#i doubt it. i really doubt it. but I WILL be screaming and shrieking if the next season does anything like this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

indigosunsetao3 · 2 months

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Protecting You

Your life, or safety, is threatened in front of one of the COD guys. How do they react to that?

Female reader perspective Warning: Unwanted advances, assault, roofie, torture, abusive ex

I noted each blurb for what would be featured for each person. Please make sure you check that before you read it.

Alex Unwanted Advances

"I'm fine really," you mutter as the man next to you at the bar insists on buying you another drink. You had turned him down twice now, sipping lightly on the still half-full glass you had.

"Come on, just one drink and if you think I'm that bad I'll leave you alone," he prods, waving the bartender over.

"Or you could leave me alone now," you tack on, looking over your shoulder for someone, anyone, to rescue you.

"Two of whatever she's having," the guy orders over your protests to the bartender to not make you one. The bartender doesn't catch it though, too busy helping the crowded bar and the music a little too loud to really hear.

"See not so bad," the guy grins before reaching out to grab at your hand which you quickly snatch away. "Oh come on, I'm not going to hurt you," he teases and reaches again.

"I believe she said she wasn't interested," a cool voice says from behind you. Looking over your shoulder you see another man on your left, leaning lightly on the bar glaring at the man next to you. He looks simple enough. About your age in a casual shirt and jeans but something behind his easy smile reeks of predator. Not for you though, but for the man who won't leave you be.

"It's none of your business," the guy snaps trying to literally grab your attention again by grabbing at your arm. "We're perfectly fine."

That's all it took. In the midst of you twisting away and telling the guy to just stop the man intervenes. He grabs your harassers wrist with lethal speed and twists it hard so his whole upper body contorts with the movement into the bar.

The glass from the drink your rescuer had just finished coming down to slam on the man's fingers. Hard enough that the glass shatters and the guy shrieks in pain as the stranger continues to hold the grip right on a pressure point.

"This should teach you to keep your hands to yourself," the man states, sliding his hand away to wipe on the small drink napkin. His movement so casual as if this were normal for him.

"Are you fucking crazy!" The guy yells dragging his arm back and staring at the bloody sticky mess of his hand. The glass shards had nicked a few of his fingers and he was screaming about how he would fuck you and this man up. Meanwhile the bartender was summoning the bar security not wanting a full on brawl to start and before you knew it all three of you were tossed out.

"Sorry about that," comes your rescuers voice as you both watch the other man head down the street with a few of his friends. "I couldn't sit there and listen anymore. I didn't mean for you to get kicked out into the cold," he grins a bit, then shivers as the wind rips right through both of you.

"No need to be sorry," you answer simply looking at him. "You didn't have to do that you know. But thank you..." you pause for an invitation for him to give you his name.

"Alex," he says with a small smile. "And no need to thank me. I wasn't going to just sit there and let him continue to hound you."

"Alex," you say with a nod trying to commit the name to memory. You doubted you would forget it though.

"Is your car around here?" Alex asks suddenly staring across the street. The men had stopped at the street corner and were watching the two of you.

"Ah, I walked from work," you answer. "I don't live too far," you tack on following his gaze to the men. "I'm sure it'll be fine..."

"I'll walk you home," Alex says after a second. "Or get you a taxi. I don't want you out here alone with them." He turns to look at you giving a small smile as you look up at him. "I promise I'm not a creep," he laughs a bit.

"We....we can walk," you venture after a second. "I feel like I owe you a drink after all that anyway. I think I've still got some left over tequila in the back of my cabinet." You aren't sure exactly why but you feel like you can trust him. "And if I thought you were a creep I'd be gone by now."

"You don't owe me anything," Alex says with a laugh before gesturing you to walk before shoving his hands in his pockets. His eyes sliding over to the men across the street to keep them always in his view as you go. "But I wouldn't turn down a nightcap, though tequila can be dangerous." He winks as you both hustle to cross the street.

Yes it can be, you silently agree with a small thrill.

Gaz Assault

Maybe staying to watch one more episode was a bad idea. You really should have let your friend drive you home but you lived all the way across town and the train would be there soon enough. So tucking your purse tight against your side you head toward the train station. It's dark out, darker than normal since it's a new moon, and the shadows seem extra long as you hurry down the street.

When you round the corner to the alley you'd normally take as a short cut you spot a group of people halfway down it The alley cut five minutes off the walk and was usually fine by day, just dirty. But at night it was ominous and the people standing on the end blended a little too well into the dark. You debated on what to do before deciding to just walk through. You knew the area, knew how to handle yourself and it was cold.

Just as you pass you realize it's a group of about four men and the minute they realize you are alone it starts. The catcalls, the jeers, the simple 'where you going sweetheart?' questions. You've heard them all before and the best thing to do is ignore it and keep walking. But they follow. You mutter a no thanks, you're fine and every other placating thing you know to do. But it doesn't let up.

Just as you're about to clear the alley a hand juts out to grab you by the back of your jacket and you scream. They've dragged you back and are taunting you about being rude and they just wanted to talk. Your reactions a bit slow thanks to the wine you had drunk but you shove them back and one hit on a man's chest lands hard enough that a guy goes flying backward. You blink trying to figure out how you managed that until you realize someone else had shown up.

In a series of grunts and groans the men are swiftly dealt with. One having to be hoisted up by his friends before they all jog out of the alleyway. You have your back pressed up against the wall as your savior turns to look at you and you flinch a bit not sure what they want. If he was able to take on four guys on his own who knew what else he could do.

"You alright?" The man asks as he straightens his jacket and looks to where the attackers disappeared to.

"Yes, I think so," you stammer out as you wipe at your face not realizing you've been crying. "Thank you, where did you even come from?" You ask looking around to spot a door open and now that you aren't screaming you can hear music coming from it.

"I was headed out for a smoke when I heard you," the man answers. "I'm inside with a few friends. Do you want to come in and join us? Get warmed up a bit, it's freezing out here," he gives you a soft smile as you continue to press your back against the wall.

"I was on my way to the train station," you start but the warm yellow light of the restaurant seems to be beckoning you. Walking the rest of the way to the train station seemed like a monumental task now and you were afraid to be alone.

"I take the train myself," he answers. "Come in for a bit and we can go together, yeah?" He gestures for the door where another man has poked his head out to see where his friend had gone missing.

"I, ah," you hesitate for just a second longer. "Sure alright," you finish as the man in the doorway looks between the two of you.

"Everything alright out here Gaz?" The guy asks, his Scottish accent strong, as he takes in the scene.

"All good," Gaz answers as he follows you to the door. "Just dealing with a little issue," he explains and in the light of the door you can see his knuckles are bloody as he gestures you inside.

"A little issue?" You almost squeak as he grabs a few napkins from the bar top and wipes his hands down. "You took on four men...for a stranger."

"I wasn't going to just leave you out there," Gaz replies with a small smile. "Besides, that was barely a warm up," he winks and pulls a chair out for you to join his group of friends who are all watching your curiously.

Ghost Roofie

You've had way too much to drink. It was a celebration party for your friends recent job promotion and it was so rare you let your hair down you decided to go all out. It had been a bar crawl, wandering from one loud crowded place to the next. By the time you got to the fourth place (maybe it was the fifth place?) you were stumbling a bit.

Giving the bouncer your ID you swayed a bit in your spot while he looked it over with his flashlight and eyed you. After a second he nodded to let you in and you slipped inside. This place was packed, people jammed up against one another as the music blared and by the time you finished your latest drink you were feeling light headed and most of your body was numb.

"Careful," a voice says next to you as you sidestep and nearly fall. Hands had caught you around the waist and you look up at the man who was grinning at you. Who was he? Fuck where had your friends gotten off to? "I think you may need to sit for a minute," he suggests taking the empty glass from your tingling fingers and you nod. Yes, sitting would be good.

"I just need to find my friends," you say as you look around the place but it's just a swarm of bodies, their faces all a blur. "Let me just," you start reaching for your phone.

"Let's get you outside where it's cooler then you can call them," the guy says, his arm still tight around you. "You're very flushed," he gives you a sweet smile and you nod again. You really did feel overheated, maybe that's why you felt so dizzy and uncoordinated.

You let the guy guide you toward the door before a hand shoots out of nowhere blocking the exit to the alley. You blink once, twice, swaying a bit as the guy helping you walk halts. This second man is huge, impossibly huge, as he holds his ground glaring at the two of you. It takes a second to register then you realize exactly who it is. You hadn't seen him in a while and your brain was so muddled the connection almost didn't click.

"Simon?" You ask, laughing a bit at the odds of him being here of all places. "When did you get back into town? Where's Johnny?" You inquire looking over your shoulder expecting to see your friend standing there. You giggle a bit as you lose your footing again but Simon's hand catches your bicep.

"I know what you fucking did," Simon says and you splutter. You hadn't done anything, what was his problem? Then you realize he isn't talking to you, he's talking to the guy that was attempting to lead you outside. "And so do the bouncers," he nods his head at the guy that had been working the door pushes through the crowd toward you all. "You're lucky there are too many witnesses or I'd snap your goddamn neck," Simon breathes as he pulls you toward him as the guy lets you go finally. The malice in his voice sends a shiver down your spine and you try to figure out why Simon was so mad.

"Let's go, love," Simon says after a second pushing the door open to the alley as the bouncer grabs the guy you were with. "I'm going to take you home," he explains as he sees you staring at him confused. "With me," he adds after a second as you continue walking, "you shouldn't be alone right now."

What did that even mean? You'd recovered from hangovers just fine in the past. Sure, they were miserable and you laid on the bathroom floor for hours but you were very much capable of paying for your poor decisions. You don't have a chance to question though as your surroundings start to spin. You groan a bit beginning to feel sick, the fun of being drunk was rapidly fading and was instead replaced by a sickening unease.

Time and memory seemed to warp and next thing you know Simon is tucking you gently into the passenger seat of his car. He's already got the engine running and cool air is blasting on you helping to dissipate some of nausea. It takes you a second to realize his hands are holding your face up to stare at him. His face his a hard mask as he assesses you and you feel him reach for your pulse, his fingers cool against your flushed skin. He's not happy with what he finds based on his reaction.

"Simon?" You ask a bit pathetically as your hands reach for him to grip his shirt. You know something is definitely not right and now the fear is settling in. Your lip trembles as you try to lock in your focus but everything feels like it's slipping away like holding water in your hands.

"I've got you," he answers, not flinching as you grasp at him. "You're safe with me," he assures you as his hand pushes your hair off your face where it had begun to stick to the sweat there.

"I know," you reply even though you barely knew him. You'd only met him a few times when Johnny brought him back on his leaves. You had been intrigued by him but he always stayed an arms length away. Friendly but closed off. Johnny said that's just how he was when you asked, though you caught the mischievous look he gave you when you asked about Simon a few more times.

"How did you..." you mumble, your fingers twisting up the fabric on his chest to hold on tight. You were afraid if you let go you'd just fall into the nothingness that was threatening to take you under.

"Johnny told me you were going out with friends tonight. I wanted to see you again," he ventures knowing you won't remember all of this in the morning. "I lost track of you in that stupid bar and by the time I found you again," he pauses to keep his temper in check, loosing a calming breath. "I should have said something sooner to you. Not let you be alone."

"I wanted to see you too," you let slip before shutting your eyes as the drugs finally took you under.

Price Torture

The mission had gone absolutely sideways. What should have been a relatively simple extraction turned out to be an ambush and you had lost two team members. They had opted to take you captive instead of killing you, hoping to get information out of you.

Four days of psychological torture. No sleeping, every time you tried they'd wake you up with loud noises after only twenty minutes. Only enough food to keep you from passing out and barely any water. The room they held you in was freezing and wet, no bed and a bucket for waste.

Perhaps the worst part though was the absolute silence. There was no noise aside from the damned dripping pipe that kept your room damp. You couldn't hear planes, cars or even a bird. The only way you knew time had passed was watching the shadows move across the wall from the small slit of a window a few feet up the wall.

You were supposed to check in with Price, he was the rendezvous drop off for your target. So, despite your team being dead, there was someone out there that knew you were missing. That was the only thing that kept you hopeful for a way out.

On day five the leader of the group enters your cell with an ominous look on his face. You don't back down as he grabs your shackled wrists and slams you down on the chair he's brought in. You twist and fight as one of his men ties you down earning a sharp slap across the face.

"Tell us about John Price," the man demands as he squats down to get in your face.

"I," you pause confused, "what?" This was not what you were expecting to be questioned about. "What about John Price? What does he have to do with me?' You question feeling your heartbeat kick up a bit.

"You were meeting him, tell us," the man demands as he fishes a lethal looking knife from his pocket and flicks it open. "Tell us and I'll make it quick," he smirks as he traces the knife slowly down your arm with just enough pressure to make a small stream of blood appear in it's wake.

"I don't know what you want me to tell you," you answer still a bit perplexed. "He's a man? He's a Captain?" Another resounding slap snaps your head sideways and you taste blood as you work your jaw before sitting back up again. "You need to ask better questions because I don't know what you want." You have an idea what they may want but there was no way they were getting anything out of you.

"Funny," the man says as he grabs your jaw to shake your face and pulls your focus back on him. "Tell us why he was involved in your extraction."

You don't give it up though. The men continue to abuse you, cutting at your skin, battering your face and nearly suffocating you with their hands only to bring you back right when you are about to pass out. It hurts to blink and you spit out a mess of drool and blood when they finally relent for now. The shadows on the wall are long so you know they had been at it for hours.

They leave you tied to the chair and you tilt forward trying to get some sleep. You were hoping they were occupied trying to decipher your run around answers to not notice you were taking a nap. Your sleep is deep but it doesn't last long as a hand lifts your head back up from where it was lolled against your shoulder. You jolt up in the dark and flinch back from the touch.

"It's me," a man says as you blink in the dark groaning a bit. "It's John," the familiar deep gravel of a voice clicks into place and you unclench the fists you had made unconsciously.

"John?" You splutter out trying to look around the room. It's too dark for you to see anything, the stark opposite of how they usually kept it in their methods of keeping you awake. "How'd you know where I was? " You pause realizing you also had no idea where you were. "Where am I exactly?"

"They picked a shit location to try and hide you," he says with a small chuckle as the tip of metal knife slides around your wrists to cut the bonds away. "Abandoned oil field, too open and easy to gain access," he says as he bends down to undo your feet. "Team's got the guards at the gates occupied for a few more minutes," he says before you hear the rustle of him putting the knife away. "Can you walk?"

"I think so?" You mutter as your hand reaches up to touch your puffy eye before you flinch at how tender it is. "They mostly focused on my face, don't need that for walking." You try an attempt to joke but based on Price's silence it falls flat. You can feel the anger roiling off him, though his touch is soft as he surveys the rest of your body for injuries. His fingers brush over the tender skin of your throat and you know it has to be black and blue with how rough they had been.

"How many are there left?" You ask as you rally your strength to stand up, you'd be no help in a fight right now. If you were quick maybe you could sneak out without anyone being the wiser.

"None left in this building," Price says as he gently grabs you under the armpits to help you stand. You look at him shocked, there were at least ten of them that you knew of. Once you're fully standing you grab his clothed forearms to steady yourself. You can feel something warm and wet on your fingertips, without seeing it you know it's blood. "Hunted the whole crew down before I came to find you. Amazing what a halligan can do to some skulls," he says darkly.

