laid flat against his chest, his heart thundering madly underneath your fingertips. Bucky’s eyes flit around madly, like he’s trying to come up with something on the spot and, for the first time since you’ve known him, is left without ideas.

You gasp as his nose brushes against yours.

"Sorry," he whispers hoarsely. And then he kisses you.

Your body responds immediately, lighting a fire in your core as his lips press against yours, hungry, gentle, almost apologetic. You can taste the champagne on his tongue.

You arch your back against him on instinct as his hands travel down your arms, brushing your hips, your tighs, slowly parting your dress at the slit. Your eyes fly open the moment you realize what he’s doing, even though he swallows your gasp.

In one smooth motion, he pulls the I.C.E.R. out of the garter on your thigh and fires a single, silenced shot. The guy with the earpiece barely has the time to grunt before he sacks against the opposite wall, unconscious, his hand still in the pocket of his jacket.

"Fuck," you hiss, pushing Bucky away from you. He stumbles slightly, the gun loose in his fingers. His eyes are almost black as he blinks at you. "You could have told me we’re being shadowed."

Bucky’s mouth is stained from your lipstick, and the sight of that alone makes your head swim. You can still feel the ghost of his hand on your leg.

"It’d have blown our cover," he replies, infuriatingly calm. "Hate me later, our window has just narrowed by a bit."

You swallow, blinking to try and gain control over your breath again, grabbing your gun back with a short nod. "Let’s finish this, then."

***

Back at the Compound, you both give an exhausted report about the events of the night, leaving out nothing but your improvised kiss on floor fifteen.

Your lips are still tingling with it.

Finally, you and Bucky are left alone in the briefing room, and for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t just get up and leave as soon as the silence takes hold. Instead, you both sit next to each other, staring straight ahead.

"I guess we should talk," he says slowly, reluctantly, and you can’t help it.

Your defenses shoot up again.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you say, squinting.

"Yes, you do." He’s lost the tie hours ago, but he keeps tugging at the fabric in his hands as if it could give him the words he’s looking for. "I shouldn’t have kissed you, not with … Not like that."

"Like you said, the guy would’ve blown our cover," you say, crossing your arms.

"Doesn’t make it right."

"What do you want me to say, Buck?" you say sharply. "That you should’ve talked to me before? Well, I’m kind of used to you not doing that anymore, so just forget it."

"Y/N—"

"No, really, it’s fine. Like I said, you’re leaving, anyway, so what does it matter. Didn’t tell me you were planning to do that, either. You just did it."

"You know why I’m leaving."

"No, I fucking don’t!" There are tears in your eyes now. "I have been trying really hard, Bucky, but you’ve just shut me out. I thought you needed space, which is fine, by the way, but you just—one day you decided you were done with me and that was it."

He stares at you incredulously. "You seriously don’t remember."

"Don’t remember what?!"

"That you were talking about me. To Natasha."

The memory rushes through you so violently it’s almost ridiculous you hadn’t thought about it in months.

You’d just come back from another undercover op, and you’d called her right as the door to your room had closed behind you because not for the first time, your feelings had threatened to spill over again.

"You should talk to him. Be honest."

"No, Nat, come on, I can’t—I can’t do that to him. I can’t risk … you know, he’s my best friend. And that’s all it can ever be. I don’t want to ruin what we have. I just wish he’d make it easier."

"You’re making excuses, you know. Both of you deserve a bit of happiness, don’t you think?"

"I tried," Bucky says now, barely looking at you. "I tried making it easier. But you’re so …"

"So what?" you ask hollowly, ignoring the fact that you can feel the tears starting to trickle down your cheeks now. "So pathetic? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? That’s why you asked for the transfer, so you can be rid of me."

"Rid of you?" Bucky starts, but you ignore him.

"You know what, Bucky, fuck you if you think my feelings for you are so much of an inconvenience that you need to leave the state. Silly me for thinking we could be adults about this."

"You’re the one who wouldn’t just tell me."

"Well, now you know anyway and I’m sure once you’re off to Cairo or wherever the fuck they’re going to send you, you can have a big old laugh about the stupid girl who fell in love with you despite the fact that—"

"Love?"

"I mean, obviously?!"

"You … you’re in love … with me?" There’s something very soft and vulnerable in Bucky’s eyes.

"Are we talking about two different phone calls?"

"I thought you hated me."

You huff incredulously. "Why would I hate you?"

"That’s why I gave you space, I thought … but then …" He grabs your hands. "Sweetheart, I’ve been in love with you for years."

It punches the air out of your lungs. "What?"

Bucky’s eyes are devastating as he looks at you, then. "I’m so sorry, I—I got it all wrong, I was just—I thought you know and you didn’t see me like that and that’s why I …"

"You …?" you say, still not quite comprehending what’s going on.

His thumb caresses your knuckles, halting when it makes contact with the ring you’re still wearing. "I'm in love with you," he says quietly.

"I don’t understand," you whisper.

"Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up completely."

This time, you’re the one to lean in.

Where your first kiss in the hallway had been feverish, this one is soft, almost unbelievably sweet, both of you still breathless with the fact that you’re allowed to do this. Finally, it feels like all the pieces are falling into place and you’re home again.

You press closer into him and Bucky smiles against your lips, pulling you in with his hands on your hips just like he did when you were dancing earlier.

The loudspeakers overhead crackle. "Alright, kids, we’re gonna break this up until you’re back in your own quarters, I don’t want to expose FRIDAY to the creation of your sex tape."

You break up with a snort.

"Fuck you, Tony," Bucky shouts, but he’s still smiling as wide as you’ve ever seen him do.

You giggle as you nudge your nose against his, curling your fingers into his hair. "That reminds me, you know."

"Of what?"

"Quick and discrete," you mumble, repeating his words from the hotel. "Title of your sex tape."

Bucky groans and shuts you up again.

(A few years later, you get the ring back.)

happy holidays, y'all 💛 thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

#sweet as sugar challenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #almost believing

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buckttommy · 21 days

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If there would be a tommy begins episode, what would you like to see?

I have waited... my entire life for this moment.

Sorry, I'm about to answer this question in the most Jack way possible. Strap in, I'm about to enter my director era. Okay, let's get to it.

Tommy Begins (Jack's Version)

Opening scene: We see a kid (8yo) playing with Legos on his bedroom floor. His room is very much so a boy's room—there are dinosaurs and dragons and a soccer ball in the corner—but it's very sparse. This family is not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. He's building a car, and beyond his closed bedroom door, you can hear muffled shouting. It's his mom and dad. The boy stops playing with his toys and listens as a door slams downstairs (his mom leaving) and heavy footsteps come up the stairs. He's already scooting backwards when the door opens and his father stands in the doorway. He's visibly drunk, and the camera is angled at Tommy's height so that the man in the doorway looks scary and imposing. (We're really leaning into the visuals here). So his dad looks at him and says, "Tommy, were you eavesdropping?" He wasn't, of course, but it doesn't matter because his dad is already undoing his belt (to beat him, not for anything else!!). Little Tommy continues to scoot backwards as his father comes into the room, and closes the door behind him. Before the door closes and the light from the hallway is shut out, we get a shot of the man's shirt—his father is an auto mechanic and the name Kinard is stitched into his clothing.

Similar to 5x17, where Jonah is introduced as a random little boy before the narrative makes the connection as to who he really is, this is the point where the audience realizes, oh, this isn't just any Tommy, this is our Tommy. And he's about to get his ass beaten.

Oh shit.

And then the 9-1-1 title card appears.

Now, all the begins episodes parallel past with present, so in my head, Tommy is off-work. Buck is moving in that day (this isn't a Buck/Tommy focused episode at all, but Buck is the vehicle for this episode to happen) and Tommy needs to finish going through his stuff to make room for him. He comes across a large box in the back of his closet that's stuffed with all his random keepsakes. He reaches into the box and pulls out a small Rubik's cube on a keychain.

The next scene flashes back to the past. We see Tommy as a teenager, getting into trouble with his idiot friends. They're all high as kites, and one of his friends overdoses on [drug]. He notices—he's the only one that notices, actually—and tells one of his other friends to call 9-1-1. They don't because they're kids, there are drugs involved, and they're stupid, so Tommy calls 9-1-1. He follows the operator's instructions and stays on the line until the paramedics get there. He accompanies his friend to the hospital and someone—a cop who is familiar with him, from having plucked him out of trouble a handful of times—waits with him. He tosses Tommy a Rubik's cube (the same one from the box) so that he can keep his mind occupied. His friend is okay, but the cop is like, "Listen, kid. One day, that's going to be you and one day, it's not going to turn out so well. You've got to straighten up or end up dead." Basically, the whole thing is kind of a wake up call. Before the scene changes, we see Tommy look up and look toward a container of pamphlets on the hospital wall. One of the pamphlets has a soldier on it. In his hand, the Rubik's cube has been completed.

In the present, Tommy continues going through his belongings. This is a dense episode, so we're not going to linger too much on what's happening in the present because it's secondary to what's going on in the past, but Buck and Tommy are texting. Buck is excited and has no idea the turmoil that is going on in his boyfriend's head. Tommy matches his enthusiasm (and it's genuine) but also takes a lot of effort at the moment. Still he smiles a little before he puts the phone down and continues digging through the box. Next, he withdraws his dog tags (and if it isn't obvious by now, the items in the box parallel with the next flashback because these are memories that are actively being triggered while the audience watches).

So, the next scene is obviously back to Tommy's time in the Army. Now, ideally, this would be a ninety-minute episode and I'd have the time to explore all the layers of Tommy's time in the service, but, alas, the boundaries of network television. In my head, most of Tommy's trauma comes from his childhood rather than his time in the Army anyway (which isn't to say it doesn't exist, just that it's not at the forefront of his issues) so we're going to have to gloss over that a bit. When we see him again, he's already in the Army, already well into his career, and the audience can see that he's shaped up and matured quite well. He's well-liked and good at what he does.

He's doing repairs on a helicopter when his CO approaches him and asks where he's going and what he's going to do after he's discharged. Tommy looks across the [hangar] and the camera pans to a a young man. He's in his 20s. Handsome in a boyish way. He's already looking at Tommy, but he looks sad and guilty and hesitant. They meet each others eyes and stare just a bit too long to be casual, and there is a lot of unspoken feeling between the two of them. Their relationship, such as it was during the DADT era, is heavily implied and it does not have a happy ending. Tommy looks back at his CO and says he's headed back home to Los Angeles. As for the rest, he doesn't know what he'll do after he leaves, but he'll figure it out as it comes to him. When he looks up at the guy, he's already gone. It's kind of a metaphor for the way the things he wants always seem to slip away.

In the present, Tommy is still going through his stuff. He unearths an old Academy shirt, so the next scene is his first day at the 118.

Tommy doesn't know it yet, but this is the first day of the rest of his life. Immediately, seeing those walls and doors fills the viewer with a sense of peace. Finally he's where he's supposed to be. He learns on his first day what type of boys club the 118 is under Gerrard. He's visibly uncomfortable (visibly to the viewer, who knows him well enough by now to read his face, but not to the old guard) the first time someone makes a homophobic joke. But he laughs and joins in, aware of but refusing to acknowledge the fact that they are making jokes at his expense. Just like that, he's accepted.

We see him assimilate quickly; the 118 goes on several calls. Not necessarily a montage, but we don't linger on the calls either except for a big fire. He saves Sal DeLuca and is rewarded with lots of accolades and praise. Tommy is one of the "in-crowd" and things are going well. But then Chimney shows up and Hen shows up shortly after. We all know how this plays in canon, so we don't linger too long on the times when Tommy is a dickhead but we do understand, from his perspective, that he has disdain for Hen and Chim—not because he's racist but because their existences threaten to dismantle this bubble of safety he's built around himself at the 118. The goal isn't to make the audience dismiss his complicity, but rather make them understand why he made the choices he made.

Because I am self-indulgent, there is one additional scene right before Tommy leaves for Harbor, where he and Hen are sitting in the locker room. She asks if he's going to miss it. He says he doesn't know, then he pauses and says "Kind of." There are lots of mixed feelings here. He suffocated himself in the closet within these walls and became someone he did not recognize, someone who went along with things rather than fight against the status quo, but he also learned how to breathe and exist a little freely once Gerrard left and Bobby took his place. He got his first taste of what it looks like to be Queer and proud within these walls, and that means something to him.

He looks at Hen and there are so many things he'd like to say to her that he doesn't know how to articulate, mostly because he cannot yet articulate them to himself. He's getting to that point but he's not there yet, so when she asks why he's looking at her like that, he just says "Thank you." "For what?" "For showing me another way." (This, of course, has a double meaning: first, referencing the idea that Hen/Chim showed him another way to be a firefighter, to be a family, to be a human being, and second, referencing the fact that Hen showed him another way to be Queer—showed him that Queerness doesn't have to be filled with self-hatred and pain. It can just... be... and people can either accept it, or they don't). Hen gets the sense that there's a lot he's not saying, a lot under the surface that she's not privy to, but she says "You're welcome."

The next scene is Tommy at Harbor, and the moment he gets there, the viewer can see a weight slip off his shoulders. He's back where he belongs—back with the mechanics, back with the big toys that make him feel at ease. It's a direct parallel to Buck's first meeting with the 118 (not for any Buck/Tommy purposes, just because I love a good narrative parallel) where Bobby pranks him. But Tommy smiles when they bust his balls, and settles into himself, and the viewer can see that he's okay. Things might not be perfect—he might not be perfect—but he's on the right track to being the person the audience will know and love in a few short seasons.