"Alone?" You ask as Price tucks one of your hands into the strap of his vest so he can guide you. You can hear him raise his gun as he moves out of the room. The thought of him taking on the men that killed your team by himself sends a jolt of fear down your spine. The risk alone was too great, especially since they were hunting him specifically.

"I do know how to take care myself," Price answers though there is a hint of amusement in his voice. "Couldn't wait on the team to catch up. I wasn't going to leave you in here another minute with them, love."

Soap Abusive Ex

"Get out!" You yell as your ex storms into the apartment from where he had hidden waiting for you to open the door to get a delivery. He's ranting and raving about indiscretions you made against him. How you screwed him over and were the reason he was failing at everything in his life. Everything was your fault, it was always your fault, and he was here to finally put a stop to ruining things for him.

The text to Soap had been quick, a subtle message sent with just two words. Help me. You didn't bother reaching out to the authorities, they never helped. Always saying there was nothing they could do despite the fact your ex had been escalating. First it was simple calling and texting nonstop. Then the letters shoved under your front door. Moving onto showing up at your job so security had to escort him out. Now this.

"What is this?" Your ex asks as he pulls a hooded sweater from underneath the blanket on the couch. Soap had stayed over nights when you had been afraid to be alone, sleeping on the couch. It was innocent, mostly, because you were too afraid to try and move on. Not that it mattered if it wasn't, you and your ex had been over for months. "Who's is this?" He advances on you.

"It doesn't matter," you answer backing up against the dining room table. "You need to get out of my house right now," you argue looking over his shoulder.

"It's his isn't it?" He shakes the hoodie at your face as he gets uncomfortably close. "That fucking Scot that I told you to stop talking to," he shoves you.

"What does it matter?" You fight back before gasping at the shove, the table biting into your lower back. He pushes you again before shoving you bodily to the floor to hover over you. "Please, just get out," you say as you try to back peddle on your hands to put some space between you and him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he snarls and moves to grab you by the hair when the front door bangs open. Five minutes. Soap got to you in five minutes. You weren't sure how he was able to get there in that short amount of time but you don't question it.

Your ex paused to look over his shoulder at the noise and that was enough time for Soap to clear the living room and grab him. He's hoisted up and back by the collar of his shirt and bodily tossed away from you. Soap moves to stand between you and him. A silent form of protection as he looks at the man who's on his ass staring at Soap with murder in his eyes.

"I wouldn't try it," Soap warns the guy with a small smirk as your ex stands back up and forms his hands into fists. "I've been waiting for fucking weeks to do this. It's only because of her you haven't had your ass handed to you before now."

You've stood up now, rubbing absently at your back as you keep your distance behind Soap. You're terrified as Soap cocks his head to the side assess the situation. It's not fear for Soap's safety, you know he can handle himself, but because of everything that just happened. Your ex doesn't take the warning and lunges for Soap.

It's over in a matter of seconds. Soap has him pinned on the ground with his knee in your ex's neck. Your ex is spluttering on the carpet with a bloody lip and busted nose, his free hand scrambling for purchase while Soap twists the other one behind him.

"I'm sorry, I can't fucking hear you," Soap hisses as he bends his head down closer to your ex's face. Your ex is actually squealing with pain as Soap twists his arm further back. If it goes any more you know the shoulder will pop out of the socket and you wince. This isn't exactly what you wanted, at least on a surface level. Yet you knew deep down calling Soap to help would somehow end in your ex receiving some sort of a beat down. Soap had been threatening it for some time now.

"I'm sorry! I'll go!" Your ex finally yells out before groaning as Soap gives his arm one last good yank before letting go and standing up.

"Get the fuck out," Soap says as he stands and moves to put himself between you and your ex again just to be safe. "And leave her alone. If I hear you keep coming round it won't be just me you'll have to deal with."

Your ex leaves with a slam of the door, muttering empty threats about calling the police. In the ringing silence you feel your knees buckle and you grab the table as you start to sob. It had all been so overwhelming and terrifying you don't know another way to process everything.

"Shh, lass," Soap says quietly, his tone turning into the soft gentle one that you knew. The aggressive Soap you had just witnessed was something he hadn't shown you. Sure you heard stories but seeing it live was a whole other story. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he says as he gently coaxes you into his arms and plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"Can you stay?" You ask after long minutes of silence as Soap rubs your back, still holding you. "I don't want...if he comes back," you mumble, the anxiety dreaming up different scenarios of him escalating it.

"Of course," he answers, "couch sort of has my name on it anyhow." He chuckles a bit spotting his sweatshirt there then realizes that's probably what set your ex off in a tirade. He had forgotten it that morning.

"Stay with me," you say after a second, letting him fill in that blank of what exactly you were requesting. "I don't want to be alone," you tack on in explanation as Soap raises his eyebrows.

It had been going this way for a while now but your fear of your ex had always put a stop to it. You'd been afraid of how he'd react and what he would do if he found out. Soap remained ever patient and understanding through it all and after tonight you were tired of waiting.

"Whatever you want lass," Soap answers but you can feel him smiling as he presses another kiss to your temple.

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sexlapis · 6 months

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hi stella! so i remember rachel mcadams and ryan gosling winning “best kiss” at an award show bc of the notebook and when they go up stage they recreate that kiss ….. so what about actor toji and reader doing it???

OMG?? anon your mind?????????????????!!!!!!

this is the kiss btw !!!!

‘BEST KISS’

౨ৎ actor toji x actress/actor reader

kissing! kissing! kissing!

masterlists

actor!toji masterlist

౨ৎ

the romance film you and toji starred in exceeded everyone’s already high expectations. it became the best performing romance film of the year and one of the most successful films of that same year, period.

but was anyone surprised? not really.

people loved you. people loved toji. people loved you and toji. people loved you and toji together, especially when you were both kissing and fucking in an intense, angsty, emotional-rollercoaster of a romance film.

the public all had their speculations and assumptions about whether you and toji were really together or not, but tonight, after this award show? this very moment erased any doubts in their minds.

it was time to announce the nominees for the (only) category you and toji were nominated for, ‘Best Kiss’.

you turn around and look at toji who is seated behind you and grin toothily at him, giving small claps. he smirks, giving you a sleazy wink.

when the exaggerated, deep voice booms from the speakers, announcing you and toji as nominees and displaying the kiss scene on the vast plasma screen, the crowd grows crazy, chaotic almost - they’re screaming like they’re fucking dying. and that’s when you and toji both know you’ve got this in the bag.

you almost feel bad for the other nominees and at how the crowd essentially goes quiet at their scenes. oh well.

shoko and gojo are there to announce the winners.

“and the ‘best kiss’ goes to…” shoko trails off, building anticipation as gojo opens the card that states the award winner.

“ha! someone’s that’s gonna be cleaning up tonight.” gojo laughs “..toji fushiguro and _____!”

the audience began to shriek before they even got through toji’s whole name.

you and toji look at each other and smile, knowingly. knowing the shit you were both about to cause with what you’re about to do.

standing up languidly, toji places a hand on your back as you two stroll right up to the stage, the crowd deafening you at this point.

the steps lead to a double path in the stage and you and toji part ways temporarily, walking around to be opposite each other.

you unbutton your cardigan and let it drop to the floor, hearing whistles and cheers in the pools of crowds next to you, reaching their hands out and screaming your name.

toji begins fake stretching, jumping up and down like he is about to exercise and you giggle at his antics before making a serious face, gazing at him in mock seduction.

he begins striding towards you across the length of the stage, making a ‘come here’ with a long, thick fingers. and you’re like a magnet, rushing towards him, the audience rising in volume as you two grow closer together.

and then you’re jumping up on him, wrapping your legs around his waist as his roughly smashes his lips onto yours and shoves his tongue into your mouth. you accept it, gleeful with his actions, knowing that people will not stop talking about this moment for weeks.

your hands are tugging at his hair and his large hands cup your ass as you both make the fuck out in front of sea of people, who are now louder than you even thought was possible.

toji bites your bottom lip, sucking gently, before finally pulling away from a kiss that lasted what felt like an eternity.

realising what has just transpired, even though you both planned this, you feel embarrassed. you cover you hot face as toji carried you to the podium, your ears ringing from the nonstop echo of the crowds cheers, jeers, whistles and screams.

toji sets you down on your feet and urges you to speak in the microphone. you huff and puff, not really wanting to talk after that…stunt you just pulled.

“toji!” you growl. “get up here!”

“alright, alright..” toji sighs, picking up the trophy of popcorn and holding it up. “i would just like to say…that it was my pleasure.”

his words make the fans go insane again, some members demanding an encore of that steamy kiss.

sighing, you take you trophy and toji places a sweet kiss on your temple. you both walk away side by side, leaving the chaos of the crowd behind as you go to walk backstage. toji reaches down and swings your fallen cardigan over his shoulder, smiling, clearly smug and satisfied with himself.

he looks down at you and you blink up at him, biting the inside of your cheek. you take in his tight, black top, shamelessly staring at his pecs and thick neck as you walk.

toji notices. and when you look him in the eye again, he winks.

a/n: anon what if i diedddd!!!!😩😩😩😩

#📫.toji #was gnna go to sleep but nah i had to do this #anon ily kisses ur brain #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji crack #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x y/n

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hijackalx · 5 months

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PRICE OF WIT +18

(tumblr vers.)

SUMMARY: Astarion can be so mean sometimes, but he swears he can make it up to you.

WORD COUNT: 1788

UNDER THE CUT: F!Reader, dom!astarion, VERY sub reader, make-up sex (kinda?), YALL ARE TOXIC AF TOGETHER, mean!astarion, possessive!astarion, praise, choking, biting, sadism and masochism, small mention of gale being a pervert lol

A/N: reworked this to be in second person, and also edited it since the AO3 version did not get that kind of love 💀 some lines/paragraphs have been changed. also this was originally written with act I/act II astarion in mind but i guess it works for ascended astarion too.

"NO! LET ME GO!"

Intelligent with a silver tongue to boot, Astarion can work his way through and into almost any circumstances he desires.

"I HATE YOU!"

A quick way out of a sticky situation? Got it. A smooth approach into a pleasurable one? No doubt. The world is his for the taking.

"I HATE YOU!"

Except for when it's not.

Sometimes his mouth moves faster than his brain. He occasionally says something a little too harsh, a little too cold— ice cold, and it doesn't matter how much or how little he means it, it still hurts.

Wit has a price, it seems.

You claw and shriek in his grasp. You didn't get far before he managed to wrap his arms around you and stop you from disappearing to who knows where. He winces as your fingernails dig into the skin of his forearms. He succeeds in grabbing your wrists and folding them against your body, trapping you against his chest.

"You're acting like a child!" He shouts through an exhausted growl as you continue to resist his hold.

He knows what he said was wrong— it was a snarky slip of the tongue. But you stormed off before he could apologize, so who's really the problem here?

The fire glows and crackles in the crisp night air, accompanied by Gale and Karlach, whose meals have been so rudely interrupted by your shrill screams. Although, they watch the tussle unfazed. This wouldn't be the first time you and him have had a peace-disrupting argument.

"They're the most immature people I've ever met," Karlach takes a bite of her turkey leg, her tone more irritated than anything. "No good for each other, those two."

Gale watches how you kick up dust and dirt just outside of Astarion's tent. He'd only heard pieces of what led to this as you spoke behind the fabric; some kind of complaint by Astarion that has clearly been taken to heart. Sighing, he meets Karlach's eyes, their shared gaze molding into apprehensive weariness.

"Well," he mutters into a lamb chop, "looks like we're in for another sleepless night."

"I love you, I love you, I love you—" your softly whimpered phrase is the only sound to be heard after the camp has settled in their bedrolls for the night.

All Astarion had to do was guide you back into his tent and successfully lay you down. After that, you were more willing to hear him out.

Your bodies are bathed in the gentle lantern light, your back pressed firmly to his bedding and your legs wrapped around his waist. He intertwines your fingers as he steadies your hands above your head. Soft, white locks tickle your cheek as he nuzzles into your neck, his teeth teasing at the skin every so often.

His pace is rhythmical but rough, his hips flush between your legs as he aims for your cervix— his favorite spot. He loves the way you writhe and try to push him away while pleading for more. The way your heels press into his back, how your voice breaks while you call out for him.

"I've got you, sweetheart," his exhales are hot against your skin.

His hand slips down to pinch your side after hearing you stifle a moan, a quick but effective reprimand. You squeak at how he cruelly twists the flesh, your abdomen tensing.

"Don't hold back," he scolds, and you catch how his brows lower in the corner of your eye. Your modesty has offended him.

You screw your eyes shut, mustering up the ability to speak clearly. "T-they'll hear," you blurt out. It's only fair to be considerate to your fellow party members— or at least try to.

Your response makes him laugh, and this time you're the one scrunching your brows. You don't understand what's so amusing until he says, "You wouldn't want to deprive Gale of his own pleasures, would you?"

You go entirely rigid, your face dropping slightly at how sure he sounds.

Questionably, he sits up to examine you, immediately noticing your change in expression. "What?" He asks. "Don't tell me you didn't know?"

Eyes wide and cheeks flushed a deep red, you stare up at him speechlessly. What he's implying is that... gale has been... touching himself while you and him are together?

How perverse.

He coos, squeezing your cheek and giving it a shake. "You're so cute." His condescending tone doesn't make you want to smack him in the face, strangely enough. In fact, you think you might like it judging by the way your stomach turns.

You take a moment to recover from the thought of your private acts not being so private. Noticing this, he balances his hands on the ground beside you, then pulls out before fully sheathing himself again with a fast, hard thrust. Your body jolts like it's been injured, and you can't hold back your yelp. His features are nothing short of devilish upon hearing the sound.

Sometimes he likes to be mean— but sometimes you like to let him.

"I quite like... the idea... actually," he says through breaths while he fucks you, his half-lidded gaze watching how your tits bounce. Leaning down, he begins to leave a trail of bite marks over your chest, each one he soothes with a gentle kiss as if to say 'sorry'. "Imagining Gale all alone—" another bite, another kiss. "—Wishing he were half as lucky as me."

He groans as your hands twitch and grip at his hair. Your back arches off the ground, and he runs a slightly calloused palm over the newly exposed area, tracing the curve of your body.

"Astarion," you say so weakly, so needy. He can't help letting a moan slip at how his name sounds coming from your mouth.

You're close, he can feel it. It's the way you tremble, the way you can't get close enough to him— wanting him deeper, harder, more, more— You're a greedy little thing, but he adores it. He adores you. How couldn't he give you anything and everything you want?

He sits up, his lustful stare heavy and thick as he peers down his nose at you.

You lift your chin as his hand wraps around your neck, allowing him all the access he wants. He begins to squeeze, your smaller fingers prying at his grip.

"You're mine," he watches intently as you squirm under his unwavering stare, his face still and emotionless. "Say it to me."

"I'm yours," you say readily, feeling your heart skip a beat when the corners of his mouth almost split into a proud grin.

"Tell me you won't try to run away again." His hold tightens.

"I-I won't. I won't leave you," you choke out. That's what you told him last time and the time before that. Just as your head begins to feel light and your eyelids heavy, your body buzzes and jerks with an orgasm.

He releases you so he can watch your full reaction; how you writhe and reach for him, how the hands scraping at his chest plead to close the distance between your bodies.

Tears slip down the corners of your eyes— maybe from pleasure, maybe not. He could hold you, but something inside tells him no. It's almost as if to serve as punishment for trying to run off.

Believe him, he doesn't want to punish his baby. But sometimes it's necessary.

Once your high dies down and you're left a heaving, exhausted mess, he grabs one of your limp hands and leaves a kiss on each fingertip. "Ooh," his thumb rubs your palm. "That was a good one."

You know very well that you're not finished. Luckily, he's kind enough to get you off first, even when he's upset with you. He's considerate where it counts, of course.

Or maybe he loves how much he can undo you with a second orgasm.

He caresses your face while you catch your breath. You lean into his touch, almost petting yourself. His undead palm is cold yet gentle, and you somehow find comfort in it. Your eyelids flutter closed.

"You're doing so good for me," he praises softly, his tone no louder than a murmur. "You can go a bit longer, can't you?"

He speaks tenderly and sweet, making your pulse beat even faster. "For me, darling?" He asks as if it's even a question— as if he doesn't know the answer.

Your body aches, worn and tired, yet you nod with eagerness. Anything, you think in your euphoric, fucked-out daze, anything for you.

There are times when you can't stand him, when he's the worst person in the world— but those only emphasize the times when he's the only person in the world; times when he makes you feel warm and loved, and so, so good.

Like when he nears his own orgasm and wraps his arms around you so tight, so close. He holds you like you're the dearest thing he's ever had, your skin pressed together like you're afraid to part.

And he fucks you so good you'll forget the nasty things he says and does, if only until the next time. For now, the way his breaths shake and his muscles contract in yearning— in need, is distracting enough.

"Fuck—" a word you'll rarely, if ever, hear him say. Too vulgar for his tastes, except for when he loses his ability to keep his composure. "Fuck," he hisses again as he thrusts into you, almost hard enough to lift your hips from the ground.

Before you know it, his teeth are sinking deep into the flesh of your neck. You gasp loudly, tangling your fingers in his curls. He stifles his moans by lapping up the crimson leaking from your puncture wounds, finishing inside you simultaneously.

Between the sounds of him reaching his climax and the bite, it's enough to push you over the edge a second time. Extra sensitive, your body reacts more violently than before. Your nails claw and tear at his back, leaving scratches through the maze of scars. The newly raised lines disfigure the old, tiny pools of blood rising to the top— a gentle reminder of your presence compared to his preferred methods.

"That's it, there you go," he pulls away breathlessly, making sure to use slow, flat sweeps of his tongue to clean up the mess he's made. The smeared red on your neck is licked away into a mere stain.

Your bodies finally ease into stillness. Exhausted, he rests his weight on top of you. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, eyes shut as you hold him.

Your lips press softly to his shoulder, your head lying against his. The heavy exhales between you alternate, your chests rising and falling deeply until they progress into something more controlled.

Though out of each other's lines of sight, you share the same troubled expression, your brows furrowed and lips pulled into frowns.

There's a long, silent moment of recuperation before he mutters into your ear,

“I love you."

#astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion angst #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #ascended astarion #oneshot

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txmxkis · 3 months

Text

can't take my eyes off you

pairing. kuroo tetsurou x gn!reader

genre. fluff

wc. 1236........

warnings. HIGHLY self indulgent as usual, basically self ship coded but hopefully still entertaining and relatable, reader has confidence/self worth issues, sappy af, almost certainly has grammar mistakes

a/n. based on me hating being photographed irl. also why is writing so fun but so scary. TENSES ARE SO HARD

“tetsurou. if you take one more goddamn picture of me, i swear i’ll—"

the sound of his phone camera capturing a picture cuts you off mid sentence, followed immediately by your huff of frustration.

"you'll what, hmm? you don't scare me."

he flashed you a big cheesy grin, all the while still pointing the camera at you. you scowl at him, ready to risk it all and attempt a lunge at his phone in order to stop this madness.

you hated having your picture taken and he knew it, but for some reason he chose to ignore that fact, as if possessed by the need to piss you off. he could be really good at that when he wanted to be.

as soon as you initiated your plan of attack, your hand getting tantalizingly close to the offending device, he pulled it just out of reach. hopelessly, you flopped back onto the bed, groaning in frustration.

“why do you hate me."

“now now. would my camera roll be full of someone i hate?"

“if you were planning to kill me, yea. besides, i dont think having hideous pictures of me is exactly helping your argument.”

he just rolled his eyes in response.

you heard the shutter sound once more while your defenses were down. the last straw.

before he had time to react, you grabbed the nearest blanket and covered your head with it, holding on tightly so that he couldn't expose you to humiliation all over again. you probably had a better chance of ruining his plans by hiding than by trying to overpower him anyway.

“hey! get back here!"

his attempts to uncover you were met with shrieks of protest and a tightened clutch on the blanket. not to mention a few wild jabs of your limbs into the air, which if he hadn't so skillfully dodged, might have hurt just a little.

“fine. time for me to look through these and admire the fruits of my labor."

you cringed at the thought of how the pictures looked. how you looked. most of them were probably blurry anyways because of the thrashing that you were doing to escape the lense, thank god.

maybe you could persuade him to get rid of them. maybe you could sneak into his phone later and delete them yourself. maybe—

“you're beautiful, you know."

all thoughts of treachery came to a screeching halt. after sitting there with your mouth open in shock for a good few seconds, you shook your head, moving the blanket with it.

“nuh uh."

“yuh huh."

“nope."

“without doubt."

his tone of finality made you want to scream your throat sore, but instead you lay there quietly, silently disagreeing with him again.

it was relatively quiet for far too long after that, with quiet cackles drifting over from the other side of the bed being the only sound you could hear from underneath your shield. presumably brought on by pictures that were extra stupid. not to mention revolting.

your thoughts were spiralling right along with your mood now, eyes almost welling up with tears, but you stubbornly pushed them back. it seemed ridiculous to get this worked up over something that wasn't necessarily that serious. kuroo was just trying to be playful and you knew that. it was hard not to feel this way, though, especially when it came to something that was such a big insecurity.

he sighed loudly, snapping you out of your head momentarily.

“can you please come out from under there? i swear the camera's not open. i put the phone down and everything.”

“liar."

“am not! i just wanna see your pretty face with my own eyes now."

you grumbled a weak protest before relenting.

“fine. but i swear if you—"

“would you just hurry up already."

“oh my god, alright."

you slowly pulled the blanket from your face, and you could see that he was telling the truth. for now at least. he was lying there right next to you, already staring, as if straight into your soul. god, you wanted to shrivel up and disappear immediately.

“it's rude to stare, you know."

“don’t care."

you felt so awkward and exposed, and the only thought in your mind now was getting out of this conversation.

you started to try and untangle yourself from the blankets and get up out of the bed, only to feel your own arm being pulled out from under you. falling back next to kuroo, you covered your face and made a noise of frustration.

the first thing you saw after pulling your hands from your face again were those amber eyes still fixed on you, a slight grin on that smackable face.

“ummmm, hello? can I leave?"

he shrugged.

“you can do whatever you want."

you tried to sit up and leave again, only to be pulled right back down next to him a second time.

“i- what's happening right now?”

“good question. i changed my mind, you don't get to leave anymore.”

you masked your face with a deadpan expression, only because you were desperately trying to avoid giving him the satisfaction of seeing you crack a smile.

“are you serious right now?"

“as the plague."

at that, you couldn't help but snort.

“and why is it that you're trapping me here?"

“i decided that you have to lie here and listen to me tell you why you're amazing."

“yea, sure, whatever you say."

“i really can make you a list if you want. although i think it would take less time to make a list of reasons why i don't like you."

“i pick that one."

“ha! nice try. hmm, now let's see... you're endlessly stubborn. quiet and standoffish with most people.”

you raised an eyebrow. maybe this wouldn't be so difficult after all.

“though still kind to everyone who deserves it. alluring. determined. passionate even when it's hard. you care so much that it's scary sometimes. ”

you avoided eye contact. okay. at this point you were starting to feel far too exposed again.

"you try way too hard to keep people at arm's length, but if they're lucky enough to be loved by you, they're taken care of whenever, wherever. you're smart, even if you don't think it's true. stunning as well as irresistible.”

when he said that, he caressed your cheek while you basically became one with the mattress.

“and so independent that it feels like you don't need me around sometimes. but also soft and gentle and giving.”

his voice had dropped almost to a whisper when he spoke those last words. at this point, your face was nearly burning off. you were almost sure that he could feel the heat radiating from you.

“okay, okay—"

“and, oh yea, did i mention beautiful? enough to be my wallpaper."

he picked up his phone and flashed it at you, a slightly blurry picture from not twenty minutes before illuminating the screen. you could tell he was proud of himself from the smug grin stretched across his face.

“you're an ass."

“come onnnnn, you love me, admit it.“

right then, your chest swelled with affection for him, so much that it felt like you could suffocate. still, you paused just long enough for him to start acting offended, before smiling softly and speaking quietly.

“yea, i really do. thank you, tetsurou.”

thank you for reading! <3 — txmxkis

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu scenarios #hq imagines #hq drabbles #hq scenarios #what up its ya boy with more self indulgent as fuck writing #i just want him to love me into loving myself yk #anyways happy valentine's day!!!#screams and runs away #[☂] — rini writes!

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envy-of-the-apple · 5 months

Text

Heart Infection (Part One)

(I usually only post dark content here but im lowkey proud of this one. The rest of the fic is here

In a world where society has gotten used to zombie outbreaks, your domestic life is turned into chaos and a race for survival when an outbreak occurs in your city. In the middle of it all, you stumble upon a giant, speaking in a foreign language. He won’t show you his face. He’s ruthless. He’s a force to be reckoned with. But, despite the fact you can’t understand him, you know without a doubt this man would die to protect you.

Pairing: König x reader

They always say it happens fast.

They never clarified how fast.

It was just one report. One incident of someone behaving strangely. Just a couple of minor incidents. You hadn't thought much of it. You existed as you had always: going to work, lazing around your home, talking with your friends. One week you carried life as normal, the next you were getting bombarded by alerts to stay inside.

Lock your doors. Stay silent. Stay undetectable. It was the last message you got before your internet went out, and you descended into a microscopic dark age.

You’ve never really thought about outbreaks all that much. It’s a tragedy, but it’s a rarity. The probability of it happening to you or anyone else you knew was 0.0005%. Maybe even less. It was never supposed to happen to you.

The screaming ended days ago. You still didn’t move from your spot, huddled in a small corner of your apartment, too scared to do anything else.

You could hear them every so often. The groaning. The horrific footsteps of something not human. At least, something not human anymore. They’re so loud. You didn’t think anything could be this loud. Their screams ricochet off the walls, into your apartment. Sometimes it’s upstairs. Sometimes it’s right by your door.

A morbid part of you wondered if you’d be able to recognize them. Your neighbors, something that used to be your neighbors. You couldn’t, something which you were grateful for. All the moans, the garbles, the shrieks, they were all incoherent, unrecognizable. Inhuman.

Protocol had been drilled into your head ever since you were a kid. In schools, you had outbreak drills, where you and your classmates sat in a room for five minutes until the lights came back on and class resumed as normal. If an outbreak happened when you were at home stay put. Stay silent. Stay unnoticed.

Only now are you realizing the parallelisms between now and the drills practiced by schoolchildren during the Cold War. Teachers would tell their students to hide under tables. They'd board up the windows. It was all useless. Just a half-hearted attempt to quell the nerves of the people. To give them a false sense of security.

You check your phone, tapping on the screening, telling yourself you’d put it on silent already. You can’t charge it. The power in your apartment went out two weeks ago. You’re pretty sure the water went with it too. You can’t connect to the internet. The phone lines are down. At this point, your phone is only good for its flashlight.

(You don’t even think about turning it on even in the darkness of your apartment. They’re attracted to light.)

It’s useless, but you’re still pulling up your mom’s contact. You send her a message. The 438th one.

‘Still alive. I love you.’

Message unable to deliver responds your phone. You turn it off, closing your eyes.

Your mother, God what was she thinking right now? She wasn’t in the city. She lives miles away in your hometown. You knew she was already aware, probably sick with worry. The last outbreak happened two years ago in a small town all the way on the other side of the country. You were home from college, cuddled up with her on the couch as you two watched the news in horror. Her co-worker’s daughter had been in the infected city. She hadn’t made it. Your mom attended the funeral.

She later admitted to you that she was glad it wasn’t you she was watching on the TV.

You wonder if she remembers these words right now. If they haunt her.

Outside, the siren flicks off. It had been blaring static music for the past hour. They’re attracted to noise. The woman’s voice is too cheery for the current situation. Her voice was too clinical, and measured. It was obvious that it was pre-recorded. She always repeated the same thing: We apologize for the delay of Aide. Please remain in your homes. We thank you for your patience.

You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so terrified.

It had only been three weeks since your world went to shit, but you’d already lost hope of help ever arriving. Maybe the tanks, the guns, the arsenal were already on their way but they hadn’t gotten to you yet, too preoccupied by the swarms of monsters. You’d already boarded up your windows, too afraid to see something you didn’t want to see, but through the tiny cracks, the barren streets were lifeless. No one had come. Not yet, at least.

The barren streets were lifeless. Lifeless, not empty.

During the first two days, there were many of them. Now, you could sometimes see a couple, if any at all.

Their skin had lost the brightness of a human’s. Each one was a dull shade of grayish green. Some decayed faster than others, revealing rotting flesh right underneath their sagging skin. You’d seen a couple missing arms, and legs, mindlessly limping, crawling away to some unknown destination. When they weren’t hunting, they were slow. Truly dead.

The worst were the children. Small, bodies stumbling here and there. Tiny bones jutting out from rotting skin. Sickly eyes that had been gone for days. You couldn’t bear to look outside after that.

You'd seen them hunt before. It was during the first couple of hours when everything went to shit. The man was running, dragging his clearly broken leg as fast as he could. He wasn't fast enough. They had caught up to him in minutes. You had to turn away when his screaming turned to painful shrieks. You could still hear them every so often, even after you boarded up your windows. You don't think you'll ever be able to forget his begs for help. Ever the coward, you prayed he didn't see you. You prayed it wasn't you he was begging to.

The guilt kept you up at night sometimes. Every so often, you'd hear another scream, another tearing of flesh. You just lay there, covering your ears with your hands, hoping you'd wake up from this nightmare.

Had your friends ended up like that? You hadn't been able to get into contact with any of them. Hopefully, they had evacuated. You couldn't even think of them huddled up like you, stuck to listening to the terror outside. Or perhaps a fate even worse turned into a rotting corpse still living.

Your pantry was full of canned food. Beans, corn, tomatoes. You knew you wouldn’t have to worry about food running out, that is if you could ever have an appetite big enough for a full meal. You had water bottles too, all piled into the back of your closets.

The real issue wasn’t food. The real issue wasn’t water. It was the wait. The terrifying suspense every time you moved a bit too fast, terrified that something above or below you would hear. You were always warned about how strong these things were. Devoid of the human limitations, they will do everything they can to claw past wood, concrete, steel. It doesn’t matter how mangled they get. They can’t feel pain.

Your pantry was overflowing with food. Now, all you had to do was play the waiting game.