Back in the present, Tommy is pulled out of his walk down memory lane by the sound of his front door opening. Buck is standing on the other side with an overly large box in his hands. Tommy helps him carry it in, and offers to get the rest of his stuff from the Jeep, but Buck waves him off. He studies his face for a long moment, and asks if Tommy is alright. Tommy opens his mouth to answer and discovers, almost shockingly, that he is. He is alright. Maybe he wasn't a couple minutes ago. Maybe those items from the past dredged up memories that were best left forgotten. But he's here now, in this moment with his boyfriend, and he's fine. He's survived a lot. He's grown a lot. He's happy. So he smiles and he says yes, yes he's alright, and he kisses Buck, who also smiles, deeply. The doors close, implying sexytimes and Tommy closing the door on all the chapters of his life that have led him to this place, where he's now ready to embrace and walk into his future.

aaaaand SCENE :) the end.

#I had WAY too much fun with this #Oh my god.#TIM GET ME IN THE WRITING ROOM QUICK!!!!!!!!!!#tommy kinard #tv: 911 #bucktommy #(but only slightly)

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mangekyuou · 11 months

Text

✩༄ diet mountain dew ! | red-haired shanks.

☆ — pairing! . . . mobster!shanks x bartender!f!reader.

☆ — summary! . . . as a mob boss’s kid who is sheltered from the underground, there’s only a handful of things your old man wanted you to be aware of. one of those things were men you shouldn’t hang around. number one on the list was him, the one with the red hair, the mobster giving your old man the most trouble. you would never break your promise to your old man, would you?

☆ — cw(s)! . . . mafia!au. nsfw. afab!reader. ( “cunt” / “core” used to describe genitals among others ) no pronouns used. reader wears a short dress. age gap. reader is implied to be in their early 20s. sub!reader. fingering. oral. ( f and m receiving ) facefucking. overstimulation. piv. unprotected sex. shanks calls the reader “angel” and “gorgeous”. reader calls shanks “red”. alcohol consumption. not proofread. MINORS DNI.

☆ — wc! . . . 3.4k.

☆ — notepad! . . . i promised someone a shanks smut...i couldn’t stick to the original script so as an apology, i give you mobster!shanks and rival boss’s kid <3 wow! that summary was not good lmaoooo

You shouldn’t!

You can’t!

If they caught you like this! You’d be dead!

The voice in the back of your head grew stronger, and louder with every rough touch, every passionate kiss, every pretty shallow moan, and sigh that escaped from your bruised lips into his mouth. The voice of reason, screaming at you, to stop, to remember the consequences, as your hands found their way into his hair, gently tugging at his dark red locks, pulling him closer, deeper into you. The feeling of his strong chest finally pressed against yours, made you shiver.

You could feel the redhead smile briefly against your lips before finally breaking your kiss. You stared breathlessly at him. His dark, lust-filled eyes stared back at you with want, with need. Before you could catch your breath, he spun you around, entrapping you between his body and the cold bar. You could feel his bulge pressed against your ass.

With a light satisfied hum, you leaned over the bar, your bare cheek touching the cool surface. The redhead had followed suit, letting his broad chest press against your back. His lips grazed the top of your ear. “You look so fucking beautiful bent over this bar, Angel,” He whispered in your ear, sending chills down your spine, “I’m gonna take such good care of you.” The redhead kissed down to your neck that you would be covered in deep purple blotches, come morning. You could feel his smirk on your hot skin. Everything was pointing to this being a bad idea, to him being a bad idea.

There were many titles you had come to know the redhead by since you had become old enough to listen in on the family trade. Listening intently from behind the bar to the mobsters you had come to know as older brothers, sitting around the poker table with a cigar hanging from their mouths and a handful of cards.

The Red Devil. Eyes of Death.

But one stuck out to you the most.

“The bastard you should stay away from”, You remembered your father’s words, with that harsh glare that you and the others had become all too familiar with. You had nervously brushed it off, reassuring your father that you wouldn’t even dream of being in the same room with an enemy of the family, let alone him.

Nobody could be that stupid to just waltz into enemy territory so carelessly, let alone set foot in the speakeasy operated by the boss’ kid! It was suicide! Though you have never seen the things your father and his underlings do to those they call enemies, you heard a few of the gruesome rumors. Just what man would even risk that?

Who else than the fearless redhead himself?

The door to your bar opened and closed, as your back was turned. You could not help but roll your eyes, as you pointed to the clock on the wall across the room, “We’re closed, you know.”

“Aww, you close pretty early for a Saturday night, gorgeous,” An unfamiliar voice reached your ears. You could hear the playful disappointment in his tone. You nearly felt his pout through his words.

Your words did not seem to turn him away. You could hear the heels of his boots, getting closer before stopping altogether. You could hear the stranger plop down into one of the bar stools, making himself all comfortable right after you told him you were closed, “I take it you’re not a night owl then.” He teased.

“And I take it you’re not good at following directions,” You retorted, your back still turned to him, finishing up stocking the bar shelves.

“Something like that.” He laughed.

You were starting to get irritated, “Look. For the last time, we’re closed. We closed almost an hour ago. You can either come back tomorrow or I bring somebody in here to come retrieve you. My folks ain’t too friendly to people who...” You finally turned around, your eyes finally meeting his.

Shanks, the boss of that ragtag group of mobsters from the east side of town. The ragtag group of nobodies pushing themselves onto other families’ territories because they had gotten too big for their own britches, you heard your father say once. They wanted a hand in everyone’s business, by any means necessary. Even if it meant spilling a few pints of blood.

He was a dangerous man, even more so than the men you had known all of your life. And he stumbled his way into your speakeasy out of all of the ones on this side of town. He had to know what he was doing here. There was no way it was just luck.

“Your folks ain’t too friendly to people who do what exactly?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to finish your sentence, “Cat got your tongue?”

There was no amount of front you could put on that would fool him. The way his dark eyes bore into you, he could read you easily. He noticed you swallow shallowly. He almost instantly lost the intimidating aura that surrounded him, a playful one taking its place as he let out a hearty laugh, “I’m just messing with you, Angel.”

Angel.

Running this bar, you thought you heard all the pet names there were to hear. But Angel…felt different, especially coming from his lips. You almost didn’t mind it, but only from him.

You took a good look at him. You had seen pictures of the greedy bastard before. But seeing him in person you realize those photos weren’t doing him any justice.

He was a gorgeous man and by the way he carried himself, you knew that he knew it too. He was confident. He was mature. His rugged look and the aged scars that covered his tanned skin added a nice charm. The top buttons of his button-up were left undone, giving you a nice glimpse at his strong, hairy chest. He took very good care of himself. You wondered if he had done the same on the lower half.

“I don’t mind being gawked at by a pretty thing such as yourself. But I think a deserve a drink if you’re just gonna stand there and eye-fuck me, don’t you think?”

You dropped your eyes to your station. You could feel your body burning. He was vulgar and blunt. Something you weren’t used to in this business. Your father’s high rank often made others scared to even look at you when the boss was around.

No funny ideas about the boss’s kid! But him? He didn’t care. Maybe because he was older than most of these mobsters who worked for your father. Perhaps because he had much more experience under his belt. Whatever it was, it was doing something for you. And you wanted to have a bit of fun.

You fixed the redhead a glass of the strongest whiskey you have. You set the glass down in front of him, “It’s on the house.”

“Oh?”

“As a thank you for giving me something nice to look at,” He watched as your eyes traveled down his chest, before meeting his gaze again.

He couldn’t hold his chuckle, “Cute and flirty. I may have just found the best speakeasy and the sexiest bartender on this side of town. Maybe I’ll come back to see you.”

He sure knew how to make a person feel all giddy. As the drinks kept coming, the flirting continued. You were enjoying his company, his words, his eyes raking over your figure wrapped in that minidress that didn’t leave much to one’s imagination.

“You’re going to drink me out of business. That whiskey was expensive, Red.” You frown, shaking the near-empty bottle, to feel just how empty it was, “I should charge this to your tab.” You set the bottle aside, turning to the buzzed mobster sitting on the other side of the bar. After drinking nearly the entire bottle, he seemed only a little tipsy. Just how often did he drink?

“Aww, don’t be like that, Angel. You had a few swigs too,” He whined.

“But the difference is I own the place. You? You’re here to flirt your way into a few drinks and walk out without paying, huh?” You teased, boldly leaning over the bar top, your face just inches away from the most dangerous man in town. And here you were, welcoming said danger.

Shanks smirked, downing the last corner of the whiskey in his glass, leaning towards you until the tips of your nose had grazed one another’s, “Without paying? What kind of man you take me for? I’ll pay you back tenfold and then some in ways these little boys that run around here can’t. I’ll make you feel like the only one in the world.” His tone had darkened.

“Yeah? What kind of payment are you looking to treat me to, Red?” You played coy.

“Come around the bar and I’ll show you, Angel.”

Which is how you ended up here, bent over the bar with his body pressed against yours, his rough lips trailing down to the base of your neck. You wanted this. You need this. You craved this, you craved him. To hell with the consequences, you needed him.

He pulled away suddenly, straightening himself back up. He wasted no time, flipping up your minidress to reveal your ass, “Such a perfect ass. You wanted me to see you like this, huh? This little fucking dress you got on. If you can even call this little thing a dress.” His hands gently caressed your ass, as he focused on your already-soaked panties, “Never have I seen a dress so short. If you bent over earlier, I’d see everything. But you’d like that wouldn’t you, Angel? You’re already dripping. Slip out of these for me.”

You nodded your head, helping him pull down your drenched panties. You stepped out of them, letting them fall to the floor. You reached for the zipper of your dress next, “The dress too?”

“The dress stays on. Need to fuck you good in this so you remember me every time you put it on.”

You unconsciously squeezed your thighs together at his words, reaching around to capture his lips in a short kiss. He pulled away from your lips, giving your ass a tight squeeze. He placed two fingers on your bottom lip, “Suck. Get them all nice and wet for me.”

You took his digits into your mouth, coating them. Once they were drenched to his liking, he pulled them out of your mouth, replacing them with his lips on yours in a sloppy kiss. He used his foot, to spread your legs further, bringing his drenched digits down to your core. He slid his fingers up and down your entrance, before sliding them inside of you painfully slow, making you moan into his mouth.

He began to pump his fingers into you, pulling away from your lips, “This okay?”

“Better than okay. Your fingers feel really good.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He latched onto your shoulder, sucking and licking at your skin, as he drove his thick digits in and out of you, curling them. His pace grew faster in response to your moans. He needed to hear more, he wanted you to be loud. He needed to hear just how good he was making you feel, letting all your worries wash away and be replaced with pleasure.

Your body began to wrench underneath him. You were close, so dangerously close. And he knew it. He could feel your walls contracting around his fingers. “Close, Angel?” He said into your shoulder, earning a frantic nod from you.

Very suddenly, his lips parted from your shoulder and he slipped his digits out of you. Before you could whine about the loss of contact, how you were so close, the mobster carefully dropped to his knees, shoving his face into your cunt, burying his hot tongue into you. Finally tasting you, he hummed in delight.

“Fuck!” Your body shuttered, reaching your high on his face. He helped you ride out your first orgasm on his tongue, but he continued to lap at your folds from behind, whispering praises you couldn’t even focus on due to the slight sting of overstimulation washing over your body. You tried to lean away from his mouth, though the mobster had other plans, wrapping his arm around to keep you moving too far. “I’m not finished with you yet. Be a good little barkeep and take everything I give you.”

You gripped tightly onto the edge of the bar, pushing your ass back to meet his tongue, fucking yourself on the muscle. Though you could not see him, from his delighted hums and the way his fingers gripped into the plush of your skin, you knew he was enjoying himself too.

It was not long before the second band of pleasure began to build up inside of you. Feeling you contract around his tongue, his large hand found its way back to yours, intertwining your fingers. You gave his hand a tight squeeze before cumming. Your second orgasm washed over you even more intensely than the first. Your legs had nearly given out, if you weren’t trapped between him and the bar, you would have likely fallen.

He helped you ride out your second orgasm, before letting go of your hand. His hand found the bar to use as a crutch to stand. He used the back of his hand, to wipe the glistening arousal still left on his chin, “You may taste much better than the whiskey. But maybe I need another taste to compare the two.”

After catching your breath, you slowly turned around to face him. You watched the redhead reach for the whiskey bottle, taking the last swig. He looked between you and the empty bottle, “I was correct, you taste better.”

You roll your eyes. “Even after all that, you’re still adding to your tab.”

“I can pay it off now, don’t you think?” He pulled you into a passionate kiss, leaving your hands pressed onto his chest. Everything about him was intoxicating. He was addicting. You just could not get enough of him.

Your hands had found themselves on the buttons of his shirt, undoing the rest of them. He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, helping you slip his shirt off. You fiddled with the button and zipper of his trousers, undoing them before palming his bulge. He sighed softly, his dark eyes never left yours. “If you didn’t owe me for the whiskey maybe I’d return the favor this time,” You teased.

“Oh, how mean,” He chuckled, “You’ll have plenty of chances to return the favor later.”

“Oh? I will?”

“Absolutely,” He placed a peck on the tip of your nose, sealing his promise. “Spin around again for me.” You spun around in his warm hold, finding yourself bent over the bar for him again. You flipped up your dress this time. Though a piece of you wanted to see him, all of him, you sure didn’t mind being bent over like this, with nowhere to run, the man you shouldn’t be with pinning you down. It was all just such a rush.

Shanks pulled his trousers down just enough to free his hardened cock. He suddenly guided his length along your folds, using your arousal as lubricant. The action made you jolt in surprise. Against your entrance, you could feel how thick he was. You could even feel the prominent veins running down his shaft.

“You feel me, Angel? What you do to me? Huh?” He purred lowly. You hummed in response, eagerly anticipating feeling him deep inside of you. Shanks lined his length up with your entrance, guiding his length into your dripping core. You both let out a drawn-out moan as he bottomed out. The stretch of his cock inside of you was delicious. You’ve never felt so full.

The redhead leaned down, kissing up from your shoulder to your neck, “Fuck, you feel better than I imagined. I should just whisk you away after this.”

You grinned, tossing your head to the side to give him more access to your neck, “I wouldn’t mind for a day.”