You've noticed they're more active in the night rather than the day. It made sense, to a degree. The cooler air slowed down the rate of decay. The sun was harsh, especially during the summer months. Why would a rotting piece of meat ever want to stay underneath the burning sun?

But it made the nights tenser. You could hardly sleep when the sun went down and the light in your apartment faded to pitch black. They were louder. Hungrier. It was as though they took their anger on the sun out on the darkness, letting their fury consume everything in their path.

You flinch when another bang ricochets across your apartment. Tonight seemed to be the worst. The shuffling. The growling. It seemed to all get desperate. Impatient.

It was starting to seem more and more as though they were looking for something.

You don't even want to entertain that thought, but you could hear scratching through the walls. The sound of human fingers raking their claws against cement. Tonight, you had barricaded yourself in your closet, nestled between your clothes. You could hear the muffled echoes of things crawling upstairs, knocking things over.

It almost distracts you from the thudding at the front door. Like a body is being rammed against your door over and over and over and over and over and over and-

Your door has to give eventually. You want to curse yourself for it because you once remembered your mom berating you for not installing better security and tougher doors. You'd laughed her concerns off. You thought it was paranoia.

The door caves in, something inhuman is crawling into your apartment. All that you can think about is your mom's knowing I told you so.

Haggard footsteps made their way into your abandoned living room. It was loud, messily bumping into tables and walls. There didn't seem to be a set direction. It didn't know where exactly you were. It didn't matter.

You were going to die.

It was a startling thought, but not something you could deny. You were only able to survive for five days, that alone was a miracle. That’s all this was. Luck. A roll of the dice. You weren’t a survivor. You were weak, with zero combat experience. This was all just a one-in-a-million chance. You still have no clue how you managed to survive this long. Maybe the monsters thought you were already dead? Maybe they thought you were too weak to even bother? You didn't know why you were still thinking about this. It wasn't like it mattered. You were living on borrowed time. Your front door was no match for it. What about your room? What will the numerous barricades even do against these things?

You were out of time.

You can feel the sting of tears in your eyes. You suck in your breath, huddling into a tighter ball.

This thing was going to find you. This thing was going to kill you. And there was nothing you could do about it.

You check your phone. Still, no signal. You sent her your last message, anyway.

'I love you'

A part of you hopes your messages never get through to her. So she wouldn't have to know her child died with fear. With pain. You pray to any god still listening to you that she will assume you died within the first day, unaware, oblivious. You prayed she would know that you died a merciful death.

But the gods hate you. They laugh at you, leering as the thing drags its body closer and closer to your room, towards your closet with a trembling hulk of flesh locked inside, ripe for the taking.

And then it stops. You wait, bracing yourself. When there's still no movement, you realize that it's listening for something.

Soon, you hear it too.

Gunshots.

You clasp a hand over your mouth, stifling your gasp. Had help arrived? Had you just narrowly avoided being eaten?

The thing just outside your room door growls. You can hear it hustle out of your apartment on unsteady legs, as it fights to go where the gunshots are coming from. It doesn't have to go far.

It doesn't sound like a struggle. It's more like a one-sided fight. Decaying flesh doesn't do well against steel guns and bullets. There are a couple of rapid shots, and then something heavy collapses outside of the apartment.

And then, it's all over.

You almost can't believe it, still huddled in your corner of the closet. It's all over. You can't hear any more dull groans and screeches. Whoever was out there, had gotten rid of them all.

You're crying again, for an entirely different reason now. Relief. Utter joy. Hope.

But now, you have an entirely new problem. How do you get out to meet your saviors, without getting shot?

Their boots were heavy, roughly stomping around without a care in the world. From what you could hear, there was only one of them. The rest must be outside, scanning other apartments, looking for more survivors. Military. Or maybe a crudely put-together army of minute men. You didn't care which.

There was only one person in your apartment, and they seemed to be a sort of shoot-first-ask-questions-later type of person. You had to get their attention in a way that wouldn't spook them. You had no trust in your voice, it was going to be scratchy from the unuse, maybe even rivaling the monsters' groans.

You take too long to come up with a plan because the intruder in your apartment seems to still, seemingly realizing they aren't alone.

His voice is deep, almost rattling the apartment, as he calls out. You can't understand him. It takes you a moment to realize he's speaking a different language than you.

Shit. This was going to be harder than you initially anticipated.

His footsteps seem heavier as if he is intentionally trying to intimidate you. It's working, because your heartbeat quickens when your room door is blown open. You can hear him rifle through your bed. He calls out something again. Closer. It sounds European. Dutch, or perhaps it was German? Russian? You still can't make out what he's saying.

The man says something. Despite your lack of understanding, it's crystal clear that he's making a threat. He sounds right in front of your closet. The soft click of a gun makes your shyness whittle away far enough that you can actually say something.

"Don't shoot. " You try to scream, but it comes out with a choked cry. "I'm human. I'm human."

That seems to stop him, and he pauses long enough for you to prove your innocence. Slowly, as if he's the one you're trying not to scare, you creak the door open, gently giving away your hiding spot.

The flashlight makes you wince, and you try to shy away from the light. He seems to be assessing as to whether you're a threat or not. As uncomfortable as it was, you let him, lowering your eyes so you're not blinded.

He says something, obviously asking a question. When you don't respond quickly, his voice grows harder, more impatient.

You bite your lip, nerves rising.

"I don't-I don't understand," You finally manage to say, "I'm sorry."

There's a moment, and then he's clicking off his flashlight. He gives a ragged sigh like this is above his pay grade.

"I'm sorry," You say again into the darkness.

You can tell that he's still watching you. What else is there to inspect? The rest of your rundown apartment? He tries speaking again. It's clear that he's trying to sound softer. He's lost the harsh growl in his voice. It makes him sound younger, at least, to your ears.

The change of tone doesn't change the fact that you still don't know his language. You shake your head, hoping you can get your point across once more. He reaches for you, and you can't help it.

You flinch, pressing yourself against the wall, watching his shadow warily.

It's funny how the one thing you wished for was to be saved, and now that you are, you still cower. It's not intentional. It's uncontrollable. You're still wary of the stranger. He's unreadable.

He seems to get the point, raising his hands up, and leaving the gun at his side. You doubt being weaponless makes him any less dangerous.

You can't make out most of him, but in the dim light you got, you were able to tell he was big. Even now, as he crouched before you, in a clear attempt to make himself less hostile. You can't seem to find his face. There's some kind of darkened mask on him, obscuring his features. For some reason, you suddenly realize you can't really hear his breathing.

He tilts his head as if to say See? I'm harmless! You don't think you agree with that statement. Even then.

He's safe. You know he's safe.

You don't exactly relax, but you ease back into your space. He seems to get the point, standing back up to his full height, easily towering over you.

He gestures to his hands. It takes you a while to realize he's asking if you're injured.

"No." You shake your head. "No injuries."

He seems satisfied with that, backing away to look at your room. Apart from the numerous barricades you put across the windows, your bedroom is pretty sparse. You wonder if he's thinking how you managed to survive this long. You wonder if he's impressed by it. You wonder if he pities you for it.

He moves around more, scuttling throughout your apartment. It's becoming clear that he's checking for other survivors. As expected, he returns with no one else. It's just you and him. Alone.

There's a silence now. You hadn't realized it until just now, everything around you seems gone. Dead. You peek out the window. You can't see much, just more barren streets. There's nothing.

Did he and his team get rid of all of the monsters in the area? How?

There's a thud and when you turn back you notice something has been thrown at your feet. It's an old backpack you owned. You look up at him. His meaning is clear.

Start packing.

Right. You can't stay here. Not anymore. Despite your home being your sanctuary, with your door broken into, you're vulnerable here. Easy prey. You know all this, and yet you find yourself hesitating for a bit.

You had to go out there? Where danger lurks in every corner? It sounds like a daunting task. Your heart is telling you to stay put, where it's always felt safe. Home.

Your brain knows the truth. If you stay here, you are dead. For right now, this man was the only hope you had.

You do as he says, running around your apartment, eager to stuff as many items as you can. It's mostly food, water, and any nonperishables. You don't have any weapons, the only thing that even counts as one is your small can of mace. You don't know how well it will fare against the undead, but you take it with you, hoping something is better than nothing.

He doesn't comment on anything you took, merely turning back to face the front of your apartment the moment you look ready. You follow him obediently, only giving one last look at your home. It's a bleak end. You wonder if you'll ever be able to return.

He gives a grunt. When you look forward, you see that he's quite a ways ahead of you. He jerks his head in the universal gesture of 'you coming?'.

Your shoes pitter-patter to catch up to his boots, abandoning the remnants of your apartment. His strides are long, almost twice the length of yours. You almost have to run to keep up with him, jostling your bag. Dawn was coming. The windows gave way to the sun slowly rising from the horizon. It causes you to see more fragments of him.

Looking back, it was probably a good thing you couldn't see him all that well before. Otherwise, your first encounter might have ended with you assuming that he was planning on eating you. He easily towered over you, having to duck under the ceiling at times. His hooded mask rivaled the death that had been crawling around your home, creating a terrifying parallel. His vest was covered in assorted knives, guns, and other weapons you could barely name. The gun he'd used on the monster was slung on his back. You can't see his eyes, you don't know why that bothers you.

It's intimidating. And you're suddenly glad you aren't on his ire.

You're confused. You're scared. Those are never a good combination. You decide to momentarily forget your burning questions. You'd come back to them when you were safe.

At least, you hoped that's where this man was taking you. To safety.

He hadn't even bothered saying another word to you, just casually trekking on, letting you follow a couple of steps behind. Every so often, you'd catch a glimpse of his mask as he glanced behind him, as though he were trying to assure himself that you were still there. Where was he going? Where were you following him? It's not like you could just ask him.

You didn't even know his name.

You were half-afraid the small tap on his shoulder wouldn't register to him. He turns, to your relief, peering down at you.

"Who are you?" You softly ask. It's the first sentence you've managed to say to him that wasn't a stuttered apology.

He tilts his head, clearly not understanding. In response, you point at his chest. He takes a moment, it's why you get worried he still doesn't get it.

"König." His voice is rough against the word.

"König?" You repeat, the word alien in your mouth. He gives a barely visible nod.

You give a tentative smile. When he keeps staring, you give out your own name. He takes a second, mulling it over.

And then König is walking again. You follow one step in front of the other.

#reader inserts #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #könig x reader #zombie apocalypse #dark content #cw: gore #cw: violence #x reader

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bambiraptorx · 1 month

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Welcome to Not Quite Hidden AU. This is a poll-based story. Word count: 504

There are many things that Draxum isn’t a fan of, and small children and grocery shopping are among them. Not that he hates either of them, of course, it’s more of a mild dislike than anything else; something that must be dealt with occasionally but can generally be ignored. Annoying as both of those things can be, they are a part of life.

Combining them, however? Rather more than a mild dislike at this point.

He pins his ears back under his helmet and grimaces as he tries to compare the cost of two boxes of crackers and ignore the shrieking from the aisle over. Someone has been letting their horrid little offspring run rampant for the past ten minutes, and if they don’t do something Draxum will. A supermarket is not the place for kids to be running around and playing tag, much less for screaming! If one of them even gets close to him he’s going to—

A small giggle alerts him to the presence of one of them. Oh, great, they’ve infiltrated this aisle too. Once the others catch up to this one, it’s going to be nothing but noise.

Something tugs at his train. “Mister? Whatcha lookin’ at?”

Draxum twists away, yanking the fabric away from the small hands and glares downward. “None of your business, you little—”

A small green face stares up at him, pouting slightly. It’s a young turtle, wearing little more than an oversized tunic that still doesn’t quite manage to escape the rips and tears of being forced over such a spiky shell. He has a good deal of spikes, actually, small reddish points scattered across his shoulders and arms and larger ones on his elbows.

Titan above, the boy looks like one of his.

The child stares at Draxum, his eyes flicking back and forth, and suddenly brightens. “You have arm sharpies too!”

And yes, Draxum does have spikes on his gauntlets, but that does nothing to explain why this turtle looks so achingly similar to what Draxum’s would have been at this age. Might have, really, he doesn’t know for sure.

“Raph! Raphie! Raph, Donnie’s it now!” Another child barrels around the shelves and all but skids behind Draxum. This one’s a turtle as well, with a smoother but more decorated shell and small yellow splotches across his face and limbs. Draxum’s breath catches. Another, so similar too? How is that possible?

He’s about to ask them a question—clearly they know each other, and he’s always hoped that at least one of his specimens might have survived somehow—when a short ferret yokai turns the corner, two more small turtles trailing behind him.

“Boys, where did you go? I told you not to run off again—” his semi-desperate call trails off as he catches sight of Draxum.

Draxum stares at the other turtles—a softshell, and a slider. Exactly like his own. There can be no doubt now, these are Draxum’s turtles. But how did they all make it out, how are they all here?

Info:

I decided to try a new format for an au. This is going to be something of an interactive, choose your own adventure type story. Also it was originally based on this post lol. Feel free to ask questions if you're curious!

#rottmnt #rottmnt au #not quite hidden au #my writing #rottmnt baron draxum #rottmnt splinter #turtle tots #rottmnt fanfiction #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #also yes splinter is a ferret in this au and not a rat #poll

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talesofadragon · 6 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐞

Synopsis: Steve Rogers was looking forward to Halloween. Not because of the costumes, the tricking and the treating, or Tony’s meticulous party planning—he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his Y/N. But a cozy night in with pumpkin spice lattes and that Halloween Town movie he needed to catch up on was soon abandoned when the mysterious house on Easton Avenue called for his attention.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Civilian!Reader

Genre: SMUT | Fluff | Some scary stuff

Warnings: Unprotected sex, P in the V, oral sex, temperature play, sex toys, kegel balls, blindfolds, bondage, pussy slapping, object insertion, deepthroating, shoe humping, degradation, dacryphilia, sex tapes, mirror sex, breast fucking, orgasm denial, edging, squirting, overstimulation, should I go on? It’s shameful sex, basically.

Word Count: 12K

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, FOLKS! This is my very first time doing a kinktober special, but I really wanted to submit an entry to @jtargaryen18's Halloween Special! So, I hope you all like this. And forgive me, because I just finished it, and didn't triple-check for typos. Enjoy 🧡🎃

All Masterlists | Steve Rogers Masterlist

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 of red surged from within the fifth house on Easton Avenue, sending a chaotic ripple across the entire neighborhood. At least, that’s how you pictured it in your head. That house had a vicious and ominous aura, topped with a polarizing effect that both dared you to come closer and urged you to stay away.

Something about that house wasn’t right ever since its residents claimed it a week ago. It had been a solid year since you moved to Brooklyn to live with Steve, and as far as you knew, that old and frail house had been vacant for the better half of seven years. Yet now, all so suddenly, someone decided it was the most miraculous idea in the world to step through the broken fence and make do with whatever crumbs the beaten structure had to offer—with little regard or effort at fixing it.

“What in the name of God are you doing?”

Lost in the abstract aura of your neighbor’s house, Steve had crept up on you, and you were none the wiser. You whipped your head to the back, hands firmly clutching the binoculars. It was not a sound decision on your behalf because Steve’s majestic blue-green eyes were now tenfold bigger, almost as if they were about to devour you whole.

You shrieked, fingers still gripping the binoculars for reasons unknown. Your startled expression made Steve stiffen and look around.

“Why are you screaming?” he asked, taking the binoculars away from your face. His eyebrows furrowed slightly when he caught the letter “A” engraved on the side. “Did you take these from my mission bag, Y/N?”

You sheepishly gazed up at him, giving him your best pout. Steve didn’t particularly mind if you rummaged through his things, but the reason you lived on Easton Avenue and not at the Avengers Compound was that he tried to keep you away from his “alter ego,” as you liked to call it. So, snooping through his mission bag might have contradicted the boundaries you had previously set.

“I was birdwatching,” you blurted out without a second thought.

Steve regarded you skeptically. “Birdwatching,” he repeated, his tone heavy with doubt.

“Yes. This time of the year brings very colorful birds.”

He didn’t respond, only subtly arching an eyebrow. Placing the binoculars on the nearby couch, his slender and long fingers pushed the curtain aside—enough for him to peek out the window. And because Steven Grant Rogers was God’s perfect human creation, he didn’t need even a monocle to catch sight of the fifth townhouse down your street.

“Yeah, you’re right. That ashen plumage does splendidly reflect the beauty of this season.”

“At least you are a gentleman enough to feign belief,” you remarked, indignantly rolling your eyes.

Knowing what was going to follow, you picked up the binoculars and headed to your shared bedroom. But Steve was right behind you with the same retort he used when he caught you so much as thinking about that house. “Dove, you need to stop investing so much energy into that house. There’s nothing wrong about it.”

“Everything is wrong about it, Steve!” you defended, picking up his bag from the closet and putting the binoculars back. “It’s creepy and morbid, and I can’t believe anyone would willingly choose to settle in it.”

“It’s a nice house. I’m sure, with some attention, anyone would want to settle in it.”

“Well, that’s the thing! Why aren’t the new owners doing anything about it? It’s sitting there like the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. The only missing part is the werewolf.”

Steve looked somewhat perplexed and unconvinced. His lips parted then closed until he was ready to speak again. “Werewolves don’t exist.” Of course, he’d focus on that part. “And, maybe the owners haven’t had the chance to refurbish the house yet.”

“That’s a great suggestion, Stevie! Why don’t we go and lend a hand.”

It was not, in fact, a great suggestion at all. What it was though is a ruse.

You didn’t give him the time to answer, immediately bolting outside the room. You knew you had him in a corner because Steve Rogers might’ve been a master strategist, a renowned captain, and a fearless leader, but you could always uncover the cracks in his façade, and you were certain something about this house didn’t sit right with him either. He just didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“Uhm, maybe you should sit this one out, dove. You’ve never been good with a paintbrush.”

“Maybe so,” you replied with your back still to him. You didn’t need heightened senses to catch the shy curse that left his mouth. “But I’m good at baking. I can offer the new neighbors some pumpkin pie while you help them with the paint. You’re the artist, after all, baby.”

Steve caught your wrist before you could open the fridge to “search” for the ingredients for your pie.

“You mean like right now?”

“Yes! We may not be able to do much, but maybe enough to not have the trick-and-treaters scurry away at the sight of that house.”

Releasing your wrist from his grasp, you reached for the fridge. Steve’s veiny hand collided with the metal door, forcing it to close. With his hands on your hips, he spun you around and placed your body against the fridge.

“Y/N.” The coldness of the fridge’s metal door against your fingertips did little to appease the flames burning in your soul. God damn Steve Rogers and the effect he had on you. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

“…I hate that house.”

“The nice house down our street?”

“The morbid one that looks like Azkaban.”

“Aha!” You joiced, finger digging into Steve’s chest. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who found that creepy old building ominous.”

“Of course not. I’ve been pestering Tony for over a week, trying to find out who bought that place and see if they’re a security threat,” Steve admitted.

You tilted your head to the side, lips pursing in thought. “I mean, I don’t like the house. But is it a security threat?”

Sensing the shift in your voice, Steve’s hand found purchase in your hair, twirling a strand in his index finger. It was a familiar habit he had developed since you’d gotten together. Partly comforting and partly grounding—for both of you.

“According to Tony, it isn’t. But, you know me. Your safety is always at the forefront of my mind. And I don’t like how that house is so close to us.”

“Me neither,” you replied, now playing with Steve’s hands. You traced the veins protruding from his skin, marveling at the difference between his large hands and your petite ones. “But with you here, I don’t care about a silly old house.”

“So, can we forget about your little stakeout missions and go back to planning our private party this evening?” Steve smirked, tugging you closer by your waist.

“It was one time!”

“For five days.”

“Shut up,” you said with feigned indignation. “Or else no private party. I’ll force you to attend Tony’s.”

Steve’s eyes widened at the mention of Tony’s infamous party. This year, the theme was something along the lines of "Halloween of Doom." And since Steve wasn't a fan of the usual wild parties Tony would throw every chance he got, he wasn't looking forward to the Halloween shenanigans.

Just as you took his hand in yours and pulled him toward the hall, a sharp tap against your window sounded across the room. Bemused, you turned to Steve. He immediately stepped in front of you, keeping an ear out to identify the source of the sound.

Incessant in its pursuit of attention, the sound boomed louder. Steve motioned for you to stay where you were while he investigated. Five seconds later, he called your name, albeit hesitantly.

“Y/N,” he said, gaze unwavering ahead. “I think all that birdwatching you did called the attention of an angry bird.”

“Is that an owl?” You hadn’t realized how loud your voice was until the owl in question shrieked behind the glass window. What the hell was an owl doing at your house?

“It looks like it,” Steve answered.

Neither of you tried to open the window, which agitated the owl. It ruffled its feathers and tapped the glass, clearly demanding entry. You studied the nocturnal creature, which obviously lacked a sense of orientation since you were nowhere near the evening. Something on its leg caught your eye. You gasped, pointing at it. “There’s a rolled-up letter attached to its leg!”

The moment Steve noticed the letter, he rushed to open the window. The owl flew in, forcing you to step a couple of feet back—you were a sane person who didn’t go out of their way to look for owls, let alone ones that appeared in broad daylight.

Steve plucked the letter from its leg and opened it. “It’s an invitation.”

“For what?”

“A Halloween feast,” he said, eyeing the letter suspiciously. “At House 5 on Easton Avenue.” It was the same morbid house you two had been discussing.

You carefully approached Steve, mindful of the owl on your coffee table. You took the letter in your hands, reading it aloud.

We’ve Caught Your Unblinking Eye Through the Ashen Veil We Know You Are Curious. We Feel It in Our Veins.

To Uncover the Macabre Truths Shrouded by Our Shadows Join the Halloween Feast Tonight

And Embrace a Chilling Night at Doom’s Manor House 5 - Easton Avenue - 9:00 PM

“This is worse than our phones when they display targeted ads because of whatever they heard us talking about,” you exclaimed, hands tightly clutching the piece of paper.

Steve’s eyes widened significantly, pure horror crossing his features. “Our phones do that?”

"Yeah," you replied with a matter-of-fact tone. You've most likely added one more item to Steve Rogers' “X Things I Hate About the Twenty-First Century” list. "They pick up on our search history too. So, maybe they'll know why that owl still hasn't left yet because it's starting to give me the creeps."

The owl with brown feathers and round yellow eyes hooted, hopping on the table and looking between you and Steve. It definitely did not like you.

“Maybe it wants something?” Steve guessed.

“Like what? Dollar bills or a treat in exchange for its postal services?” you scoffed. The owl wasn’t privy to your cynicism, but you still crept closer to Steve in fear of it deciding to attack you or something.

“A confirmation, maybe?” The owl hooted, seemingly agreeing with Steve. You quickly grabbed his arm, giving it a tight squeeze. “Dove, I don’t think it’s taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

As if on the same page, the owl moved away from you both and flew to the outside of the house. You and Steve just stared at the open window, House 5 right there, teasingly close.

Steve was on high alert. His fingers dug into the edges of the wooden window as he fixed his eyes on the mysterious house down Easton Avenue. You’d think that there would be bustling activity considering the owners had only recently moved in, but he never saw anyone walk in or out of that house. He didn’t even recall catching sight of anyone by the window.

And although the Halloween feast was barely ten minutes away from starting, no one had approached the house yet.

“Dove,” Steve called, pushing away from the window and adjusting his suit. “I’m gonna head out now. I know that Tony and the others overlooked the invite and didn’t want to interfere, but to be on the safe side—”

He was about to tell you to activate your security system and connect to the emergency line of the Avengers Initiative if he didn’t update you within twenty minutes of entering that house. But his words were stuck on the tip of his tongue when you walked into view.

“Why are you wearing your stealth suit?” you asked, almost glumly. Steve just blinked, looking completely flabbergasted, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I can ask you the same thing.” He pointed at your outfit, his tongue poking out and wetting his lips. “Why do you have a stealth suit on? Where did you even get one?”

The saccharine surprise in Steve’s tone fueled your heart with desire. You chewed on your lower lip, twirling a strand of your hair to draw Steve’s attention to your ponytail. His breath hitched, his eyes running a marathon across the expanse of your neck. You relished the lust that crossed over his features when you swayed your hips and sauntered to his side.

“Do you like it?” came your ardent whisper. Steve’s hands circled your hips, fingers burying in the leather of your suit, squeezing your side in affirmation.

You loved Halloween, making it your October resolution to find the best costume. But it was always hard to find one, considering there were so many options to choose from, and you were as decisive as a Gemini. After some time, an Avengers stealth suit popped up during your search, one which sinfully complimented your ass and curves. So you knew, right away, that getting your hands on it was a must if it would drive Steve crazy.

“Why are you wearing it, dove?” Steve asked once more.

Innocently batting your eyelashes at him, you answered, “Because we’re going to the Halloween feast.”

“Absolutely not.” And there it was. “I told you, I’m going in to check it. Alone. It’s a mission, Y/N. And you stray away from those.”

“It’s not an official mission if Tony didn’t approve it.”

“I’m the Head of the Avengers.”

“You’re Head Strategist, yes. But we both know that if Tony and Fury don’t give the green light, you can’t treat whatever this is as a mission.”

You had him there, and you knew it. While Steve Rogers had a knack for defending any argument and finding a way to assert his stance, this time he faltered for an answer, and only managed to say, “You’re still not going.”

“Don’t you think it’s going to look a tad bit suspicious if you walk into that house alone? And with your suit on?”

“No,” Steve shrugged. “Besides, that’s why I’m leaving my shield here.”

“And your common sense.” If his glare was any indication, he didn’t appreciate your commentary. “If I go with you, it would look like we’re genuinely interested in their stupid feast. You can snoop around while I stick to the activities.”

“That’s too dangerous.”

“So, why do you assume I’d let you go there on your own?”

“Because I’m enhanced, Y/N.”

“And I’m a SHIELD agent for the night, Steve.”

“And you judge me about my common sense?”

“Steve,” you stressed, catching his attention. “If that house is not as safe as the Avengers claim, I am not letting you go there by yourself. You can either go against me and leave me here, alone, well aware that our loony neighbors are watching. Or, you take me with you. It’s your call.”

It’s been yours since the beginning, and you’re not the least bit surprised when Steve mumbled something incoherent before he ushered you out of the house.

The neighboring houses, much like your own, were modestly decorated for the occasion. The Barbers, your neighbors from across the street, had a couple of skeleton bodies strewn across the yard and fake bats hanging from the large tree in their backyard. The Adlers went with carved pumpkins and flickering lanterns, which created a warm, inviting ambiance. Meanwhile, the Hansens had embraced the theme with scattered tombstones and heinous, life-sized witches tending to their boiling cauldrons.

Although the fifth house on Easton Avenue was barren and devoid of even a string light, it stood as the most intimidating and menacing of them all. The sinister atmosphere grew more palpable when you and Steve approached. The wind carried an unsettling chill, and the ancient trees lining the path creaked like ghostly sentinels. It was as if the house was an isle of malevolence adrift in a sea of darkness.

“Why is it the only house with fog surrounding it?” Steve noted. You both stood by a withered fence, the imposing structure casting long, foreboding shadows.

“I don’t know,” you replied, glancing around nervously. “Maybe it’s just a fog machine, but this place is terrifying enough as it is. It doesn’t need any more decorations.”

With a heavy breath, Steve stepped forward, the fog swirling around his boots. You watched in apprehension as the entrance loomed ahead. Steve paused for a moment, turning back to you. His eyes, usually full of determination, now held a flicker of doubt. “I have a bad feeling about this, Y/N.”

The atmosphere turned even more chilling when, suddenly, a low, dissonant hum echoed from the depths of the house, making your hair stand on end. It was as if the very walls themselves held their breath in anticipation.

Without breaking his gaze from the looming house, Steve extended his hand toward you. You clasped onto it, anchoring yourself to this distorted reality. He spared a glance your way, one that was brief in time yet abundant in intensity, and you responded with a nod, your nerves on edge. With a deep breath, Steve raised his clenched fist to knock on the door, but before he could make contact, it swung open on its own.

You both cautiously crossed the threshold, never releasing each other's hands. You were met with a dimly lit room, paintings strewn across its walls, each with a calculating pair of eyes narrowing on you.

"Welcome, Steve Rogers and Y/N Y/L/N," a commanding voice boomed, rattling the portraits on the wall. You jumped in your shoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the source. You were left bewildered, staring at the void that surrounded you. "Welcome to a chilling night at Doom's Manor!"

You didn’t have time to ask questions—you barely had a chance to think before the front door swung shut and the blinds closed, engulfing the sinister house in even more darkness.

“What the hell?” you cried as an oppressive silence descended. It was like you were sucked into a black hole with only Steve’s touch tethering you to earth. “Steve! Turn on your flashlight.”

“I don’t have a flashlight, Y/N,” Steve tersely replied.

“You have a phone, which has a built-in flashlight. Turn it on,” you urged, your voice tinged with desperation. “Then we can discuss why you brought a gun and no flashlight to this place!”

You heard him groan in frustration, palms smacking against the leather of his suit as he fished out his phone. He pressed it, fingers less than graceful when it came to touchscreens. For a moment, you thought he had forgotten how to unlock the device. Until he said, “My battery’s dead.”

“Our brilliant Head Strategist venturing on a mission without the means to communicate! What kind of expert overlooks that?” you chastised, fishing out your own phone. You tapped it repeatedly, but the screen remained blank. A sinking feeling washed over you as you pressed the side button, yet it refused to light up. “I swear it was charged,” you whispered in disbelief.

“I’m afraid that your phones won’t work here,” the same disorienting voice said.

Unexpectedly, a blinding white radiance cut through the darkness, forcing both you and Steve to shield your eyes. As the light faded, it started to flicker intermittently, weaving through the walls and mingling with the torchlights.

Despite all the courage you tried to manifest, your voice brokenly whispered, “Steve, is this a bad time to tell you that I was never fond of haunted houses as a kid?”

The lights were still flickering when Steve ripped his hand from your firm grasp. Your breath hitched, thinking the worst. But he was still there next to you, eyeing the door. “No one is, dove. And I’m not forcing you to like ‘em now.”

With all the super soldier strength coursing through his veins, Steve lunged at the door, attempting to force it open. It broke your heart to see it stubbornly clenching its hinges no matter how many times Steve flung himself against it.

The mysterious voice tutted, inundating your being with fear. You held your breath, praying that Steve would get you both out of here fast.