“All I get is one day?”

“Fuck me right and I’ll consider adding a second.”

“Such a fucking tease,” He whispered, kissing your lips as he began to rock his hips into yours. He rolled out, leaving the tip before sinking back into your cunt, moaning against your lips. He set a slow but deep pace into you, as he kissed you, swallowing every moan and whimper you were giving him.

His pace gradually grew. His thrusts had grown fast and rough. He let go of your lips, groaning a hushed fuck into your shoulder. Your speakeasy was filled with the sound of his hips pounding your ass into the bar, your moans, and his low curses and praises of you.

“You’re taking me so well. So fucking well,” He praised. His hand moved from its place on your hip, down to your clit to rub rapid, messy circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. He didn’t miss the way you shivered at the sensation. The way you gripped tighter onto the bar, the way your eyes had wired shut. “My pretty angel.”

He leaned close to your ear, “You like being fucked like this? Huh? Knowing anyone could just walk in and see you like this? To see you for what you truly are? I need your words, gorgeous.”

“YES! I LOVE IT, SHANKS!”

“Oh, so you can say my name. How cute.” He could feel your walls start to contract again. A cocky grin appeared on his features, “You gonna cum again, Angel?”

“YES! FUCK YES!”

“Cum.” He grunted into your ear, sending you over the edge once more. You shuttered underneath him with a loud cry of his name, coating his cock in your juices. Your orgasm had nearly brought him to his end. He shut his eyes tightly, as he focused on hitting that high. His thrusts were sloppy and uneven, he was so close, “I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

“My mouth.”

“Yeah?”

The redhead pulled out, stroking his cock, as he watched you spin around and drop to your knees. You swatted away his hand, replacing it with yours, as you took him as deep as you could into your mouth.

“FUCK!” He shivered under your touch, your hot mouth, shooting ropes of his warm cum down your throat. His hand found its way to the back of your head, pushing you further onto his cock, as he gently thrusted into your mouth to ride out his orgasm. After a deep sigh and a hearty laugh, he pulled his length out of your mouth. “Get your pretty ass up here.”

You climbed back up to your somewhat still wobbling feet, nearly falling into him, as he crashed his lips onto yours. You were the one to pull away this time, “You should get outta here, Red. I don’t want my folks to see you here.”

“You kicking me to the curb like that? I’m hurt,” He pouted, “Aw come on, the night is still young. We can do whatever you like. Hit up another bar, go for a nice drive through town…” He trailed off, reaching for the hem of your dress, “…maybe take this thing off back at my place. We can do whatever your little heart desires. Just be my angel.”

“You want me to be your angel for the night?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, my angel for a lifetime,” He clarified, stepping behind you, peppering your neck in open-mouthed kisses. You tried your hardest to act uninterested. You folded your arms across your chest, crossed your legs, and pretended to be annoyed at his affections.

A one-night stand was one thing, but being with him was something different. There was no turning back then. There was no telling what your folks would do if they found it, even if they found out about him being here. Could you risk it? Would you risk it?

He was no good for you. But it made you desire him even more. Just...just this once. Just...him. You needed to have him.

What the family didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, right?

#pretending i was here the whole time #SHHHHH YALL LET THIS ONE SLIDE PLS #one piece #shanks #red haired shanks #Akagami no Shanks #shanks x reader #shanks smut #one piece x reader #one piece oneshots #one piece scenarios #one piece imagines #one piece headcanons #one piece smut #☆ — MY LOVE MINE ALL MINE.

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yuri-is-online · 9 months

Text

Missed Connection Section of the NRC Gazette (Floyd, Leona, and Ruggie)

While cleaning the Ramshackle guest room, the prefect occasionally finds items that remind them of their guests. Sometimes that is because those items actually belong to them and need to be returned, other times it's just a happy coincidence. Either way, the item needs to be delivered, might as well invite them over again? Or just chase them down, whatever is most convenient.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, Yuu is implied to be short, based off the personal items you can find in the guest room and a line from Floyd's dormwear card, title inspired by a country song that has nothing to do with the subject of the fic. I got a request for the 300 followers event, but since it's closed and I had this kicking around for Floyd anyway I added the other two requested characters. If you liked this you can read my other fics here.

Grey Scarf

"Floyd." Azul has a boring look on his face, all grimacy and angry and not worth Floyd's attention. Unfortunately he is very close to his face making it a tad impossible to ignore. "Where is your scarf?"

"Dunno." He says. "I ain't wearing it."

"I can see that." Snaps Azul. "You need it for your shift, you look sloppy enough as it is. You scarf is a part of your uniform! How can you be so careless with it?"

Because it's ugly. Sure, it matches his dorm uniform kind of but his socks get to be a snazzy purple with a cute octopus pattern, why'd the scarf have to be such a boring grey? Rules are rules though, and he does need it to work so he drags himself back over to his room and starts looking around. Normally, he would just steal Jade's and wait tables until he figured it out and forced Floyd to take the kitchen off his hands, but Floyd really didn't feel like cooking today. He didn't feel like waiting tables either, but money was money and Azul paid well. Only if he could find his stupid scarf apparently which was nowhere he could see, and he was far from happy about physically looking. Jade opens the door as he's halfway through emptying his bedside drawer on top of his bed, alongside all the laundry he'd had scattered across the floor.

"Looking for your scarf?" Floyd throws a pillow at him which is quickly returned with a pointed look that dares him to escalate things further just obviously enough Floyd doesn't want to do it. Instead he falls face first into the pile of laundry and nick nacks he'd been sorting through, making Jade sigh in disappointment.

"'s not here." Floyd grunts, muffled by an ok smelling t-shirt.

"Have you tried retracing your steps?" Jade is saying it just to be annoying but it is ok advice. Floyd tries, he doesn't usually wear his dorm uniform outside of school stuff, so it would have to be somewhere on campus. He hauls himself up from the pile and shuffles past his brother, the walk out of the mirror and towards the main campus passing by in a blur. There's a vague memory of club practice, but that could have been from any day this week, and it's not like he wears it to classes. Floyd chews on his lip in annoyance, he feels like he remembers where the last place the scarf was, but his bad mood is keeping him from sorting through his memories intellectually. It also keeps him from looking where he's going, smacking him directly into a very tiny, very familiar looking person who pointedly ignores his angry snarl to shove something in his face. Something very familiar, very boring, and very clearly the only reason either of them had left their dorms this evening.

"Seriously," the little shrimp has to stand up on their tip toes to throw the scarf around his shoulders "you have got to stop leaving your things at my dorm!" He thinks they're angry. That would explain the look on their face, but it's making his heart do weird flips between his chest and his stomach that keep him from thinking straight. A smile finds its way to his face, wide and unbidden coupled with outstretched arms that can't catch them fast enough, like he's reaching through honey even though he finds his mark and tugs them thrashing into his embrace.

"Awww," the words that come out of his mouth don't really feel like his "was little shrimpy wooooried about me?" He should say thank you. That's what Mamma Leech would say, and it's not that he doesn't want to, it's just there's a weird weight to the words he can't quite figure out. Something that wants to be said, but not just yet. They deserve a better tone, a better mood.

"No!" Yuu yells, muffled by his squeeze and unaware of how struggling is only going to make his hold tighter. "You just always burst in and whine about being bored-" Floyd nuzzles his cheek against theirs, trying to ignore the pushing against his chest as he sets them down.

"It's ok little shrimpy, you don't have to be so modest. Good shrimpies get rewards, I'll make sure to bring you something after I get off work, make sure to leave the door unlocked for me~" Or maybe don't, he could find his way in anyway he's sure of that but there's something about the fantasy of them wanting to see him (it's not a fantasy, they've invited him over before he knows that they don't fear him as much as they should) after work that's going to get him through the shift. Maybe he'll ditch the scarf again and make them come running after him on purpose this time, he thinks to himself with an uncharacteristically gentle smile.

Grand Wallet

Contrary to what he would say out-loud, Leona does think that the Ramshackle Prefect is quite smart. You do not survive as a magicless student from a different reality without some flexibility and raw intelligence. The consistency with which they could pick up on things and see through concealed intentions demands respect. But, he supposes as he idly thumbs through his bill fold disappointed to find it just as thick as when he left it, they are also... he decides to go with nice. The concerned way they stare at him is nice, Leona likes positive attention. He just wishes it wasn't from the nicest person he knows, is it so wrong to wish he had some reassurance that there was someone willing to be only nice to him? There's an ugly sort of suspicion they might have refused to steal from him out of fear, he's certainly more of a threat to them than he is to Ruggie.

"Well I guess I owe you a reward huh?" They jump, not helping the accusation (unvoiced) that they're only doing this out of fear.

"No?" Yuu says, looking around them probably to make sure that bratty cat monster isn't within earshot. Leona doesn't care about rewarding Grim, this is between him and the prefect, not some gluttonous bastard who is half the reason he was expecting to be stolen from in the first place. "You- Just stop forgetting things at my place!" He smiles slightly at that choice of phrasing just as they cringe at it. It almost makes him sound like a normal guy, if a Prince was leaving things around someone's place that would invite speculation; and Leona knows better than anyone that speculation invites scandal.

"Real shame no one ever does things out of the goodness of their hearts these days." His voice drawls as embarrassment settles over their face. They look almost mouse-like, if they try to speak Leona just knows they'll squeak and they clearly know it too. "You're really twisting my arm here, pretty shameless, prefect." That does it, the deep breath they take does nothing but really accentuate the harsh contrast of the squeaking to their normal voice.

"I did not," Yuu is so mortified they can barely get the words out, if he can't be the only recipient of their kindness he will satisfy himself with batting them around in his paws until they can pull together some nerves and force him to stop "return your wallet just for a reward. It's yours it belongs to you and now it is back where it belongs. Which isn't my guest room on top of a fucking couch seriously Leona-" Mice still have claws, even if the dent they leave is just a little scratch to such a big cat, he finds himself pleased with the annoyance of Yuu finding their voice. "It was like you were practically begging to be robbed. What if one of the Leech twins found that huh? Would you be getting it back?"

"Only after I paid the finders fee." He can ignore the tickle caused by the unsavory image of an eel inviting itself into your personal space. "Which is what I am doin' now, you're demanding it remember?" He tunes his ears to their footsteps as he walks towards the cafeteria, content with how quickly they jump to follow. The typically steady beat of their heart is skipping in tune with the directions of their thoughts. Good, the mouse is smart contrary to what the trapped lion thinks, so let them; they'll realize the hold they have over him soon enough.

Empty Lunch Box

This was really starting to annoy you, but no matter how much you turned the whole thing over in your mind you couldn't figure out why. You had been tempted to try and ask someone about it, but you could already tell what the general reaction to the situation would be.

The "situation" being that simply put, Ruggie liked to hang out in your guest room. That wasn't the issue. You liked having Ruggie over, it's actually really nice. Sometimes he brings small projects from some odd job or another and you'll work on them together while having a chat. He likes to ask you things about your world, it started as just small talk about the sort of jobs you'd had in your world but evolved into much more meaningful talks about your hobbies and the family you missed. You had even had a lengthy conversation about death and the difference between cultural beliefs about where you go after you die. Yes it was very nice and domestic even but then you made the mistake of trying to be nice.

Ruggie liked to bring a lunchbox with him when he visited. Sometimes it had food in it, and while he hadn't shared it with you at first, but then you started talking about your families and he had slightly warmed up to the idea of sharing snacks. You hadn't taken anything from him until he explicitly offered, and when he forgot the now empty lunch box you had pulled some of your personal savings to get him something from the Mystery Shop. It was supposed to be a cute surprise for him to find when you returned the lunch box, and it worked. Granted you had intended for him to find it after he got back to his dorm, but he had sniffed it out as soon as you handed it over. His reaction was cute, he was cute, it was almost like he thought he was dreaming with just how excited he had been to receive some packaged pastries. When he came over later in the week and left the lunchbox again you had done the same thing. Fair is fair, he gets you jobs and shares his food and you give a little food back in return. Lately though something has been different. Ruggie has still been coming to hang out, he still brings work, you still talk, and he still leaves that damn lunch box. But he hasn't been sharing anything, meaningful; personal information or foodwise.

Maybe it was the death conversation. If you had revealed you were an orphan and that you never knew your mom to someone you had a crush on (not that Ruggie like likes you no matter how much you might might want that) you would be pumping the breaks too. But it still kind of hurt, it felt like a rejection of something that you knew hadn't existed in the first place.

"Y'know you don't have to give me stuff." Ruggie had come over today too, with shitty plastic garbage that needed packed into boxes. He's either read your mind or noticed you brought the remainder of the packaged goods out to snack on while you work. You try to asses him from behind your pile of card stock, he's overly focused on his task. Reflective maybe? He is almost pouting.

"I wanted to." You decide to stick with honesty, sure Ruggie might be sneaky but he deserves that much, doesn't he? "You share with me, I share with you. Fair's fair, right?"

"Right." Ruggie says, audibly disappointed to your confusion. You have never seen him so... gloomy over the concept of someone owing him a favor. Especially one paid back in food. "You do that for everybody, yeah?"

"Yeah?" You say, pausing in your work for just a second to try and collect yourself. Up until a few seconds ago you had been under the impression that had been one of your better qualities.

"So like," he isn't looking at you and his ears are saggy, tugging at your heartstrings painfully though just a tiny part of you is starting to hope- "if Leona left no that doesn't make sense. If Jack left his lunch box here and it was empty would you buy him a snack?" You think for a second.

"Did he share his lunch with me?"

"Yes." Ruggie's looking at you again, like he has a bone to pick.

"Maybe." You don't really have to think about the answer, as much as you like returning the favor Jack would probably just be happy to find his lost item and leave it at that. "If we were hanging out and he wanted something from a vending machine I'd spot him."

"But you wouldn't go out of your way to get him something?" Ruggie's stopped working now, he's really staring at you almost like he is trying to sus you out as if he hasn't been friends with you for a while now. As if he doesn't know more of your secrets than anyone else.

"I-" for some reason what you want to say gets stuck on your throat, maybe it's because Ruggie leans across the couch to get a bit closer to your face. Maybe it's because you are suddenly a lot more aware of what your little actions might have meant to him as your previous conversations play over in your mind "no. You're the only person I've really gone out of my way to get food for. Well except for maybe Grim but he doesn't really count..." You both let out sharp breaths, your eyes fall down to your work, hands going back to the task out of habit and desire to distract yourself.

shishishishi

Ruggie is silent and back in his perch across from you once your head snaps up to look at him. His small grin is intoxicating, his tail is swishing in pride like he's just won a great victory in some war you had no idea he was fighting. It is a smug look, too smug for someone who just put you through a few days of mental torture.

Maybe you'll make him some food next time, you'll see who is smug after that.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #ruggie bucci x reader #when i realized leona leaves his whole ass wallet at your guest room i screamed #the soul of ruggie bucchi became my stand #and we had a spiritual experience with the amount of horror we felt at the idea of a fucking PRINCE LEAVING HIS GODDAMN WALLET #WAS YOUR DRIVER'S LICENSE IN THAT LEONA? EVER THINK OF THAT #FORGET THE CASH AND CARDS YOUR FUCKING LICENSE??? LEONA???

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swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual · 9 months

Text

Danny Phantom doesn’t want to be king.

And the Observants also don’t want him to be king.

Frankly, very VERY few people want him to be king, dead or alive.

But opening the sarcophagus, even if it’s closed NOW, disrupted some magic protections. Until those can be fixed, summoning spells need to be answered by SOMEONE. Not all of summons, just like—once a month or so. Because if they don’t let that power outlet happen, all of those summon magics build up and suddenly Pariah Dark reigns again. Answering the summon basically dispels the built up magic, like opening a dam.

Again, Danny doesn’t WANT to do this either, but everyone else involved is a bad choice. He won’t even be named prince, because THEN that implies he COULD be king. He needs a title, of some kind, a position in the court, no matter how tenuous, so he can do the thing. Something where no one in their right or even WRONG mind would think to try to kill him for the position or try to marry him or something equally annoying to deal with.

So.

He becomes the Ghost Court Jester.

He even gets a fancy little outfit upgrade when he’s summoned, all black and white bell hats and shoes, a stupid little ruffle collar and black parachute pants, even face paint with a tiny dot of glowing neon green at the tip of his nose. The works. Better yet, if he hasn’t been ‘unsummoned’, his human form is just the exact same costume with swapped colors. He can change into his normal outfits, but until that circle has been disrupted, the next summon, or the next full or new moon, he’s stuck into the outfit when he first transforms from either form.

The Phantom Jester, which is a title more intimidating than Danny appears to be if we are to be honest, cracks jokes and never, EVER takes the summons seriously.

“Listen, I just had to get my hours in and it’s the last day of the lunar month, you got lucky I came at all.”

“I got the position by virtue of not wanting to go to Time Jail for a crime I technically didn’t commit and technically probably won’t but, well, eyes are the beholder of the grudge or something else equally cryptic to make you mad.”

“Is this a slumber party? … do you have cake? Bummer. Well, enjoy the bleeding walls then.”

“Whether I help you or not is entirely dependent on how well of a run down you can give me on this book I have to read that I have not at all touched.”

“Explain the reason in three sentences or less. I suggest less. And if it’s stupid I’m hitting you—oh you think this circle can contain me? Haha. It won’t.”

“Is that chicken blood? Why?? What did the chickens do to you?”

There are props in his costume but he literally never knows what he’s gonna pull out of his sleeves. Danny can’t even do a balloon animal and knows exactly zero card tricks, which would be more of an issue if the cards weren’t the size of a dinner plate. He barely even juggles and he’s honestly probably just utilizing his rarely-used telekinetic powers, but he does give people flowers if they haven’t been a total jerk. And if those flowers are like, rare and have seeds for propagation, well… he literally wouldn’t know. No, really, he doesn’t. He gets summoned by at least two ecology departments and he has no idea why, I mean, if he had a nickel—

He also had pies and is NOT afraid to use them.

#danny phantom #danny phantom headcanon #I usually do crossover stuff these days #but I deliberately left it out so anyone could chose to do so or not #that said…. could you imagine #there’s so many fandoms where this would just be really fucking funny #rare spell ingredients? super serious situation? life and death in the BALANCE?#and here’s a sassy teenager who isn’t even getting paid for this #you summoned him and now he’s YOUR problem #fair warning he bites #someone calls him a mime and he almost decks them #Mimes and clowns are noble pursuits!#this is like. pun-ishment of some kind

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samwhump · 2 months

Text

a (very inexhaustive, wincest-heavy) sam whump reclist

@transfemmesam asked me for Sam whump recs a few days ago, and I've had other requests in the same vein before (I can't imagine why.../s) so I thought I would throw this together, since these authors deserve all of the love and support for their contributions to our li'l fandom corner.

like I mentioned in the title, this is not at all a comprehensive list; I have at least ~200 more fics in my to-read queue that could thematically fit here, but alas, I have stupid shit like a job and a body and a dog to take care of, so. I'm always happy to get recs along these lines, so if you notice anything important missing, hit me UP. (and don't take any omissions as any specific commentary by me -- it's likely I just haven't had the chance to read it yet, haha.)

disclaimers:

some (most, honestly) of these contain potentially triggering and dark content, including but not limited to rape/noncon, torture, and suicidal attempts & ideation. I have tried to note content warnings where applicable, and most of the works are hosted on ao3, so the tags should have most of the information you need to make an informed decision. that being said, tread with caution. all of the summaries provided are from the original author, with warnings added after by me.

the list is in alphabetical order and separated into wincest and gen categories. a lot of the gen is also focused on the sam & dean relationship, because...I am what I am. and what I am a sucker for these two dipshits. there is also a brief section at the end with a few fics that don't fit into either category.

gen

All That Goes Unspoken by amnesiawife:

A case forces Sam to confront something long kept buried. (Set nebulously in season 12.)

CW: discussions of past rape/noncon, victim blaming

Beneath the Trees 'verse by Lise (5 works total, starting with Beneath the Trees, Where Nobody Sees):

Sam doesn't go to Stanford. Everything goes downhill from there.

CW: suicidal ideation

a boy is a cage by ad_castra:

After expelling Gadreel from Sam's body, Dean thinks they're in the clear. If only they were that lucky. // S9 fic wherein Gadreel's grace causes some adverse side-effects in Sam's mind.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon, body horror

body of proof by Askance (doomcountry):

There are things Sam hasn't told his brother. They're all in the envelope laid on Dean's pillow.

CW: heavy discussion of past rape/noncon

break these bones 'til they're better by redskyatmorning:

After Sam’s torture at the hands of the British Men of Letters, the latest in a long string of violations, he is rescued by Dean and Mary – and forced to ponder his broken relationship with his own body. Months later, when Sam is resurrected and tormented by Lucifer yet again, Dean confronts Mary and Sam gets his revenge against the devil.

catching my death (staring out an open window) by ad_castra:

Sam gazes at the window, catches the faint pink hue tinting the sky. It’s so realistic - he could breathe in the fresh air if he were really here. ----- They got Sam out. Sometimes, just knowing that isn't enough.

CW: implied past rape/noncon

Death of Convenience by WilsonTheMoose:

It should have been easy. Wendigos are no joke but daylight slows them. The weather's been unpredictable though and perfect, idyllic hunts don't exactly stay that way where they're concerned. Or Sam has one card to play and never stops to think that Dean would care if he killed himself.

CW: suicidal ideation, references to suicide

Echoes of Hell by The_Nightbreaker:

It wasn't real. He wasn't in Hell anymore. That's what he tried to tell himself over and over. But two centuries of torture don't disappear in a day. Sam struggles with visions of Hell, fighting to maintain his grip on reality. Dean hates that he can't protect his brother from what isn't real—but curse him if he doesn't try. When the boys stumble on a case with ties to the Devil himself, will they be able to pull themselves together in time to stop the sacrifices? Or will the echoes of Hell finally overtake them? Aka, season 7, but the plot is Hell trauma, not leviathans.

CW: suicidal ideation

Evening Shadows by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating the monster who tortured him for nearly two centuries, Dean feels like he's failing his brother, and a diner waitress bears witness.

CW: past rape/noncon

Everything Dies Given Time by Lise:

AU from 5.03. Sam discovers something wrong with himself, and learns to live with it. Only a lot less functional.

CW: suicide/temporary character death

The Freedom to Be Loud by jribbing:

It hadn’t occurred to Dean that maybe Sam remembered so much about that little nowhere town because something memorable had happened there.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

golgotha by redskyatmorning:

There’s a vacancy on the throne of hell, and Sam is desperate enough to save Dean from Michael’s possession to give into the abyssal depths of his own darkness.

Head Space by ameliacareful:

A witch curses Sam leaving him blind, deaf, and bedridden. Left with only the inside of his own head and the occasional touch, Sam begins to unravel.

CW: suicidal ideation

Hiraeth by inkandpaperqwerty:

(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past "Dean... I made a really big mistake." For a second, Dean actually thought things were going okay. He was out of Hell, Sam agreed to stop drinking demon blood, they had just wrapped up a successful hunt... for once, everything was okay. And then it wasn't. "I overdosed." Not at all.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

if i could leave (i would've already left) by serendipity0930:

“I have a mission from God for you,” the Angel whispers to the man. “It is time for you to do what you were born to.” The man’s face twists into a smile, delighted over being chosen by Him, a purpose from God digging into his heart, carving out a place to fester. “Hunt.” ... 05x03 AU where Zachariah is even more determined to keep the brothers apart and hunters are all too willing to take Lucifer's True Vessel off the board for good

CW: referenced suicide

It's A River (But Not In Egypt) by Lise:

He's still a liar. Maybe always has been.

CW: toxic Sam/Lucifer dynamics

Kindred Instruments by PinBitch:

They’re in a tug of war and Sam is the rope. He doesn’t need to be alive for that. OR Sam dies in detox, being flung against the walls of a metal box will do that to you. Dean and Ruby pick up the pieces.

CW: temporary main character death, permanent supporting character death

lazarus trick by katsidhe:

Sam's alive, so everything is gonna be okay. 13.22 coda.

Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence by Lise:

Sam's back. He's in one piece. That's the problem.

CW: self-harm

love is like ghosts by redskyatmorning:

I’m poison, Dean had said instead of I’m sorry. Well, Sam wants to say, what does that make me? What the hell does that make me? (A look into Sam's mind in the aftermath of the Gadreel possession.)

The Other Brother by RadioFriday:

Sam and Adam are pulled from the cage at the same time. Sam is not right, and Adam, stuck as his caretaker, is not pleased.

Oxygen by inkandpaperqwerty:

“Cas! Cas, please! Please, answer me! Cas!” Castiel ignores Dean for several minutes, but then Dean gives him an opening that might help him complete his mission. So, he goes to investigate, and what he finds is a very bloody, nearly dead Sam. Dean tells him where the injuries came from, and Castiel quickly becomes confused. It doesn't make sense, but Dean tries to explain it to him, and slowly... Castiel begins to understand.

CW: suicide attempt

Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc by AmberSock:

Sam waits, kneeling, for his execution. What if Dean hadn't missed?

CW: temporary character death

Safety In Distance by GalaxyThreads and SpiritClusters:

The Mark of Cain is a brand of violence. Sam was an idiot to think that he'd be exempt from it, just because he and Dean are siblings.

sometimes a kind of singing by adi_rotynd:

Sam gets cursed. They're dealing with it. Jack can see souls. That one they're not dealing with quite as well.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon

Soul Windows by GalaxyThreads and Spirit Clusters:

A few months after his birth, Jack learns how to see souls. Then he comes to a realization about the Winchester brothers, Sam in particular, and it's not a pleasant one. (gen)

Starry Night by keepcalmsmile:

Sam attempts suicide-by-monster. Dean tries to help. It sort of works...until it doesn't.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

such fragile, broken things by The_Bookkeeper:

Sam wishes that Dean would just get it over with already.

The Tale of Sir Galahad by keepcalmsmile:

Sam once said he could never be clean like Sir Galahad. Dean assumed he was just talking about the demon blood. Turns out, Sam was talking about something else too. WARNING: Extended discussions of the aftermath of rape and childhood sexual abuse (but NO description of the actual events). Happy(ish) ending, but potentially very triggering.

CW: past rape/noncon, mentioned CSA

They Hammered in His Teeth by jribbing:

Sam has a secret.

CW: suicidal ideation

today's troubles (are history tomorrow) by a_good_soldier:

"It's not really something I know how to share," Sam had said. In which Dean figures he ought to help Sam out a bit.

Touch and Go by themegalosaurus:

Tag to 9.19 (Alex Annie Alexis Ann) in which Dean realises why, exactly, Sam is so angry about what happened with Gadreel.

trust fall by ad_castra:

“I’m nothing like you,” Sam hisses. Nevermind relating to the anguish of going it alone. Nevermind that he knows what it is to be strapped down and forcibly cleansed against his will. Sam wonders if these trials are purifying Crowley as well.

Words Like Glass by broken_cinders:

Dean never figured the cage wouldn't leave a mark. He was prepared for memories, flashbacks, and nightmares. He wasn't expecting the words Sam brought back with him or the way they made him seem just a breath beyond Dean's reach.

Wound and Unwound by fascra:

Sam stops eating spring of his freshman year.

CW: eating disorder

wincest (dean/sam)

Brittle by thecapn:

Sam Winchester has an eating disorder.

CW: eating disorder

Don't You Cry No More by sixtysevenlmpala (schittyfic):

The first time Sam gets badly hurt on a hunt, he doesn’t cry. Dean does.