“You should learn to treat even inanimate objects kindly, Captain Rogers. Or does all that strength chip away at your humanity?”

Ignoring the voice, Steve continued his assault on the door. What he didn’t expect was an incorporeal force that lunged at him without warning. The unadulterated strength in its grip sent him hurling through the air until he crashed to the ground with a loud groan.

“Steve!” you called apprehensively.

“Should I have warned you not to do that? Thought it was self-explanatory?” the same voice commented.

You heard your heels clicking against the tiles before you could even think about moving. Steve was rubbing at his temple, eyes forcibly closed after the fall. You were almost by his side when you felt a hand grab your hair and fling you into the air.

You shrieked, the quiver in your voice igniting Steve’s anger. He raced forward, arms stretched out. But unlike the pale, ghastly form that manhandled you, tangible vines stemmed from the recesses of the house’s tiles and walls, aiming at Steve.

“Get off him!” you commanded as you kicked your feet and threw a punch. Your forceful gestures vaporized into the thin air, torpid against the vice grip of the spirit before you. You gasped hard when the misty form wrapped itself around your neck—constricting the air around and molding you and the wall as one.

“Y/N!” Steve grunted, desperately trying to pry himself out of the vines’ steel grip. “Hold on. I-I’ll get it o-off.”

The morbid atmosphere was getting worse as dark spots clung to your vision’s periphery. The incorporeal assault remained relentless, slamming you once more against the wall. As you forced your eyes to meander, searching for a solution, you focused on antique torches, each with a blue flame in its grasp.

The same torch hung from the wall you were trapped against. With a growl and a hell lot of hope that Ghostbusters had taught you something useful, you snatched the torch and incinerated the elusive monster.

One less than graceful descent later, you braced yourself against the floor with a thud. Steve was still struggling against Mother Nature’s prodigal offspring. He’d gotten a dagger out, but the more he cut through the vines, the more they multiplied.

You staggered your way to him just as the plant lunged at his face. “Don’t even think about it!” you warned, attacking the plant with the iridescent flames. Steve inhaled sharply as the vines, which were wrapped around him, turned into ash.

“Dove, I don’t know if I should be in awe or fear of what just happened,” Steve admitted as you helped him up. You were too busy inspecting his body for injuries to answer.

“We need to get out of here,” you said in one breath. “This place isn’t safe.”

Steve was about to answer when the eerie voice interjected, “Safe is boring.”

You sneered, wanting so badly to punch whoever was callously commenting. Steve grabbed you tightly and maneuvered his way through the house. Luckily, nothing else attacked you two as you navigated the narrow corridors except for the thick dust and the cobwebs.

Steve had found a door, which he immediately opened. As he stepped into the room, large and foreboding, a sense of apprehension gripped him. Shadows danced along the walls, playing tricks on his vision, while a musty scent of decay lingered in the air.

You both tried to find a way out, but to your utter horror, the same door you had opened to run into this room disappeared.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Steve asked, bewildered. He ran his hands over the wall, fingers tracing the edges of the now-invisible door. “How is that even possible?”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I don’t know. But the werewolf would have been better.”

“Well, that could be arranged,” the mysterious voice announced.

In hindsight, you should’ve thought twice before giving your two cents. But how were you supposed to know that the sentient house didn’t only manipulate nightmares but could also manifest them?

Steve turned toward you, distress visibly carved across his forehead. He reached out for his gun just as a violent wind attacked the isolated room. Your hair flailed, falling victim to the assault.

You tightened your hold on the torch despite the wind’s ministrations. It was thrashing within the borders of the room, incessantly clawing at you and Steve. The bright azure flames wavered from where they were perched on your torch, despite all your attempts at keeping them tamed. They tumbled down and crashed into the ground.

The moment the flames met the tiles, they burst into a fit of undiluted anger. The blue orbs separated, each tracing its brittle path and leaving destruction in its wake. The flames circled you and Steve in a dance of tantalizing grace—rising beyond the surface and falling back into the ground’s arms.

You and Steve were each pushed to one side. You stood there, him with a fully loaded gun and you with an empty torch, silently watching as the translucent flames birthed a werewolf.

“I don’t think the situation can get any worse,” you pointed out, taking care to not step into the line of fire. Literally. “So, is it too late to ask for a vampire instead? At least we have a stake.”

Steve looked appalled by the suggestion. “This isn’t the Edmond-Jason debate, Y/N! Both options are worse for wear!”

The werewolf wasn’t fond of Steve’s vernacular; at least, that’s why you assumed since it decided to lunge at him first. You slumped back just as Steve ducked his head and rolled to the side. The beast was relentless in its movement, clawing and growling at your soldier—canines salivating with excitement, eager to dip into flesh.

“I know it’s not the time, but it’s Edward and Jacob! And what I meant is that we at least have a stake! A viable weapon against a vampire. What means of defense do we have against a translucent werewolf?!”

“The same thing we have against a translucent vampire,” Steve grunted, firing three consecutive shots at the luminous creature. All three of them pierced his hollow frame, leaving him unscathed. “Nothing!”

Despite the fear that inundated your body, you still looked for a weapon to fight the beast with. Unfortunately for you, the room was desolate with nothing but mold and fractured walls holding it on their shoulders. Steve was actively trying to retain its attention, steering it clear from your path, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to last any longer.

“Well, maybe the house can conjure a non-translucent vampire,” you thought aloud. Truthfully, you weren’t really thinking straight, but what other choices did you have at the moment?

Needless to say, Steve disagreed. “Vampires aren’t real!”

“Well, what do you know?” you shrieked, all modicum of common sense out of the non-existent window. “There is a Spider-Man and an Ant-Man. Who's to say there is not a.. a Bat-Man that’s willing to make this situation a little less complicated!” The wolf finally caught your voice. It growled as if to show its dissatisfaction at having to hear you speak, craning its head and baring its teeth when its silver eyes landed on you. “Mysterious house, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

If you could take a wild guess, you’d say the werewolf wasn’t particularly fond of the creepy voice. That, or it was crestfallen at the idea of losing its chew toys.

Its blue glow intensified, switching from deceitful calm to voracious hunger. Your heart hammered in your chest, assaulting your ribcage as it sensed the looming danger. You tried to step away, but the wolf spied on your meek attempt. It prowled, ferocious and murderous in its pursuit.

Just as you raised your arms to shield yourself from him, Steve’s body collided with yours. “Y/N!” his scream ricocheted across the walls.

Was it so vehemently loud? You wondered. Or were your ears easily susceptible to noise?

As soon as Steve’s arms wrapped around you, you fell gracelessly into the void. The blue of the wolf fused with the paleness of the room, making a torpedo of vivid, interloping colors swirl before your eyes. The fall was like a dwindling spiral—long, endless, and tiring. And then you landed somewhere more stale; much more dark.

“Y/N!” Your name was the first thing you heard and the light that pulled you from darkness’ heavy lull. Hands roamed your body, gentle yet firm, unrelenting despite the groan that escaped your throat. “Y/N, please. I need to know you’re okay. Tell me that you weren’t hurt.”

You lifted your head, now aware that you were lying on Steve’s chest. The perilous haze only barely dissipated once you opened your eyes. “I’m okay. Are you?” you asked, eyes raking over Steve’s figure to see if he had been hurt in that fight. Besides his frightened and concerned eyes, he looked alright.

A long breath escaped his pink lips. His large hand cradled your face, magically bringing your pulse back to a languid pace. “As long as you’re alright, I’m fine. But I’ll be better once we get out of here.”

You stood up, holding your hand out to Steve, which he gratefully took. Lacing your fingers together, you carefully examined your surroundings, noting the hollow room you were in. Once again devoid of light, air, and a way out.

“How are we gonna get out?”

“Through that door.” By now, your senses had been attuned to the house’s tricks, so you weren’t jostled by the resounding echoes of the mysterious voice. True to its words, a large blue door materialized at the far end of the hallway. It rattled against its hinges, almost as if something was trying to break free on the other side. “Better hurry up, angel wings. Or else you’ll miss it.”

The voice dissolved softly like snowflakes giving away to the sun. And yet, its resolve bellowed across the room, the walls and ground shattering against its whispers.

“Maybe the vampires weren’t such a bad idea after all,” Steve remarked. You knew his Captain's brain was on overdrive, actively searching for the best escape route. But you knew it was there, right in front of you. So, mustering up all the courage you had in you, you tugged Steve’s hand and bolted toward the blue door.

The walls wailed, angered at your choice. They began to move, closing in on you at a menacing speed. Steve pulled you closer, almost molding both your bodies into one. He gained momentum, and your feet were about to give up from the unbridled force of his movements.

The walls were at a measurable distance, and you couldn’t believe you’d made it unharmed this far. Steve reached out, trying to push the silver loop that would open the door. But you should’ve known better than to trust the mysterious house. Of course, it wasn’t going to make it easy.

“Of course, I wasn’t going to make it easy,” the voice parrotted the words inside your head.

“What do you want?” Steve seethed, looking over his shoulders as the walls picked up their pace.

“O Captain! My Captain! To enter Doom’s lair, you must first answer my question.”

“What question?”

You heard someone clear their throat, and you could’ve sworn the bastard was smirking before it answered,

“Forged by fears and entangled in thoughts,

Within the breadth of darkness, I reside.

Devoid of soul, I grasp control,

In my distorted mist, your will subsides.

I am concealed within deceit and unseen with eyes,

Tell me, soldier, who am I?"

“Son of a bitch!”

“Language, Captain. And that’s not the answer.”

Your feet quivered, bouncing in place. Steve had lost his patience, now alternating between throwing answers and attempting to knock the door down. He was spewing some more worthless answers while you stared at the walls. Barely 10 inches separated you from your ultimate demise, and nothing but a correct answer would save you from this situation. Despite your fears, you took a deep breath, knowing you needed to answer that question. Now.

“Nightmare!” you yelled. Steve had stopped the assault on the door, looking at you with a perplexed gaze. “The answer to the riddle is a nightmare.”

A weighty silence gripped the helm of the foreboding atmosphere, lingering until the awaited response finally emerged. “That is correct.”

The locks turned, the door creaking as it offered you the solace you’ve been so desperately seeking. Steve practically pushed you inside, following you soon after. The door closed shut behind you, ushering you into a misty room. The wind picked up once again, and before you, a cloaked figure emerged. Its head was down, edges of the onyx fabric it wore blowing with every single caress of the wind.

“Welcome,” the figure said in the same gruff and deep voice that you’ve been hearing since you entered the house. “Welcome to a chilling night at Doom’s Manor!”

“Who the hell are you?” you inquired agitatedly just as Steve ordered the figure to lift its cloak.

The cloaked figure revealed its pallid hands, previously concealed. With a tantalizing motion, the fingers encircled the edge of the hood, slowly lifting it. Your eyes widened, mind barely comprehending what you saw. And before you know it, you and Steve were saying the same thing in the same affronted tone. “Tony?”

“Oh, god. You should’ve seen your faces!” Tony clapped his hands together, the force of his laughs making him bend down and clutch his knees.

As he did that, the creepy atmosphere eroded, mist evaporating to reveal the large room behind it. Contrary to the other areas within the establishment, the room was full of life and spacious, with neon lights and a large disco ball illuminating it. All of the Avengers were there, and you even spotted Peter Parker in an Iron Man costume tearing Bucky’s ear off with one of his stories. Judging from the number of waiters tending to the even bigger number of guests, you knew what you walked into.

“Did you seriously rent out a spooky house just so that you can throw a secret party in its basement?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No,” Tony huffed, seemingly offended by the absurdity of your claim. “I bought it.”

Behind you, Steve was rolling his eyes while you raked your fingers through your loose ponytail. You were never going to understand billionaires and their logic.

“I thought you were throwing a party at the Compound,” Steve finally spoke. And thank God he did before you ripped Tony a new one for the scare he’d just cost you. You were most certainly going to have him cover your health insurance for the next eon and the one after.

“I was. But then you bailed to play house with your girl—great costume, by the way, Y/N. We should talk to Fury about making you a SHIELD agent. And they say your boyfriend’s ass is America’s ass.”

“Tony!”

“What? Fine, don’t get jealous. You still are America’s ass but in a less sexy and more annoying way.”

“Would you just tell me what the hell was all this?”

“Man, if I knew all it would take me is Wanda’s freaky manipulation magic to get you to curse, I would’ve done that a long time ago.”

Feeling your headache on the verge of expanding, you put your hand on Steve’s arm and interceded, “It’s clear that you're high on mindlessness right now. So, once you’re down from the Tony Stark Clouds of Wonder, we’ll talk about you and your ridiculous behavior.”

“Geez Louise, you’re not dressed as a shield agent, but the female counterpart of Captain Stern over here.”

“At least I’m not one less nose away from looking like Voldemort,” you spat as you trudged toward the party, Steve a step behind you.

Tony scoffed, his voice softer compared to the blaring music. “I’m dressed as the Grim Reaper.”

“Yeah, well, your stick seems to have been lost somewhere up your ass!”

When you and Steve joined the party, you headed immediately toward the bar. You weaved your way across the dance floor, giving Sonic-dressed Pietro a quick wave and catching the eye of a disinterested Bruce in an Ultron costume.

Natasha was at the bar, dressed as a ballerina with a pink tutu and a lot of pearly pins in her hair. You shot her a questioning look, which quickly dissolved courtesy of the menacing glare in her eyes. ‘Don’t ask,’ she silently communicated, and you were content with sitting there on a surprisingly comfortable barstool instead of running away from a wolf.

“I can’t believe Tony did all of this?” Steve voiced out, shoulders hunched and laced with tension.

Natasha handed him a signature fix she’d just made, passing you your drink of choice. “It’s not just you two. He did it to plenty of people.”

“Like who?”

“Bucky and Sam,” Natasha replied to your question. “They couldn't answer the riddle, so they got stuck outside cursing at one another until Strange had enough of their arguing and portalled them in. They were pretty pissed. Thor made it out, thanks to Loki. He enjoyed it, though. Loki? Not so much. He turned into a snake and tried to bite Tony the moment he got to the other side of the door. Pepper and Happy are next.”

You shook your head at the thought. “She’s going to kill him.”

“Exactly. Which is why he has a surprise for her, under lock and key, somewhere around here.”

Dissatisfied by the piece of information, Steve snatched his drink and faced the other way. “Of course, he’d try to get out something without facing the repercussions.” His attention focused on Tony's exaggerated gestures as he iterated his previous morbid speech to the new guests.

Your eyes narrowed at Tony, thoughts errant as they dug up a hundred ways you could get back at him. Honestly, a part of you was willing to get Snake Loki to bite him or convince Dr. Strange to send him halfway across the universe. But you wanted to hit him where it hurts. You wanted him to feel the fear he inflicted on you and Steve, even if it was for just a moment. But Tony Stark didn’t fear anything. Well, apart from Starbucks running out of his favorite coffee and Pepper ignoring him.

“Pepper!” you shouted in glee. Steve and Natasha looked between you and the door, thinking that Pepper had already crossed all the obstacles and made it safely to the party. A crease lined up on their foreheads when they didn't find her there. “Nat, you don’t happen to have a key to that room, do you?"

At the drop of a hat, Natasha caught on to what you were saying. She shook her head but deviously smirked, green eyes flickering to the space behind you. “I don’t. But Wanda’s been regretting helping Stark on this. It shouldn’t be hard to convince her to help you get back at him.”