Fall On Your Knees by dollylux:

Sam doesn't quite make it home on the last day of school before winter break.

The Fall Will Probably Kill You by killabeez:

Set between 7.04 and the aftermath of 7.07. Dean is not as okay as he'd like you to think. Neither is Sam.

CW: self-harm

Feels so good to feel again by Trojie:

The pain keeps Lucifer at bay, at least to start with.

Follow In Your Form by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating Lucifer in the wake of Cas bringing his Hell Wall crashing down. To make matters worse, it seems like this has his dormant powers flaring back to life.

Last Temptation by merle_p:

Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

leeches by Anonymous:

Sam discovers a spell to make everybody forget him. He’s convinced it’s for the best. Pre-Stanford.

CW: attempted kidnapping/torture

Make Thick My Blood by themegalosaurus:

“You’re going to kill me, Dean,” Sam says, eventually. And all Dean can say is, “I think I am.” A season 10 AU, set after 10x14 ('The Executioner's Song'). Cas finds a solution that might cure the Mark of Cain; but if they're going to go through with it, Sam has a terrible price to pay.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Prophecy of an Abomination by ashitanoyuki:

Sam is kidnapped by fanatically religious hunters and crucified. Coming back from this won't be easy. Canon-divergent from midway through season 2.

Recall by De_Nugis:

Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.

The Room Upstairs by brokenlittleboy:

Sam comes back from hell, but he’s inside-out and all wrong, and Dean can’t fix him.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Ruin You (and its companion fic Worth) by Mumble_Bee:

Cole fucks Sam with Demon!Dean watching from a devil's trap, snarling that anyone would dare touch what was his. “I told you I don’t care what you do to his face or his blood or his fucking nose,” Dean growled, “but you put your dick anywhere near him and I will end you.” “Better hurry up then, Dean, because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

CW: explicit rape/noncon

Snowed In by HelloStarlingFics:

When working a case, Sam and Dean get stuck out in a shack in the woods when the snow comes in hard and fast. Trouble is, Sam’s hated the cold ever since the Cage. Time for Dean to step up and look after him.

Wake by minchout:

Gadreel has had Sam for four years, and Dean, lost in guilt and obsessed with finding a way to get his brother back, has isolated himself in a cabin in the Missouri Ozarks with nothing but the woods, a stray dog, some chickens, and all the books the Men of Letters had to offer to keep him company. Then Sam shows up one day without his passenger, and Dean learns quickly that it doesn't matter that Sam is with him again - there is still a lot of work to be done before they can find their way back to each other.

Wanting to Forget by morganaDW (morgana07):

1-shot. S1 fic. After getting Sam freed from the Benders Dean thinks all he has to cope with is some bruises and cuts. He learns quickly just how wrong he is when Sam wakes up with a nightmare, reliving his brief but bad captivity in every detail. Sam just wants to forget & Dean has to try to get him to let him help. Will one night of cruelty and pain ruin what’s been formed between them?

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

when I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place by quake_quiver:

Sam doesn’t remember the last time he cried for Dean like he did that night. And now it’s been…two weeks. Maybe more. Sam is tired, and in pain, and starting to doubt that Dean’s going to show up. He’s weak and shaking from a combination of constant pain and hunger. Sam longs for Dean. Dean would make it better. Dean would fix it.

CW: rape/noncon, body horror

Wire Inside Me by merle_p:

There are a lot of things Sam hates about his current condition, to the point where he sometimes feels for the gun under his pillow at night, blindly toys with the safety, imagines pressing the muzzle into the underside of his chin and pulling the trigger just to make it stop. But there’s nothing he hates as much as the shadows he sees in Dean’s eyes whenever his brother is looking at him these days. It’s not an expression he remembers ever seeing before, but Sam thinks it’s probably something like revulsion. Horror. Disgust. What else could it be.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon, body horror, forced pregnancy

Worth (and its companion fic Ruin You) by Mumble_Bee:

Episode 10x01 "Black" where Dean is a human, and very, very, pissed off to hear someone has hands on his brother. “It’s nothing personal,” Cole whispered into Sam's ear, too quietly for Dean to hear, “but I need to kill your brother, and I need him off his game when he gets here. I don’t wanna hurt you, kid, but I’m going to, anyway. I’m going to hurt you a lot."

CW: explicit rape/noncon

you'll never see us again by according2thelore:

Then finally, his eyes trail over to Dean. His pupils are pin-point thin, and his hair is straggling in his face so Dean can’t see most of what expression lies there. Sam usually wakes up from nightmares in one of three attitudes: confusion, fear, or calm. A scary, sense-prickling calm that Dean hates more than anything else. Resignation, almost. Or: Sam suffers from nightmares and touch starvation post-Cage. They do their best to deal.

other Sam/Lucifer noncon

Cage Fight (No Way To Do This Right) by Dyed_Red:

Sam’s visit to the cage is already going awry, but Dean’s one-man rescue ends up skidding it sideways into territory neither him or Sam are ready for. (Gratuitous episode scene re-write. If Cas hadn’t come till after, if he hadn’t been there yet when Dean ran down to the 'parole' cage after hearing Sam scream - how bad could it have got for the brothers before he made it?)

CW: graphic rape/noncon

Into Being by withthekeyisking:

When Sam wakes up in the cave on Apocalypse World after having been killed by vamps, it's not just to find Lucifer there with him. It's to find him in him.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, necrophilia, forced pregnancy

Reggie/Tim/Sam noncon

a pointless resistance for you by withthekeyisking:

Sam doesn't know how long he's been with Tim and Reggie by the time Dean shows up and tries to take him out of there. Long enough that's he's already lost one baby and is pregnant with the next. Long enough that this life is starting to feel like all he knows.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, forced pregnancy & miscarriage, victim blaming

screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing by withthekeyisking:

Sam has done his best to move past what Tim and Reggie did to him, pretending it never happened at all. But running into them again makes that very difficult—especially when Dean gets involved.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

Waste 'Em All by withthekeyisking:

When Tim and Reggie try to force the demon blood down Sam's throat, he spits it back out. He has no interest in being turned into their own personal attack dog. They don't...take it well.

CW: explicit rape/noncon

#sam winchester #sam whump #supernatural #supernatural fic rec #wincest

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zeroxs-stuff · 2 months

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ways to help palestine|donations

pairing: abby anderson x fem!reader

Thinking about abby stealing you from your boyfriend.

All throughout you and your boyfriends relationship, she wouldn’t fucking dare lay a hand on you in any romantic way. She isn’t that kind of person.

But what she has done was make sure you two got closer. Closer than you and your boyfriend could ever fucking be.

Don’t get me wrong—it was completely unintentional! You were crying in her arms, and she couldn’t help but take the chance by saying things like, “shh…you’re okay baby. C’mon. C’mon here with abby.” while scooping you into her arms and propping you down onto her lap while rubbing your back.

She listened closely and intently as you poured your heart out about how your boyfriend has been seeing another girl. She hugs you and puts her arm around your waist, the other snaking into your hair and massaging it to relax you. She rubs your back, “Hey—hey, c’mere baby.” she insists as you get comfortable next to her on the bed. “Sh….i’m sorry baby..its gonna be okay,” she says, “he doesn’t deserve you. You’re fuckin’ flawless sweetheart, believe me.”

The time comes—and you and your boyfriend finally break up. And what do you know? You come to her for support. Yet again.

While most people would find it tiring, she fucking loves it. She loves how you can open up to her, to her and not your stupid boyfriend. How you always come to her for support—for comfort, for happiness, or whenever you just want to have a good time.

Abby has another plan though. She was going to make sure your boyfriend mourns the loss of the fucking goddess you were—and she was going to do anything she could to make sure he knows you’re all hers now.

When the time comes that you two finally admit your long awaited confession of feelings with each other, all those years of tension obviously leads to the neediest, sloppiest—most intimate make out session ever—which then leads to sex.

Why not take a picture and send it to mr. ex boyfriend?

She smirks and sends it through an anonymous number. She titles the picture,

“Took her v card before you ever could, xoxo.”

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #the last of us #wlw blog #tlou #wlw post #tlou fic #wlw ns/fw #abby anderson x female reader #tlou2 #lgbtq #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson fanfic #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x reader

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 4 months

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Call Interrupted

Summary: Jensen is on a call that seems to be stressing him out. Y/N has some ideas to help him de-stress.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. All smut. Oral (m receiving), unprotected PinV sex, slightly rough sex (it could just be classified as very energetic! 😉), very light spanking, very brief fingering, public sex if you squint.

Pairings: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 1,358

A/N: So, sometimes my brain is just very unruly. I have a gazillion things I should be writing, requests that I'm so excited to get to, next chapters that I'm happy to continue with, etc. But did I write any of those this evening? No, of course not.

Instead, my stupid brain got caught up in a little conversation I was having with @suckitands33 about her post that I reblogged and added a few more pictures to. The conversation was regarding the picture of Jensen that I included in the title card above. That conversation wouldn't leave my brain, and this is what came out. It's all filth, of course. 😏 Enjoy! 🥰

The beautiful dividers here were created by @plum98

"I don't know, Shelia, what are the benefits?"

Jensen's voice was frustrated and stressed as you walked into his office and saw he was on a call. He had his AirPods in so it looked a bit like he was talking to himself. But he was obviously talking to his manager, Sheila. Discussing some upcoming projects, no doubt.

You'd only come in to ask him what he wanted for dinner. But he seemed so stressed - his shoulders were rigid and he was holding his head in his hand - that dinner flew out the window.

He needed some stress relief right now.

You walked towards his desk and he looked up and gave you a tight smile. You peered around his computer monitor to see if he was on a video call. But the monitor was black, so you were good to go.

You spun him in his office chair so he was facing you instead of the desk. He gave you a quizzical look, but then you sank to your knees and reached for his zipper and the look became scorching hot. You got his zipper open and were reaching for the button on his jeans when he grabbed your wrist. He pointed a finger at his airpods, obviously telling you he was on a call. But you just shrugged and raised your free hand, putting a finger to your lips.

"Shh..."

You pulled your wrist free of his slackened grip and unbuttoned him. You reached in and pulled out his heavy, half-hard cock, licking up the underside of it and making him clench his jaw and drop his head against the back of his tall, leather office chair.

You wasted no time in going down on him, bobbing your head up and down, quick and then slow. After a few minutes of alternating speeds, you wrapped your lips tight around the head of his cock, and sucked hard. He sank his teeth deep into his plump bottom lip as he fisted his hand in your hair.

Then you took him all the way in, letting him sink an inch or two down the back of your throat and then swallowing around him. His fist tightened in your hair and he pulled hard, as his other hand clenched into a fist that he pushed against his mouth as he tried desperately not to make a noise.

You came up off of him gasping slightly and slurping up the spit and come that still connected your lips to his cock.

You stood up and quickly shed your t-shirt and leggings. You wore no bra. You turned away from him as you pushed down your panties, bending over when they reached your ankles so you could pull them off, giving him a straight on view of your glistening cunt.

"Fuck." He groaned quietly.

And then he spoke louder."No, no Sheila. I'm just uh...just thinking...it's good. Keep...keep going. I'm listening."

You giggled as you straightened up and walked over to him and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. You braced your hands on his thick, round shoulders and lined his cock up at your entrance. You nibbled on his lips as you sank down on him. It was almost impossible for both of you not to groan out the pleasure sweeping over your bodies.

When you were fully seated on him, you began to unbutton his dark blue shirt, pressing your lips against every new inch of skin you revealed.

When you licked his right nipple into your mouth and bit it gently he bucked his hips and you couldn't hold back anymore. You started raising yourself up and down slowly at first, but the exquisite stretch of his thick cock made you impatient, and you were soon riding him hard and fast.

You pushed your hands under his open shirt and gripped his shoulders again, using them as leverage to slam down on him.

He squeezed your left breast in his hand and began to flick his tongue back and forth against your nipple. You sank your hand into his hair and moaned loudly.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, but Jensen was quickly apologizing to Sheila.

"You know, Sheila, sorry," his voice was tight and incredibly strained, "sorry, I've gotta. There's like a weird, something with the call. I'm gonna have to call you back."

He abruptly ended the call, slamming his hand down on the end button on his phone. He pulled his AirPods out, and you couldn’t help laughing.

"Sorry, baby! I was trying to keep quiet."

Jensen gave a playful growl and easily pulled you off of him. He stood up and flipped you around, shoving his chair back, and quickly bending you over so you had to press your hands against the desk.

As you looked over your shoulder at him, he pushed his jeans all the way off and yanked his shirt off completely, positioning himself at your entrance. Before he sank into you, however, he brought his hand down with a soft slap to your ass; it was still hard enough to make it jiggle. You gasped and he reached over his body to slap your other cheek.

"Unh!" You grunted and dropped your head down to dangle between your arms where they were braced against the desk.

Jensen spoke with a rough growl. "That was to punish you for disrupting an important phone call." He slammed himself into you, so deep you swore you could feel him in your throat.

He leaned down and slid his lips against the shell of your ear. "And this," he said moving in and out of you with a silky, languid rhythm, "is to thank you for it."

His thrusts were targeted, slowly sliding his cock along your convulsing walls to perfectly slam against your sweet spot. The pleasure was so thick that it was almost excruciating and you were soon begging him for more.

"Please, Jensen, harder, faster."

"Okay, baby." He placed kisses down your spine. "Hold on tight."

Your hands were flat against his desktop, and you tried to brace yourself there.

But he slammed into you so hard, your arms folded and you had to shove his keyboard and some papers out of the way so you could lay yourself across the desk.

He didn't stop, slamming against you so hard, you knew the fronts of your thighs would be bruised from the hard wooden desk. But you didn’t care, you wanted him to fuck you black and blue.

The coil low in your stomach was tightening and tightening until it finally exploded, making you scream and drag your nails over the desk uselessly, scratching at it without purchase.

Jensen still didn't stop, fucking you through your climax and the next one too, before he finally pushed his hands against your shoulder blades, crushing you into the desk while his hips pistoned forward, jackhammering into you until he let out a shout of ecstasy, shuddering and bucking into you over and over as he spurted hot and thick into your soaked cunt.

His breath was hot and harsh against the back of your neck, until he finally moved to brace himself against the desk, slowly pulling out of you. He pulled his chair back over to him and sank into it so he could watch his cum slowly drip out of your pussy.

"Fuck." He swore, his voice ragged. He grabbed hold of you and pulled you back into his lap, turning you so you could rest your exhausted head against his shoulder.

He let out a soft chuckle as he let his hand trail over your body, and up and down your legs.

"Was this what you came in here for?"

You smiled and shook your head. "Actually, I wanted to know what you want for dinner. But you seemed stressed."

"Hmm." he said softly. "Well, mission accomplished. I'm not stressed anymore."

His smile was wicked as he ran his wandering hand over your pussy, sliding two thick fingers through the sloppy mess of your cunt.

"And I definitely know what I want to eat."

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

#jensen ackles rpf #jensen x reader #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles drabble

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moonflowerdamie · 9 months

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everyone thinks that they know us (but they know nothing)

Word Count: 2.7k

Title from 'Dress' by Taylor Swift.

Based on a request from @idkwhatnameuselol :)

*****

3:28 blinks back at you from the clock on your bedside table as you turn to check it for what must be the hundredth time. The numbers, red and unassuming, may as well be laser beams with how they send a pang of anxious pain through your head. You’ve got to be up in less than 5 hours. Brilliant.

You are, typically, an overthinker. So this, the situation you find yourself in now—mind whirring, brain unable to shut down—is not uncharacteristic in the slightest. It’s almost laughable that you thought you’d be getting a full 8 hours tonight, what with the stunt you’re planning to pull tomorrow—well, today, actually. The correction makes you wince.

Rolling onto your back, you stare up at the ceiling in the dark. By this point, you’ve practically given up on getting any sleep; a stupid move, given the very important game you’re to be a part of in less than 10 hours. But sleep seems a distant dream, and you’re not going to frustrate yourself with another futile attempt. Better to be calm and awake, rather than irritated and grumpy.

You’re pretty set on just waiting the night out when you feel her turn over beside you, an arm slung over your waist, her fingers curling protectively over your hip.

“Why are you still awake?”

Alessia’s voice is hoarse from sleep, her eyes bleary and hair a mess, and you can’t help but fall a little bit more in love with her at the sight.

“Just thinking.” You whisper back, hoping you sound reassuring and not like you’ve just spent the last 4 hours tossing and turning, mulling over the next day. You can tell you’ve failed when her brows furrow and she shuffles closer.

“About tomorrow?” You nod, and lift your hand to card your fingers through her hair. Alessia sighs happily and leans into your touch, but concern remains written in her features.

“It’s going to be a tough game, we know that; I mean it’s a semi-final so of course—”

“Not that,” you cut her off gently, “not the game itself.”

Realisation darkens Alessia’s eyes and her face softens even more. Wordlessly, she extends her arms to you. You smile tiredly, nudging your way into her grasp until your face is buried in her neck, arms wound around her waist, her hands rubbing soothing patterns into your back. You breathe in deep, and the familiar scent of her calms you somewhat. Her pulse flutters against your lips, brushing against her throat, and you kiss the spot tenderly.

The two of you lie in silence for a moment, enjoying the peace you always find in each other’s embrace. Alessia presses kisses soft as raindrops to your head, and you feel drowsiness start to seep into your bones.

She speaks after a while, moving one hand up to scratch gently at your scalp, knowing it always helps you drift off.

“It’s going to be ok, you know. It’s scary now, and it’ll be scary tomorrow, but we’re doing it together.” She presses another kiss to your head. “And once it’s done, it’s done. No more hiding.”

You know she’s right; she always is (though you’ll never tell her that), so you nod against her and snuggle in even closer. Before you know it, your eyes are closing, your body going slack.

The last thing you hear before you succumb to sleep is Alessia’s voice, honey-sweet and quiet, telling you she loves you. You smile faintly, and drift away.

*****

The morning comes, and with it your anxiety.

You’re a ball of nervous energy through your morning routine, through breakfast, all the way to the stadium. The other girls sense it and leave you to it—they probably think you’re stressed about the game—something you’re very thankful for as you bite at your nails entering the changing room at Wembley.

You take your sweet time getting ready, pulling your kit on and fixing your hair slowly and methodically. One by one, the other Lionesses leave the room and head out to warm up, until it’s just you and Alessia left.

Pulling the shirt out of your kit bag feels monumental, and as you stare at the name printed on the back, you feel the strangest mixture of exhilaration, nerves, nausea and pride.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Alessia checks one final time, placing a hand on your knee. Her eyes are searching, and you know that if you were to back out now, there would be no judgement from her. The thought comforts you, steels you. You look back at the name above your number and smile. This is it.

You nod, grinning at her. A matching smile spills across her beautiful face as she leans in and kisses your temple.

“Let’s do this then.”

*****

Your teammates don’t notice right away, most of them too focussed on readying themselves for the match ahead, too lost in their own preparations to register the changed name on your back.

It’s something of a relief, as it allows you to get into the headspace you need to be in for the semi-final—Sweden aren’t going to be an easily beaten opponent, so you need to be at your best.

Keira is the first to clock: you see confusion spread across her face as you turn away from her to grab some cones for a passing drill, and your heart leaps into your throat. She says nothing though, merely shakes her head a little and gets on with passing, but the seed is sown.

As kick-off approaches, you see more and more of your teammates starting to notice. Leah, stoic as ever, stares blankly at the back of your shirt for a good few seconds before turning away to stretch. Rachel, hardly as subtle, spots the name and nudges Millie, the both of them looking on with scrunched up expressions, like they can’t quite figure it out.

It’s Georgia who finally speaks up, pointing it out as the two of you practise one-two’s.

“Why are you wearing Alessia’s shirt?” She asks, loud enough for said woman to hear. Alessia turns to face you guys from where she was shooting against Mary. You smile, hoping your fear doesn’t show in your face, heart racing.

“I’m not.”

“Then why does it have ‘Russo’ on the back?” Georgia questions, utterly baffled.

Because, here’s the thing: you’re not wearing Alessia’s shirt. It’s yours. As is the name on the back of it—your name, and your wife’s.

Your wife. You still can’t quite believe it.

The two of you have been together for almost 4 years now, and you got married last October. In secret. Nobody except your families know about the wedding. Nobody, not even your teammates, even knew you were dating. You’d hidden the relationship all this time.

There are a plethora of reasons why you and Alessia kept the relationship a secret. First of all, neither of you are publicly out as queer, and way back when the two of you started out, neither of you were ready. Coming out to family and friends is hard enough, but to the whole world? It had seemed impossible.

A million other worries and concerns and preferences had helped you make the decision to keep quiet about your love to the general public, but also to your teams, both club-level and internationally. It’s not that you don’t trust the girls you work and play with—that’s not it at all—but a secret relationship is a private relationship, and god knows the two of you needed that.

You’re surrounded by these girls almost every day, and it’s almost impossible to keep things to yourself. This is your first major tournament with the Lionesses, but already you know almost too much about your teammates, and vice versa.

What you have with Alessia, you felt was nobody’s business. It’s quiet and peaceful, and more than anything, it’s yours and yours alone. So you kept it that way.

But now, married and settled, you both decided it was time to let the team, and the world, know: Alessia is yours and you are hers, happily and forever.

Georgia is still waiting on an answer as you reflect on all of this, and so Alessia steps in.

“It has Russo on the back because that’s her name.” She says cheerily, before skipping off to grab some water.

Georgia looks puzzled as you suck in a breath and wait for the penny to drop.

It doesn’t.

“Weird.” She scoffs, and carries on with the drill, saying nothing more on the subject.

You can’t tell if you’re relieved or not.

*****

The game goes well, with you beating Sweden and gaining a spot in the Euro’s final. It’s exhilarating and joyful and when your wife jumps into your arms after the final whistle blows, you think that you could die happy after today.

As the roar of victory dies down and fans begin to exit the stadium, you and Alessia head over to her family, standing by the railing. Yours couldn’t attend the match, but Alessia’s parents and siblings feel like home all the same.

“Oh, ragazze, well done! I’m so proud of you both!” Alessia’s mother says, clutching both you and your wife to her in a tight hug. You grin, still high on the emotions of the game, and squeeze her back before you pull away. Alessia’s arm winds around your waist as you stand there and chat to her family, and from the corner of your eye you can see Keira and Lucy watching the two of you.

After the game, Alessia’s family take you both out to dinner to celebrate. It’s a great night, it always is with the Russo’s, and you’re so happy that you don’t notice half the team’s stares when you walk back into the hotel later that evening, Alessia’s hand in yours.

*****

The confrontation comes the next day after breakfast.

It’s rest day, but Sarina had asked the team to stay together, playing games and watching movies as a way to bond a little more before the final, so all of you file into the games room after you eat.

You manage to get through Twister, Jenga and half of a Star Wars movie before it finally happens.

“Right.” The movie is paused, Lucy holding the remote and turning to fix you and Alessia with a firm stare. You swallow hard, eyes darting about the room.

“Luce, put the film back on, we—” Millie whines, but Lucy cuts her off.

“I will. After those two tell us what the hell is going on.”

Every eye in the room turns to you and Alessia, following Lucy’s accusing gaze. It’s dark in the games room, all the lights off and curtains drawn for the film, but you can still see the faces of your teammates, the way their eyes shine with curiosity.

“What do you—” You start, innocence coating your tone, but Lucy stops you.

“You know exactly what I mean. Wearing a shirt with Alessia’s name on, the both of you going for dinner with her family last night. And don’t think I can’t see that hickey Less, you’re not subtle.”

A blush heats your face as your wife shifts next to you, her hand coming up to rub at the mark you’d left just above her collarbone—perhaps you got a little carried away last night.

(Alessia wasn’t complaining when you’d given her it but that’s not the point.)

“So come on, out with it.”

Lucy’s questioning seems to start the others off as well, and soon the room is a cacophony of voices asking you what was happening and what yesterday was all about. And you wanted this, you know you did; wanted the girls to know about you and Alessia, but here, now, with everyone looking at you and asking all the big questions, you’re starting to panic a little.

Your mouth goes dry, hands turning clammy as you struggle to stay calm. Anxiety is clutching at your heart and your blood rushes in your ears.

Alessia clocks, seeing the panic so clearly displayed in your body language, and, in what was a noble attempt to help you out, shuts the whole room up.

“Guys, would you please leave my wife alone.”

Silence. Complete silence follows Alessia’s words. Every mouth in the room hangs open as the girls process what she’s just said.

And then—

“Wife?!”

“Wait, you and Y/N are together?”

“You’re married?! Since when?”

“What the absolute fuck?!”

The room explodes with noise, questions and incredulity spilling out and filling the air. You’re not sure who’s asking what, shaky and somewhat nauseous. Beside you, Alessia slides her fingers between yours and squeezes three times. I love you.

It takes a while for the girls to calm down, but when they do, your wife takes the lead, answering all their questions patiently whilst you bite your lip and watch the room for reactions.

After the shock of it, everybody seems happy for you. There are a few congratulatory remarks made, and a couple of teasing comments, mostly from Millie and Mary.

(“Oh, so that’s why they always room together at camp!”

“Shut up, Mearps.”)

In fact, the only person who doesn’t seem delighted for the two of you is Ella. She sits there, brows drawn together, jaw clenched. It makes your stomach turn over with nerves—she’s Alessia’s best friend, and you desperately want her approval. You don’t know why she seems so upset, but it’s starting to make bile rise in your throat.

She explains her dismay before too long.

“Less, you didn’t tell me?”

And her voice is hurt, small. Alessia turns to her. You see her smile drop when she meets Ella’s eyes.

“El, we didn’t tell anyone, only our families.” She speaks softly, and you can tell she feels guilty. You do too. Ella and Alessia are like sisters, and it must hurt to realise Alessia kept such a big secret from her, even if it was for a good reason.

“But I’m your best mate.” There’s a hint of betrayal in her tone, and you see pain flash over Alessia’s face.

The rest of the room has gone silent as the two speak, watching with bated breath. You squeeze Alessia’s hand in a show of silent support.

“I’m sorry, El, I really am. We wanted to keep it private. It was nothing you guys did or didn’t do, we just—we just wanted to be us, just us, for a little while.”

Ella is silent for a moment, gears evidently turning. You bite your lip even harder, nearly drawing blood as you wait for either a shouting match or forgiveness.

“So, nobody knew except your families? Nobody?”

“Nobody.” Alessia confirms. “And if we had decided to tell people back when we started dating, you’d have been the first to know, I promise.”

This seems to soften her, and Ella chuckles quietly. Hope blooms in your chest.

“I s’pose being a secret made sneaking around under Sarina’s nose a lot easier.”

The whole room laughs at that, and the tension that had been building unravels. Something tight loosens in your body and you slump backwards a little bit as Alessia and Ella begin bantering like they usually do.

As the room settles once more, and Lucy reaches for the remote to resume the film, Alessia leans into your side. Her head comes to rest on your shoulder, hand winding around your arm. You smile, heart jumping. The noise from the TV filters back into the room, providing enough cover for you to press a kiss to Alessia’s hair and whisper a soft ‘I love you’.

“I love you too, Mrs Russo.” She murmurs back, and you chuckle.

The film continues with Alessia snuggled into you. You look around at your friends, see them smiling and happy, see that the world hasn’t ended like you used to think it would if you stopped hiding, and you think, this. This is it. This is right.

You don’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

*****

A/N: Ok so my first x reader fic is done! I hope you guys liked it, it was fun to write and I love me some Lessi so I'm glad to be putting more works out there for her!