You jumped from your seat, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The intensity of your excitement and the tug on Steve’s arm made his drink fall and spill on the countertop. It took you a minute to find Wanda, who was sitting in the corner with downcast eyes, nursing a drink. She didn’t hesitate to help you, literally jumping at the chance.

Moments later, she led you to a room down a few halls and flicked her wrist, materializing a key and unlocking the door. Her 30s-inspired dress swung as her figure retreated. You looked at Steve, took a deep breath, and entered the room. But where you expected to find shopping bags, jewelry, or even a giant Iron Man teddy bear, what you found was something entirely different.

“Steve,” his name came out as a whisper. “Please don’t tell me I have to explain what I’m seeing. Because I don’t think I can.”

Your gaze was fixed on your surroundings, unable to be torn from anything else. You didn’t see Steve’s unblinking eyes or the tingles that danced across his fingers. It took him a while before he composed himself and answered you. “It’s okay. I already know.”

The room was red, a deep, rich shade of scarlet red. And if you had been careful enough to read the plaque by the room’s door, you would’ve figured it was Tony’s Halloween version of the red room. But what was beneath the mirrored ceiling, which quite frankly made you hyperventilate at the thought of the glass possibly falling on you while sleeping on that astonishingly spacious king-sized bed, was not a welcoming ballet class with metal bars and pink pointe shoes on the side. It was red walls with metal cuffs and chains attached to them and a widespread table with three silk blindfolds, floggers, ropes, and a whole lot of other things that made heat rise to your cheeks.

“We can’t destroy anything,” you breathed out with a voice that was too airy to be your own. “We can’t even hide anything with that wide selection Tony has. He’s not going to miss a blindfold, and he’ll just ask for another bottle of champagne.”

Steve didn’t answer, his mind preoccupied with something else. You couldn’t fault him; it was exceedingly hard to look at the room around you. And when you chanced a glance at the corners, you had to bite your lip at the sight of the cameras and lighting. Tony went all out, and to be honest, you didn’t know if this was his “genius-philanthropist” side, who was investing in a sexually healthy relationship with Pepper, or if it was his “billionaire-playboy” side, who decided there’s no shame in indulging in a variety of pleasures and give Pepper the liberty of choice.

You were so lost in thought, you were surprised to find Steve examining one of the cameras. He flicked on the lights and turned the camera to your side. Your brain finally registered his actions, and you were sure he didn’t know what he was doing since he barely even knew how to answer a video call. But before you could say anything, Steve beat you to it.

“Why destroy when we can take advantage?”

The camera turned on. You could tell from the twinkle of mischief in Steve’s irises that he caught the stagger in your pulse before you even did. He turned around, his sculpted and perfectly molded back replaced with the sight of his chiseled jaw. You gulped, blood rushing to your ears while shivers rushed down your spine.

You watched as Steve glided across the room, footsteps light and noiseless compared to the harsh speed of your heartbeats and the fray within your every vein. You wanted him. And he knew because with each step he took to get closer to you, you didn’t falter. You stood right where you were, waiting for him to devour you.

His cerulean eyes transformed, ebbing and flowing in a sea of blue and green. Until his waves crashed against your shore, and you met them somewhere in the middle.

“Steve.”

He didn’t reply. He inched closer even though there was no more room for his body to creep to, forcing his knee between your legs and giving you no other choice but to open them. You almost stumbled but quickly understood what he wanted.

It was like a dance. Every time Steve moved closer, you found yourself stepping back until your back hit the door, leaving nothing but locked gazes between you. With a bated breath, you studied Steve’s movements, whimpering as his left arm rose and nestled against your head. His palm was pressed against the cold door, whose color burned with desire. And somehow, Steve absorbed that hunger and set your entire body ablaze with it. Without a single touch.

“I can feel you,” he murmured on top of your lips, his velvety breath claiming rights to a first kiss. Steve leaned his body closer, almost engulfing you whole. His index and middle fingers made contact with your skin, and you swore you could’ve exploded. He traced the distance between your fingers and forearm, leisurely exploring the smooth surface that framed your veins. Involuntarily, your head craned, exposing your neck as he inched closer and closer, cheekily exhaling against your pulse point. “I can smell you,” he almost moaned, or maybe that was you. “You smell so tart, so fresh. So, deliriously scrumptious.”

“Steve,” this time, you did moan, implicitly begging him to touch you. You heard the lock on the door click, but you didn’t dare move your eyes.

In the next few seconds, Steve pulled the key out of the keyhole. You exhaled loudly, head banging against the wooden door when he moved the metal keys against your clothed heat. Sparks ignited in your soul as you began to take the fast lane to heaven, and Steve’s voice didn’t help the ache recede. It only fanned its flames.

“So wet.” He knew it without feeling it for himself. “So inviting.” He moved the key from your center to your navel and then to your sternum. You hadn’t realized how hot your body was until the keys touched your collarbone. It was a clash of hot and cold—an explosion of the senses with Steve’s breath hovering against your shoulders to add the final and delicious touch. With tantalizing grace, the key danced across your throat and chin, lifting your head to meet Steve’s breathless whisper, “So beautiful.”

Your eyes met, and you couldn't tell if his pupils were dilated or if his typically clear blue eyes were merely mirroring your own. He trapped your cheeks in his hold, applying the slightest bit of pressure on them. You couldn’t help but gaze at the camera that recorded the way Steve tapped the key against your lips, almost pushing it in.

Within the next second, his fingers loosened around the key, making it fall into the open space of your suit. You moaned aloud, the sound stretching over a minute when Steve stuffed his index and middle fingers in your mouth while bringing his prominent bulge closer to your heat. “My mistake, little dove.” He thrust forward, his clothed dick deliciously humping against your pussy. You whimpered around his fingers. “Be a pretty little girl, Y/N, and suck on my fingers while I get back that key.”

You nodded your head, vehemently following his order. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked his fingers inside your throat—lost in the simple pleasures Steve Rogers was known to give.

He planted wet, demanding kisses on your neck and just below your ear, not too far from your earlobe but not close enough. His other hand caressed your cheek until it retreated and began to reach for the zipper on your suit. It was at the forefront, making it easy for Steve to find it and lower it down. His hips met yours just as you pushed his fingers away from your throat. You pulled them back in, keeping the rhythm going while your tongue swirled around his fingertips.

Your zipper lowered, slowly and placidly, yet there was nothing peaceful about the way Steve trailed his thumb across your exposed skin. A fire consumed you whole, a sinful moan escaping when he found the key and cupped your pussy, with it still in his hands. You could’ve cried then and there, and frankly, there were tears on the edge of your lashes. In your lustful delirium, you hadn’t noticed your hiked leg on Steve's waist, which was pushing him closer to your body. He massaged your heat, his fingers and the key playing with your clothed folds until he backed away completely to cup your cheeks.

“Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me, dove?” he asked in a sultry voice that made your core weep.

He took his fingers out of your mouth, keeping his eyes on parted lips. You wet your them eagerly, needing him to satiate your thirst. “Yes, Captain.”

Steve smirked, the key long forgotten but the desire ever-present. “When I sit down on the edge of that bed, you’re going to take off your clothes. I want you to keep that sinful bra, these terrible excuse for panties, and those high heels on. Nothing else, alright?”

“Yes, Captain,” you affirmed.

Steve leaned forward, his pink lips above yours. You chased them, greedily wanting a kiss. But the only thing you got was a smirk in return. He took a slight detour, heading toward the camera on the right to make sure it was on, too. His broad shoulders looked even more breathtaking in the softly lit space.

Then, he sat down on the large bed, legs open and inviting. You took it as your cue. Gracefully, you slipped the suit off your skin, sighing in exaggerated relief as the fabric released its hold. You were filled with a sense of accomplishment when Steve shifted in his seat, his throat bobbing. You grabbed at your sides, making sure your thong was at a perfect angle before lowering the rest of your suit down. Steve’s breath was caught in his throat, eyes examining you as you slipped off your shoes to peel the rest of your stealth suit off.

Remembering Tony’s previous remarks about the suit, you turned back, purposely bending over as you grabbed your shoes. You kept your back at the same lowered angle, giving Steve a front-row seat to your round ass, temptingly framed by the thin black thong you had on.

Despite your bubbling anticipation, you took your time. And you were not disappointed by the sight before you. Steve was already cupping his clothed erection, playing with himself because of your actions. You glanced at him, moving one heel in front of the other, but he put up his hand before you could move any closer.

“St—?”

“On your knees,” he ordered. You were surprised by his command but quickly composed yourself, setting yourself on your knees with your hands flat on your thighs obediently. “Crawl to me, little dove. Come and show me how good you can make a man feel.”

It was like you were moving on autopilot. All your brain could muster were thoughts of Steve. On top of you, underneath you, and facing you. Every single image was of him losing control and moaning your name without abandon. So, you crawled like the good girl you want to be—his good girl.

When you got to his side, you touched his ankles, hands skimming across his legs and fingers teasing the area behind his knees. Choked sounds escaped his parted lips, egging you on. Your lips landed on his clothed erection, and you stilled for a beat, then two. You could feel him twitch as a result of your gaze.

Hands on the inside of his thighs, you gave him a gentle squeeze. You puckered your lips and peppered kisses on his clothed erection, going as far as to whimper. There was soon pressure on your head once Steve carded his fingers in your hair. “Y/N,” he murmured. “Don’t tease.”

Your doe eyes met his in a luscious glance, his eyes never leaving yours. Not when you bit down on his belt, not when you untangled it with only your teeth, and certainly not when you helped him out of his suit, yanking down his boxers and sucking on his tip. “Yes, that’s it, dove. That’s it,” he said, head thrown back.

And you took the chance to make him crumble even more. His dick was large, exhilaratingly captivating. You felt dirty at the thought of wanting it inside of you—inside your mouth and your pussy. Hell, you even loved having it between your breasts. You just wanted Steve’s dick so bad, and you were not shying away from mentally admitting that Steve turned you from his little dove to his good little whore whenever his dick was involved.

You hollowed your cheek and took as much of his dick as you could in your mouth. You had been practicing, some nights trying to deepthroat him thrice to get every bit of him in you, tattooing your every essence on his cock.

Steve moaned, loudly and pornographically, bucking inside your mouth. You accepted him, moving even further down across his shaft, the wet noises only spurring you on. Greedily, you used your hands to grip his base. When your mouth thrust deeper, your hands moved higher, creating a polarizing rhythm that left Steve throwing himself back against the bed. “Good God,” he practically screamed. “Take me. Take all of me in your little mouth and tiny hands, Y/N. Wet my dick with your mouth, baby girl. Make me cum just for you.”

You obliged, taking him even deeper and relishing his moans. Your lips moved lower, tongue circling around his balls before you sucked each of them in. His grip on you tightened, eliciting a slight pain in your head. But you didn't care. “Fucking good girl of mine,” he cried out breathlessly, fingers fisting your hair. “Fucking perfect mouth that’s made to take no one but me. To swallow no man’s cum but mine. To have its walls and roof painted white by my dick and my dick alone.”

Your pussy ached, and you found yourself desperately humping against the floor while you took his balls in your mouth, moaning like a fucking porn star. You were surprised your lustful sounds hadn’t attracted anyone yet, and you quickly realized that the room must’ve been soundproof. The realization made you rub your pussy harsher against the parquet floor, hands now gripping Steve’s thighs for dear life.

In your peripheral vision, you saw Steve move his shoe-clad feet closer to your core. You whimpered, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. Steve was a gentleman, and while he could be feral in the bedroom, he could never find it in himself to humiliate or degrade. But he knew that when lust took over, you desperately wanted to be his slut. His whore. Nothing but a hole for him to abuse and fill at his leisure.

The first time you asked him to degrade you, he froze. And when he wasn’t comfortable with doing that, you didn’t ask again. But Steve would sometimes do something. A small gesture to appease the both of you. He’d reach out for the drawer and silently look at you with a soundless question: can I use toys? He’d put three fingers in your pussy and wait for you to ask for more before he fisted you.

And tonight, he was giving it to you. The chance to be degraded—to be his perfect little whore. And you took it, crying out loud, practically sobbing at the feel of your wetness coating his shoes. He didn’t move, but you did, swinging your hips back and forth while taking all of his dick in your mouth. You hadn’t noticed how utterly filthy and lewd you looked until you raised your eyes and met your reflection in the ceiling’s mirror. Steve was looking at you too. He watched the way you humped his shoes and took his cock in your mouth. He pushed you against his dick, and you choked. Your breathing became erratic the more you moved against his shoes, tears spilling down your eyes accompanied by the symphony of your satisfied sobs. And that did it for him. He exploded with a scream of your name, cum invading your mouth and taking over your entire senses.

He slowly shifted you back, freeing his shoe from your hold. You were a sight for sore eyes. Thong wet and askew, bra hanging low with pebbled nipples almost peeking out, eyes blown wide with desire. He devoured the painting in front of him, committing your disheveled hair and the cum dripping down the side of your red, swollen lips to memory.

“Captain.” Though he wasn’t too far off in his dreams—because they couldn’t rival this reality—Steve had to admit that he got lost in his thoughts. Your voice called out to him like a devious siren luring him to his demise. “Please. Take me.”

You gasped when his hands were suddenly on your ass, but you barely had the chance to think about it. In the next second, Steve placed you on the mattress with his lips perched above your own. They were like the forbidden fruit: enticing, delectable, and there. Just there, only slightly out of reach. He lightly caressed your lips, each time pulling back before you could reciprocate, repeating the motion until he finally yielded to you.

“Let me taste myself on your lips, little dove,” he breathed in your mouth huskily. “Prove to me I’m only appetizing on your tongue.” You obliged. Your lips captured his own in a violent assault, claiming his tongue as a hostage. Trapped within the walls of your mouth, it explored the edges and the roof, clashing against your own tongue.

You caressed his face, fingers grazing over the beginning of his stubble. A sigh escaped your lips, both from his seductive ministrations and the thought of his stubble against your wet pussy. The image dissolved as soon as his lips left your own. You yelped, finding Steve’s hands entrapping both of yours. “Stevie,” you whimpered, every syllable begging him for his attention. His other hand slithered down your body, gliding across your inner thigh. You thought this was it—he was finally giving you your heart’s desire. But instead of the moan you expected to flee from your throat’s confines, you heard yourself yelping. A sharp and blazing sensation overtook your core, forcing your head back.

“What do you want, dove? You gotta be specific for me, little one?”

“Your hands,” you moaned. It was quickly replaced by a sharp cry when Steve slapped your pussy again. “In me. Inside of me, please,” you begged, gasping when Steve landed another slap across your lower lips. Your clit ached, swollen and inflamed, showing Steve exactly where you needed him.

He slithered his fingers across your pussy lips, moving them up and down. You mewled, alternating between looking at your reflection in the mirror and looking at Steve. His fingers quickly found your entrance, and he put the tip of his fingers in. But the bane of mischief that Steve Rogers was in the bedroom, he took them out of you, replacing them with a harsh slap.

“Not yet,” he practically growled. Leaving you fighting for composure, Steve reached out to the table by his side. The first thing you saw was the handcuffs he diligently wrapped around your hands and secured against the bedframe. The second was the silver silk blindfolds, which he wrapped around your eyes.