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #x reader #woso one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #fluff #lionesses #engwnt

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asimpforthe80s · 3 months

Text

Happy Late Valentines

Starring: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: slight angst. Smut!! Cunnulingus. P in V (unprotected). Breeding kink? Daddy kink?

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

Valentines Day. A day Eddie had despised for years. He never got anything, which is obvious knowing what his most known title is in the town. But you, on the other hand. You were quite popular despite hanging out with Eddie 'the freak' Munson, almost daily.

It was conveniently HellFire night on Valentines, and right before the campaign started, you were all showing off everything you had gotten. Everything from cards to chocolates.

Everyone was smiling and showing off expet the man himself, sitting on his throne almost frowning.

"So, what'd you get, Eddie?" You giggled, not noticing how saddened and frustrated he looked. "What do you think?!" He scowled, arms crossed on his chest.

"I didn't get shit. I'm just sitting my ass here, like always watching you get everything."

He said, leaning back in his throne and looking at you a bit, expecting sympathy. Everyone went silent, and as he expected, you looked at him with sympathy and shame. Ashamed of how you had shown off your cards and chocolates.

"God damn. I hate this stupid day." He muttered, turning his head to the other side, feeling pretty upset.

He didn't talk again for a bit, just sitting with a cold stare at the wall. "Sorry, Eddie.." you muttered. Dustin swallowed and decided to say something. "Should we get on with the campaign now?" He asked.

"Yeah-yeah- sure. We have nothing else to do, anyways." He said, sounding a bit annoyed with himself.

"God, sorry. Yeah. We should start. We got a lot to do today. Just- nevermind. I'm okay. Let's just do this campaign."

The eight of you nodded and waited for Eddie to start the new D&D campaign he had praised himself for the entire week. Eddie took a deep breath and looked at all of you, nodding.

"So, everyone's ready? All here?"

He asked, sounding enthusiastic, a way to distract himself from Valentines Day. "Yeah." You said, after counting all of Eddie's so-called 'sheep'.

"Okay, cool, cool. So." He rubbed his hands together, a large grin on his face, though his mood from before still kind of lingered.

"As you finally got out from the cave, you were all standing in a green field-..."

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

You were up all night crafting something for Eddie. It had to be good. It had to be perfect. You told yourself as you sat up by your desk gluing and painting.

You made a homemade heart-shaped box and painted the logo for HellFire in the middle of it. Then, filled it with chocolates and a small jar. Inside the jar there were small, midevial looking letters where you had written all the things you like about him. After hours of painting and writing, you put the last thing inside the box. A love letter.

All the while, you'd have a big smile on your face thinking of how happy Eddie will be. You were sure that he'd love your present, who knows? Maybe he might finally look at you as more than a friend. You couldn't wait to give it to him. You thought he'd probably appreciate some sweet gesture like that in the morning.

After a few more last touches, you called it done. You sat the box on your nightstand so you knew you wouldn't forget it tomorrow morning.

After a little bit of insomnia, you finally fell asleep, excited for the next morning, and finally getting to give Eddie the present you've worked on for hours.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

You wake up with the biggest smile on your face, remembering the present right away. You quickly get dressed, wanting to go and hand him the box as soon as possible.

You grab some breakfast on the way, hoping you get to him fast enough. You barely finished eating before rushing out to your car and driving across the town to get to Eddie's trailer. When you got there and knocked on the door, your anxiety kicked in. What if he didn't like the box? What if he thought you did it because no one else did? What if he didn't like you like that?

Those thoughts and more kept rushing through your head, heart beating fast in anticipation for what might happen.

After a while, you heard some shuffling through the trailer. The door opened after a bit, and Eddie stood on the other side. He looked exhausted. You hadn't even thought about how early it was. All the thoughts disappeared from your head, however, as the look on his face turned to surprise as he saw you.

"Hey, Eddie.." You chuckled nervously, holding the box out to him. He looked down at the box curiously. A smile then crept onto his face and he took it from you.

"For me?" He said, a bit curious and surprised. "For- for you, yeah.." you said nervously, scared of how he'd react to your love letter. "Thank you." He said a bit stunned, and then he looked down at the box again before back at you.

"It's early, um, mind if I open it later?" He said, looking tired and a little bit out of it still.

Your heart ached with anxiety and slight pain. "Y-yeah, sure." You mumbled. "Thanks." He said before yawning wide, and his eyes began to flutter shut.

After a quick goodbye, he closed the door, leaving you to walk to your car and drive home upset. A small bit of hope still lingering, hoping that he'll actually look at it later. But Eddie was forgetful when it came to things like this. You probably wasted an entire night on making that box just for Eddie to never open it.

When it got to evening, that last bit of hope that he'd open the box began to disappear. You felt bad that you wasted all that time on it, wishing that he would actually look at it. But he didn't, and he probably didn't care much anyway.

You sighed and decided to call him.The phone rang a bit before Eddie picked up.

"Hey, what's up?" He asked after you said hello. "I know you've forgotten and this is kinda fucking important, so go open that box I gave you.. if you get surprised or something, live with that, I've got too much anxiety right now to deal with that." You said before hurriedly hanging up.

Eddie looked down at his phone, quite surprised at your sudden aggression. He didn't expect that at all.

Feeling a but hesitant, he walked into his room and over to the nightstand. He picked up the box and looked over at it for a moment before he finally opened it, careful and slow, expecting what the surprise might be.

He stared at the contents of the box as his eyes widened and he froze, not really sure what to feel.

The love letter, the chocolates, and the little surprises caught him by surprise, and he didn't really know what to do in the moment.

Feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything, he took a deep breath and closed the box, stilThe emotions just hit him like a truck.

He suddenly looked overwhelmed by everything, all the things you went through just for him.

Eddie just stood frozen, thinking at how much you really do love him, even with all the crap he puts you through.

As tears welled up in his eyes, a feeling of guilt washed over him. He couldn't believe that you had gone this far for someone like him, for him.

Eddie couldn't hold back, and the tears began to fall. The sudden rush of realization that you truly love him hit him hard, and he just bawled his eyes out, unable to control the emotions.

In that moment of weakness as he cried into his hands, he couldn't help but wonder, "Why me?"

After a bit, Eddie managed to calm himself. He still had tears on his face as he wiped with them with his sleeve.

Finally, he pulled himself together and looked at the open box again.

He picked up the jar and pulled out the love letter to finally read it.The love letter really struck him in the heart.

He could actually feel that love pouring out of it, like there was nothing else on earth that mattered more than you felt for him.

Eddie felt his eyes well up yet again, it was a bit embarrassing.

"To: Eddie.

For once in my life, I don’t have to try to be happy. When I’m with you, it just happens. Your Lips? I kiss that. Your body? I hug that. My smile? You cause that. Your heart? I want that. In a sea of people, my eyes will always be searching for you. I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do. All I know is I wanna be with you. You make me smile whenever you're around. I could just sit and watch you without making a sound. I could talk to you for hours about nothing at all. You make me feel so comfortable into your arms, I wish I could crawl. I miss you when you’re gone. I miss you when you’re near. If we are together, we will have nothing to fear. So I guess I’m finally telling you I’m being real and true. Not only do I like you, I’m completely head over heels in love with you."

The love letter just overwhelmed him more and more.

He couldn't believe that after all this time thinking he was just a freak and that no one could like him, that this was his reality.

He could hardly hold back his tears of joy as he read the entire thing.

"God damn, this is it. She finally said it. She really likes me." He thought, happy tears flowing down his cheeks. As he finished the letter, he finally looked at all the contents in the box, his emotions still overflowing.

"Damn..." He muttered to himself, just overwhelmed with joy now that he really knew how she felt. He really couldn't believe that she could like him like this, he almost felt like he didn't deserve it.

His tears of joy started to dry up and he wiped all the tears with his sleeve, finally starting to calm down as he looked at the box again.

"She really went through all this for me..." He thought to himself, staring at the jar and the chocolates. He looked back over at the love letter again, feeling his heart flutter.

This was the happiest he felt in so long.

Finally, after this long time, someone really likes him.

"And- and here I thought being a freak, I'd just be alone for the rest of my life... She really... She really likes me..." He whispered to himself, smiling wide and his heart beating so fast. He set the box down and leaned against the nightstand and just took a moment to breathe.

This was the best he'd felt in years. Someone really liked him! What a feeling! He never thought that would happen, he really didn't think he was good enough for that.

But now, things seemed possible... The feeling was so overwhelming for him, he couldn't think straight. All these emotions just rushed the moment he saw the letter.

He felt like crying all over again, but he didn't wanna cry anymore.

He grabbed his phone, thinking about finally texting you and telling you all the things you mean to him. Just to thank you, or at least try. As he finally opened the text box and typed up the message, he stared at the screen.

He didn't know how to fully put it into words, but he had to try right?

He typed up the message slowly and sent it off to you.

He set the phone down and waited in anticipation to see how you'd react once you got it. After just a few minutes, his phone started ringing.

"Hm?" He said, looking at his phone.

He picked it up and checked the caller id, noticing it was you.

"Hey, um, what's up?" He said, his heart beating fast all over again, nervous of how you'd react. "Hey.. so, uh... my gift wasn't a bad idea, huh?" You chuckled nervously.

"Bad idea?" His voice sounded shocked for a moment as he laughed lightly too.

"It's literally the best thing I've ever received in my life." He said, truly meaning it.

"There's just so much to say to you, I don't even think you will fully understand just how much you mean to me." He added, still looking at the texts he sent you.

"Can I come over?" You asked nervously. In your head, you'd go to his place, and you'd cuddle all night while watching movies on the thick TV in his living room.

Eddie went silent for a moment, thinking about everything and what you asked.

He took a deep breath, thinking, "Oh God, oh God, OH GOD! She wants to come over! What do I do?!"

"Uhm... Yeah, I..." He stuttered, not sure how to finish his sentence. "Thanks." You giggled and hung up once more, immediately putting on some comfy but pretty clothes and rushing to your car, again.

Eddie quickly sat there in his bed staring at the phone, processing everything.

"Oh god, she's coming over. She- she wants to come over! Oh God, oh God!!"

He got himself out of the bed quickly, frantically putting on some clothes to look presentable when she gets here. He took some breath mints and sprayed himself with cologne a few times.

"Oh god, what should I do when she gets here?! How do I act?" He paced around the room now, just waiting nervously for her. He would check his phone every few seconds, thinking about her on the way over and how he's going to act when she gets here.

"Should I be calm? Should I be excited? What does one even do in this situation!? What do I talk about? I have to be so goddamn careful." He berated himself as he paced around the room, his anxiety kicking in.

He took yet another deep breath, checking the time. She should be here soon. He was sweating profusely now from his nervousness, and he was getting annoyed with himself.

Okay, Eddie. Calm, calm, calm...

After a few minutes, the doorbell rang.

He froze immediately from his pacing, thinking of nothing but the fact she was actually here.

He walked to the door and opened it with shaky hands and a big smile.

"Hey, uhm, h-hi." He said, not sure how to handle this, but he was glad you were actually here. "Hi.." you answered, just as nervous. His heart was racing, not knowing what to say. Should he invite you in, or should he just talk to you here?

"W-wanna come inside?" He asked, not wanting to sound rude by not inviting you in.

"Y-yeah.." you chuckled and stepped inside. Eddie immediately shut the door behind you.

"Oh um- follow me." He said as he began to walk towards the living room, letting you follow. She was actually here, and the thought is still a bit surreal to him. You followed him, sitting down very close to him.

"So- uhm, I just wanted to say..." His voice was shaky, it felt like he didn't have full control over the things he wanted to say to you.

"Thank you, for everything. For coming here and... And liking me like this, and for actually being here." He stuttered, feeling his emotions getting the better of him. You built up some confidence and decided that this was enough awkwardness. So you kissed him.

The kiss took him completely off guard and he froze with wide eyes for a second, but he quickly relaxed when the kiss continued.

His breath caught, and he held his hands to the side of you, gently caressing the back of your neck.

He was still very much surprised, but he couldn't resist your lips. You smiled against his lips. But the way his hands were moving over you made you feel sensitive to his touch. His hands began to move up and down your back. He couldn't help but caress your body as his lips stayed tightly pressed to yours. The kiss lasted long enough that he could really get lost in the emotion, and the feeling that someone really liked him like this was almost unreal to him.

When you pulled away, there was a string of saliva connecting you and heavy breaths filling the room. His breath was shaky and his face red from the kiss.

"That was..." He said softly, but he didn't finish the sentence.

He leaned back a bit and stared into your eyes, not breaking eye contact. And then he leaned forward again a bit for another kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut as he kissed you again. You moaned softly against his lips as they connected once more. His lips pressed to yours with a bit more force as he moved forward into you.

His hands moved to your waist now as he pulled you in closer. His breathing got heavy, and he kept kissing you as he took over.

You laid down against the sofa, and Eddie followed. Putting almost all his weight on you as he kept your lips on his. He did lay his entire weight onto you as he kissed you, you being pinned beneath him as he couldn't stop. The kiss felt like it went on forever, but he still wanted more.

His lips and his tongue moved in unison with each other, the heat rising between the two of you as his hands moved back to your neck.

You moaned softly against his lips as the intensity of the kiss grew. Your clothes were on the floor within just five minutes of making out.

Eddie leaned down and pressed a few kisses to your neck, causing you to shudder and let out a delightful purr. One that stirs not just the pit of his guts but in his boxers, too.

He presses two more kisses to your neck, open-mouthed, wet, and claiming he sucks hickeys into two sensitive spots. The hickeys made your eyes slightly roll back, and you let out not only another purr but a gasp of his name.

He has a feeling he knows what you want, but he's not ready to give it to you yet.

He moves from your neck, trilingual kisses down your right shoulder, tongue lathing against your skin before peppering more kisses. Kisses in paths down your brests until it's time to give both of them individual attention. A tweak of a nipple to the right one, a scrape of the teeth to the left one. He loves the way you respond. The way you gasp and moan his name like a chant.

Eddie continues his path downwards with one last kiss against each of your tits. His path leaves you breathless.

You grow inpatient as he takes his time, pressing kisses down your stomach and to the place you need him the most. "Eddie," you whispered. Voice full of need.

"What's the word, sweetheart? You know what to say if you want it.." Eddie groaned.

You sigh and bite your bottom lip gently. You don't want to give in to him so easily. Your eyes meet his brown ones, and you breathe out the one word he wants to hear. "Please."

The word "please" sent him over the edge.

Every muscle in his body was tense and his breath was still shaken. The sound of that single word was enough to make him lose the last bit of composure he had.

He looked down at you, his eyes full of desire and want for all of you. Eddie dipped down to your soaking cunt, first gathering your slick on his fingers and sucking them clean. Then he started eating you out like a starved man. His tongue lapping up all your slick and swirling your sensitive bud. You had heard that Eddie was good at this, but not that he had sex skills of a God.

You moaned and writhed under him, eyes rolled back and mouth slightly agape. Gasping, whimpering, and moaning as he ate you out. His tongue dipped into your entrance and started lapping up everything he could get to before pulling out and pushing two fingers inside instead.

As his fingers pumped in and out of your cunt, he sucked and toyed with your clit until you were gasping that you were gonna cum. "That's it.. fucking soak my face, baby." Eddie groaned and went back to sucking your bud.

Doing exactly as he said, you came all over his face with a breathless moan. He pulled his fingers out and sucked off your nectar like it was a necessity.

Eddie ridded himself of his boxers. Saying he was big was an understatement. He was *huge*. The biggest you'd seen.

He inspected your pussy for just a few seconds before deciding to gently slide into you. Bottoming out with a groan.

"This what you wanted, princess?" He grabbed your jaw and squeezed slightly. "Already too fucked out to answer? That's okay, I got you."

You barely nodded as he dipped his head down and caught one of your nipples in your mouth, biting a little harshly on the bud. "Ngh, Eddie.." Arching your back, pushing your chest further into his face, he pulled off with a pop.

"What, too much?" He said in a mocking tone. "Jus' want you.." Your hands grabbed at his chest and shoulders. "But I'm right here, sweetheart?" He looked confused.

You shook your head and wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing him impossibly deeper into your cunt. "Fuck.. just need me, hm? I can do that.."

He began to roll his hips, your pussy sucking him in with each push. His face hovered over yours, studying your pinched brows and puffy, kiss bitten lips parting softly. He kissed your cheek and then the other. Any other teasing comments died on his tongue once his eyes roved over you, halting his movements momentarily so he could speak clearly. "Love you, sweets."

You smiled at that. “I love you too, Eds.” You giggled as he held your cheek and began peppering kisses across your face. “Valentine's day got you all mushy, huh baby?” Eddie grinned and kept his hips moving ever so slightly. "Mmmh.. guess so.." you muttered.

He started picking up his thrusts, hitting that perfect spot inside you every time, making both of you moan out. "You close, baby? You gonna cum f'me?" He asked with a few grunts.

“More…” you whined out.“Oh, now she wants more.” He chuckled, gaze turning a little more dark as he said it. “Mmhmmm… need more.” You choked out as he moved out of you just for a moment to get a better angle.

He quickly sat up, pushing both of your knees to your chest, his thick cock pushed back into your tight cunt. In one swift motion, giving you no time to think. “That's it… mmm… she's gripping now. C’mon baby. Soak my cock.”

With the new angle, he set a brutal pace, as broken moans rang out with the sounds of your soaked pussy being pounded into oblivion. He reached up, placing his thumb between your lips, as you quickly sucked it into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digit. "That's it.. get it nice 'n wet for Daddy." He groaned.

“Be a good girl. Come for daddy and I'll fill this pussy full. Let everyone know you let the freak wreck your tight little cunt.” He growled into your ear.

You hummed as he brought his thumb down to your clit. Immediately pushing harsh circles to your swollen nub.

“Oh fuck, Eddie!” His words straight to your aching core.Your orgasm hits with a blinding force, those fireworks burst behind your eyes as your pussy strangles his cock.

He lets out a low growl as his balls tighten for his impending release. His cock twitches as it paints your walls with thick, white ropes.

He put your legs down and laid his full weight on top of you once more. The both of you were catching your breath as you laid there in awe of what had just happened.

"Happy late Valentine's.." you breathed, stroking his long, brown curls.

"Happy late Valentine's Day..." He smiled at you, looking at you from his head laying on your chest, feeling the heat in his face fade just a little bit and his breathing finally slowing down.

He felt his muscles relax as he lay his ear on your chest, his hand moving down to touch your thigh. He finally felt happy that he could be like this with you now.

"I love you." He said softly, his hand moving closer to your hips, but you never really felt it as you were still laying there after the intense session you just had.

"Love you too.." you said, kissing his cheek. He smiled, his eyes closed now as he felt his body relax.

He thought to himself for a moment, now the feeling of happiness and love kicking in with the dopamine running in his brain.

He sighed happily and nuzzled a bit into your chest, the feeling of just laying here with you was more than enough to make him feel content and loved.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Tag list: @reidsbtch @rogueddie

Thanks for helping me.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson things #eddie munson x you

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simping-on-the-daily · 1 year

Text

i would freeze over hell just to get a chill

Summary: The boys have overblotted, but their defeat wasn't so quick. Rather, they spent much more time in their overblot forms, and you? You had a front row seat to it all. (The Overblot gang remembers their romantic interest towards you and keeps you by their side. Your only option is to stay by their side until help arrives.)

Warnings: Riddle injures himself with thorns and doesn't care, Leona scratches your face (to give you powers but still), general Overblot themes, not beta red we die like the overblotted dwarf from the prologue

Notes: READER IS NOT YUU; Yuu is gender-neutral and so is reader, and Reader will mention Yuu. Reader is from each of the boy's respective dorms,,,, Title is from Would You Love a Monsterman by Jodi, and characters might be OOC??? I doin't have the game but also we only get like. Two minutes with their Overblotted forms.

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar

Riddle Rosehearts

Many of your fellow dorm members would say that Riddle was a merciless dictator who believed himself to be the Queen of Hearts. On the surface level, one could agree, but you didn't, for the Queen of Hearts created the rules in the first place, and Riddle was simply following them.

However, with the most recent unbirthday tea party having gone horribly wrong, perhaps Riddle himself thought he was one of the Seven, and the entity that followed his every command was but a mere card soldier.

From what you knew, the main perpetrators of his Overblot had run away, seemingly to form a plan. A few first years who you had only talked to maybe once, the magicless student, and even the Vice-Housewarden yourself! (You said from what you know, which might have been deemed weird considering you were there at the tea party, but in your defense, the moment Riddle had an egg thrown at him, everything was a blur.)

The rest of the unlucky dorm members had Riddle's signature collars around their neck. Some were crying in fear of the ink-dripping entity, while others were forcing a smile in order to not trigger the newly Overblot Riddle's wrath. You were just about to accept your fate, when the glass headed minion grabbed you effortlessly, and put you right next to Riddle, who's arms were wrapped in ink and vines.

You were relieved to hear that no, you were not being executed, but that relief was replaced by a different kind of fear; the realization that Riddle Rosehearts had a crush on you.

In any other circumstance, you would've been overjoyed. You had hung out before, having sit next to each other while studying in the library, and you'd be lying if you said he hadn't piqued your romantic interest. But Riddle was overblot now, his mental state shattered just like the glass head of the ink entity, and you really didn't want to be the darling to a potential Yandere.

Thank fuck you weren't shoved into a cage.

Instead, with a flick of his fingers, Riddle summoned a throne made of roses and vines, thorns like there were on his outfit non-existent. A bigger one (with thorns) was placed right next to it.

"You shall be my side in this new world," Riddle's voice was almost demonic, yet you could still hear everything he said clearly "We shall sit on these thrones and gaze upon it all. Those who defy us will lose their heads! Wouldn't that just be beautiful, darling?"

So, you were forced onto the throne, cringing everytime the thorns on Riddle's throne sliced his skin. Screaming at all of his collared-roommates, he ordered them to bake both of your favorite meals and paint the roses and to slice their fingers on the thorny roses and to say that he was correct in all things; he just kept going on with new orders, and you could only look at them with pity everytime Riddle placed a new command down.

Some brave or stupid soul (you couldn't tell), talked back, snarking that Riddle's floating was to try and cover up for his small size. You heard a flamingo squawk admist the silence before Riddle screamed, before making it so the collar choked the lad, and you knew that was going to leave a scar. You couldn't feel bad for long, because Riddle started sobbing, throwing his head into your lap, leaning on his throne, and not showing any discomfort at the thorns piercing him harder. He sobbed and screamed, and you could only pat his head until one of the students came back with the requested tarts (not chestnut).

You hoped that those first years and Trey were doing all right and coming up with a plan. Because even if the entity gave you a beautiful red rose from the bush they were clutching, and Riddle stated that you were the only one he could trust, you knew that this wasn't Riddle and that being in this form hurt both his body and his brain. That magicless Prefect had grabbed a magestone from the abandoned mine and fought an entity just like the Queens of Hearts lookalike, hadn't they? They seemed smart and competent, and their friends were........brave.

So, in your head, you went against the rules, and begged for help.

Then the Overblotted Riddle screamed in your ear again, due to someone having walked too slow, before clutching your hand with a lot of force, murmuring frantic threats towards him as tears threatened to spill. (You would wake up the next morning to find that you had gotten splinters. Woohoo for you.)

Leona Kingscholar

The Spelldrive Competition this, Spelldrive Competition that; was this your punishment for being associated with a bunch of bully jocks?

Savanaclaw was not being subtle at all; in the security of the dormitory, they went on and on. 'With that champion from Scarabia gone and Housewarden Leona by our side, they'll never stand a chance against us!'

You were going to hit your head on the entrance's tree if they kept this up. They did keep it up. Whether you did so or not is up to you.

Perhaps it was kind of selfish of you, but Diasomnia was good at everything. They were the shiniest of gold, and even in the most roughest and toughest game of all, they still glimmered the prettiest shine. Maybe it was time someone else became the champion. And besides, you weren't competing. It wasn't like it was going to effect you.

....As the sand blinded your eyes and terrified screams destroyed your ear drum, you cursed yourself for jinxing it.

Your housewarden had a mental breakdown in front of the whole stadium, tried to kill the guy who was basically the vice-housewarden in all but name, and now he was talking about turning everything into sand- wait why is the glass lion looking at you?

The crack in the glass seemed to make an impromptu mouth, as it quickly put you inside of its jaw and sprinted back towards the Overblotted housewarden.

You were unceremoniously dropped onto the floor, ink now on your clothes. Being in the center of the sandstorm got every possible grain of dust into your eyes, and despite your deep squints, the large, floating form of an Overblotted Leona was as clear as day.

"Tch, and I thought you would go running like the rest of those weaklings."

Ah. The screams were all gone, and even throughout the sandy fog, you could see the silhouettes of the Ramshackle prefect and their friends try and make a run of it.

"Stop squinting, would you? It makes you look stupid."

"Not all of us have a glowing eye," You snarked back, seeing the orange flame on the right side of his face. That was probably how he could still see amidst the chaos. Or he was just that good.

He tch'ed again, leaving you to the assumption that no, he was going to kill you, because he already would of.

Instead, he scratched your face, and you screamed in pain, falling back to your ground, clutching your eye. Leona's hand dripped more ink, and he stared at you.

Suddenly, everything around you became much clearer. The sandstorm was practically a transparent curtain, and in the glass reflection of the lion's head, you knew why.

Just like Leona, an orange flame covered your right eye.

"There, now stop complaining."

The silhouette of the Prefect was gone now, leaving only you and the overblotted Leona. Rising from the sand, a lone throne sat, becoming one with the stadium's hoops. Leona floated over before sitting down, dragging you with him. You were placed onto his lap, while the inky King of Beasts sat by the throne's side.

"You're the only one is the damn world that's worth a fucking dime," Leona stated, as one of his braids fell loose. "Everyone else is some moron who thinks they so great for no reason at all. You're not like that."

...Holy shit was this a love confession???

"I was gonna burn it all to ashes," Leona continued. "That Diasomnia kid said it himself. I ain't ever gonna be king."

He took an ink covered hand and dragged it across your cheek. "But you're here. You aren't a coward and you weren't obsessed with this stupid schoolkid game. And I ain't gonna give up when you could be by my side, because you're worth fighting for."

You never knew Leona felt this way about you. Were you supposed to? Sure, this wasn't unwelcome; you had a crush on Leona yourself and your worries about it not being reciprocated were now disappearing like dust, but....this wasn't Leona. This was clearly years of trauma, and an attempt to finally be deemed good enough gone wrong, resulting in a mental breakdown and Overblotting. You didn't want this to be your first date. Who the fuck would?

The Prefect would come back, right? They had fought an Overblot before and won, and everyone in your dorm was talking about the 'damned Prefect', getting into other people's business and trying to be a hero. You'd like a hero right now. That would be pretty nice.

Well, hopefully hope was coming, but by then you should try and get used to it. The sandstorm was practically nonexistent to you now, and Leona didn't seem like he was going to scratch you again.

You repositioned on his lap, leaning into the fur around his neck. It was soft, yet it felt as though gum or honey had gotten stuck in there and left the fur coarse.

Wait, was he just sitting here, tiddies out-

The disturbing thought paused as Leona let out a roar. You looked up, but no-one was around. After doing so, he let out more softer animalistic growls.

Ah, so couldn't control it.

The King of Beasts nuzzled against you, getting more ink on your cheek. In response, Leona growled at the entity and licked your face. Luckily, there was no ink.

You were never going to a Spelldrive tournament again.

#someone had to do it so i did #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #simper scribbles

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