You willingly slipped into the darkness, mesmerized by the sea of possibilities before you. Your senses amplified when Steve’s fingers traveled down the expanse of your body. You felt the bed dip, Steve’s bulky frame nestled on top of your stomach. And you melted in a pool of unbridled hunger when he tapped his index finger against your lips with a single command, “Don’t swallow.”

You half expected him to be jerking and ready to unload his load in your mouth. Or maybe he wanted you to take him once more down your throat. But you almost gagged at the feel of the cold liquid inundating your mouth—the taste of the bubbling champagne asserting its dominance.

Steve set the bottle down, leaving you unsure whether he had taken a sip or not. His earlier ministrations resumed, this time hands tugging at your bra. He cupped your breasts, weighing them in his hands. You wanted to moan so badly, but you didn’t want to defy his orders.

He reveled in the way you whimpered, sounds oppressed by the force of his command. He continued playing with your breasts, keeping your left one in his hand and drawing special attention to your right one. He peppered both of them with kisses, using his tongue to circle the area around your nipple and make your pussy clench around nothing but the air that surrounded you.

You bucked against his tongue, hands tugging at the restraints, but they refused to budge. Not that you expected them to. Breathing through your nose, you tried to reach for your impending release. You were no stranger to nipple orgasms, and Steve was trying to draw one out of you—you were sure. A fire built up inside of you, leaving your body temperature rising. You thrust your hips in the air. Sadly, nothing caught their movements.

Steve alternated between both nipples, giving each of them an equal amount of attention. You cried louder, trying to hold the champagne in. You were about to come when Steve pulled away.

A high-pitched whine reflected your displeasure, gaining you a slap to your pussy. “Patience,” Steve ordered, and you reluctantly obliged. Even though you ached to be ravaged by him, whether by his hands, tongue, or dick, you had to admit that you were enraptured by his movements and were always more than eager to lose yourself in his lustful tempest.

You let some fresh air fill your lungs, still breathing through your nose, while Steve adjusted himself on your body. Though blindfolded, your senses were elevated, and you could sense Steve’s body heat creeping closer to yours. True to your suspicion, he loomed over you. One of his hands slithered across your neck, trapping you in a chokehold. You embraced his untamed gestures, craning your head to hopefully meet his face.

Without so much as a clue, Steve crashed his lips against yours with such fervor it left you reeling. You couldn’t keep the champagne in anymore, feeling Steve steal some of it from your mouth to his, letting the rest fall down across your chin and chest. Steve didn’t kiss you at that moment. He consumed you, engulfed you with his mouth, greedily taking in everything you had to offer.

You were an instrument, and he was the musician, releasing one string to play with the other. With a loud pop, he let go of your mouth, licking a long stripe down your neck and nibbling at the shell of your ear. “Mine,” he roared, one of his hands moving to your center.

“Yours,” you confirmed, eyes misty with lust and heart lost in the haze of Steve’s ardor. “I’m yours,” you barely managed to whisper before you cut yourself off with a loud yell. Your head hit the pillow, your body forced down by the weight of Steve’s palm on your stomach. You felt something enter your drenched pussy, seething itself to one side. You breathed in deeper now that your mouth had been free of the champagne’s grasp.

You winced, something else entering the right side of your pussy. Steve played with your clit, easing the discomfort. As the pain ebbed and passion rose, you quickly figured out what had Steve done: he’d put Ben Wa balls inside of you.

“You’re such a perfect little dove, Y/N. Letting me do anything and everything I want to do with you, knowing I’ll make you feel so good. Make you feel so perfect.”

“Yes,” you nodded vehemently, restraints rattling in harmony. “Yes, Captain. You make me feel so good.”

Steve smirked, and you just knew it from when he cupped your breasts and covered them with his mouth. “Just as you make me.”

He pulled your tits apart, and you hopped that meant he was going to fuck you. To fuck the brains out of you and the desire that’s nestled deep within your core. But of course, a super soldier like Steve wouldn’t be done yet. You didn’t know how much time had passed, whether it was an hour or an eon, but time always seemed inconspicuous when Steve was involved.

“Do this one little thing for me, baby doll. And I promise, I will let your pretty princess pussy milk my cock.”

“Anything,” you replied. Steve kissed you then, short but passionate. He pulled back and gave you one more peck before you felt him squeeze your tits once more, this time putting his dick between them. “Oh God. Oh God, Steve!”

“You like taking my cock any way you can, little dove,” he stated matter-of-factly, thrusting himself in the space between your tits and toying with your nipples at the same time. “You like having me as yours. Being the only woman in the world who can take my cock in a dozen different ways. The only woman who I can paint with my cum.”

“Steve,” you mewled loudly and sinfully. His movements, your thoughts, and the added pressure of the Ben Wa balls deep inside of you did so little to appease your heat. You cried and cried, moaning louder than any porn star in existence. And when you felt Steve grunt in pleasure, you gave it to him.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he cursed when you spat at his dick, drool dripping down your lips and mixing with precum. “You’re so shamelessly beautiful like this. My favorite piece of art.”

He thrust faster, lifting one breast and lowering the other to create an earth-shattering friction that left his dick twitching by your mouth. You knew what was coming, and you didn’t care whether Steve would allow your release or not. You opened your mouth, counting down his brisk breaths. He grunted twice, moaned once, and nestled his head in your neck to bite down on your shoulder. He was coming. So, you opened your mouth and took as much as you could while the rest of him mesmerizingly decorated your face and chest.

Steve released your tits, but the pressure in your core only barely subsided. He kissed your forearms, wet lips trailing your hands until he reached your wrists. Finally, after so much waiting, he released your hands and untied the blindfold. You squinted at the invasive light. Steve took this as a chance to kiss your eyelids, thumb caressing the curve of your mouth. “You’ve been so good to me, little dove. I think it’s time to get your reward. Would you lay on your stomach for me?”

You opened your eyes, seeking the warmth of his irises. “Uh-huh,” was all that you said before Steve helped you to the position he wanted. He unclipped your bra and slowly discarded your thong. Your pussy clenched, and he kissed your ass cheek when he noticed. “I’ll give you everything you need and more, my Y/N.”

Steve reached out for a pillow, placing it on your pelvis. “Stevie, please. I can’t wait anymore. Please, baby.”

“Don’t beg, little dove,” Steve told you while moving your hair to the side and positioning himself above you. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m yours. Take all of me.”

You whimpered, teary eyes looking at him to relieve you of your ache. Steve immediately moved his tip along your folds to collect your essence. Yearning for you as much as you yearned for him, he began to slowly sheath himself inside of you. You cried out at the sheer size of him, hands fisting the sheets beneath you.

Steve inserted himself slowly, bottoming out with a deep, guttural moan. “Fuck,” you breathed, grinding your hips against his—the friction amplifying his passion and yours. The Ben Wa balls intensified your lust, making you feel full and empty all at once.

Slowly, he started to move. His thrusts were sharp and deep, reflecting his need for you. But the more you moaned, the more he faltered, digging his dick further inside you. “You feel so good,” he admitted, knowing this position was a favorite of yours. You both had quickly discovered that it made for the best sex—giving Steve a clear route to your g-spot and an earth-shattering orgasm.

“More,” you demanded, seeking out his unbridled hunger. “Please, more!” You wanted to feel him lose control inside of you. You adored feeling him lose control inside of you. Steve obliged, thrusting in and out of you at a maddening pace, deeply embedding himself within your heat. “Fuck, Steve. Fuck!” you cried, his balls hitting your skin, adding to the lewdness of the scene.

“Tell me I can go faster,” Steve almost begged. You tilted your head, finding him with eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration. There was a thin layer of sweat on his face, and you sought his hand to interlace your fingers, finding ways to mold into each other further. “Tell me I can ravage you. Tell me that I can give you all of me, Y/N.”

You squeezed his hand, and he reciprocated your touch. His thrusts were on the precipice of control, as were his actions, this close to tipping over the edge. He had taken your neck hostage in his large veiny hands, thrusting his tongue inside your mouth in tandem with his dick inside your pussy. “Lose control,” you told him. “Lose yourself in me, Captain.”

And lose himself he did. His thrusts became irregular, and it was hard to tell where exactly his hands were on your skin. They were squeezing your breasts, roaming your stomach, tightly pressing against your ass. He was everywhere. You looked up at the ceiling, salivating and burying your face in the mattress at the beautiful portrait you and Steve painted together. You both moaned louder than ever before, the cameras eagerly commemorating your actions.

“Steve, I’m so close,” you warned him when he kept on repeatedly hitting your g-spot. His response came in the form of short but sweet-sounding kisses planted from your collarbone to your neck. He nibbled on the shell of your ear, licking the skin there and sucking on it.

“Cum, little dove,” he said huskily. “Cream my cock.”

You moved faster against his dick, taking all of him in until you collapsed in on yourself, every part of you stealing Steve’s affection. You clenched hard against his dick, feeling yourself squirt and cream his cock. It didn’t take him seconds before he exploded inside of you, emptying his load for the third time with a scream of your name. He didn’t relent, though. His sporadic movements picked up again. At this point, you were far too lost in the haze of your unabashed engagements to notice. It didn’t take you long to feel another orgasm building up.

You were about to warn Steve when he flipped you over on your back, dick salaciously pounding into your pussy. Determination itched on his brows, and undiluted want lined his irises. He put his hand on your mouth, and you wailed, back arching, pussy squirting (again. How is this even possible?), and your entire surrounding collapsing on itself.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?” you heard a high-pitched scream. Too far gone in the throes of passion, you weren’t aware that Tony had opened the door, leading Pepper inside the room. But oh, Steve did. Judging by the smirk, he had heard them coming in.

“Do I really need to explain to you the birds and the bees, Tony?” he mocked, securing the sheets around you both and hiding you from view. His dick twitched inside of you, making it harder for you to breathe.

Tony looked furious. “What I need to you to explain, you ungrateful ass, is what are you doing in this room?

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Procreating,” he answered. You had to cover your mouth and hide behind him so as not to laugh. You could barely move from all the previous activities, and Steve’s dick inside of you, trapped between your overused pussy and the Ben Wa balls, wasn’t really helping the situation. “What are you doing here? Is that why you made comments about Y/N’s ass? Were you hoping to watch us or something?”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Pepper. No, I swe—”

“Is that your idea of making it up to me? Watching Y/N and Steve go at it. Tony—”

“Absolutely not! Do I look like I have a grandfather kink or something?”

“Then, why are we in this room?”

“Well, I was hoping we could engage in—”

“ENGAGE? With Steve and Y/N??”

“NO. I don’t even know what they’re doing here!”

“What every two consenting adults do,” you added with a raspy voice. Tony’s expression was almost as good as the sex you just had. He was utterly dumbfounded, desperately raking his brain to persuade Pepper that this wasn’t what she thought she was. “Nice costume, Pep. I’m sorry. We were told there was a surprise waiting for us for the emotional trauma caused by your genius playboy.”

“Yeah,” Pepper exhaled. She was dressed in what you assumed was an Asgardian dress, and you felt guilty to have ruined her night. “Well, it was a surprise for all of us. I’m sorry on behalf of the idiot playboy.”

Pepper glared at Tony, heels digging into his shoes. He cursed, his frustrations matching hers. “Pepper,” he begged breathlessly. But she was already gone. “I’m getting you two back for this. I swear.”

“No, Tony. We will not send you a copy of our sex tape,” you teased, purposely raising your voice. You swore Tony’s arc reactor was going to malfunction.

“I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. PEPPER, I SWEAR. SHE’S LYING!!”

And with that, he left, leaving you and Steve hysterically laughing. He kissed you breathlessly, hands holding your face like you were the most precious thing in his life. “Halloween wasn’t that bad.”

“No. I kind of like this house now, too.”

“Me too, dove. I love every place I make happy memories there with you.” And happy memories you continued to make with Tony and Pepper’s squabble long lost in the background.

I'm going to hell for this.

You can also find my work on AO3. 🤍

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel mcu #avengers #the avengers #steve rogers smut #captain america smut #kinktober 2023 #marvel kinktober #steve rogers kinktober #halloween fanfic #JamiesHalloween2023

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muffinsin · 3 months

Note

Hi!

Imagine this: The reader works as a maid in the castle and lately has been receiving these unsigned letters and gifts. How would the reader react to finding out that the Cassandra Dimitrescu was her secret admirer all along? How would Cassandra react to being found out?

(Bonus points if the reader finds out because the reader overheard Cassandra’s sisters teasing her or accidentally stumbled upon Cassandra in the process of writing another letter/preparing another gift).

-Touch-starved Anon (I decided to keep it cause it’s memorable to me now).

Hiiiii! Ohh yes, we love some pining Cassandra! :)

Let’s get into it!

Masterlists

It started, as most things with Cassandra, very intense

When one day you wake up screaming, a dead mouse dropped on your blankets, right by your legs

You kick it off immediately, your loud shriek alerting some of the maidens

Truly, they probably assume you have been caught and are being devoured

You cringe in disgust and worry at the dead animal now resting on your floor

At first, you believe it’s some sick and twisted prank

From the maidens?

You can’t be sure. Even they seem too human to do such a thing

This only leaves the other, inhuman inhabitants from the castle

Is this rat from the sisters?

Ah, but technically they aren’t allowed in the servant quarters- not that you would bet your life on this stopping them

But who?

You can’t imagine Lady Bela wastes her time on such pranks. She seems so…regal, like her mother

This only leaves the other two, the two younger sisters

The more unpredictable ones?

Yes, you doubt prim and proper Lady Bela would pull such a sick prank on you

Barely does she even interact with the staff

Cassandra and Daniela, however?

Quite possibly so.

You’re shook up and, with tears just barely not rolling down your cheeks, dispose of the “gift” found in your bed and thrown to your floor

You can only hope that whatever sister responsible, will lose interest in you soon enough

You know, after all, what it means to catch a sister’s eye

You know it means almost certain a couple missing limbs, if not death

Yet, more strange things seem to be happening over the course of a few weeks

You’re just finishing up scrubbing blood off a carpet in the main hall when suddenly, a crumbled piece of paper hits the back of your head

“Hey!”, you can’t help but automatically yell

You know, was it Lady Daniela, Cassandra or Bela who shot it, you’d be getting dragged in the basements just about now for your back talk

You look around, and find the hall completely empty, save for yourself

No maid is nearby, and no footsteps are heard

Upon uncurling the paper, you find text written on it, in messy, but admittedly cute-looking handwriting

“You’re pretty in certain angles x”

You frown at the slip of paper

You aren’t sure whether to feel flustered or offended, really

Still, you trace the messy handwriting on it

There’s smeared ink at some letters, and you can’t help but giggle- the o, u and a’s look so similar, you could easily mistake them for one another

The notes keep up

Often, you’re randomly shot by them, or they’re dropped someplace for you

Never do you see who writes them

Of course, you have a few maidens in mind

Yet, as you try to make advances through flirty words, they never seem interested

On the contrary, some even give you strange or even hateful looks

Oddly enough, these people begin disappearing more and more often around the castle

Then, of course, there are the gifts left out for you

It seems, the dead rat was only the start

Often you wake up to all kinds of gifts dropped at the side of your bed

It’s a little uncanny, the thought of someone being in your room while you are asleep, really

You ensure your door is locked, as is your window

Somehow, your secret admirer still finds a way inside

Then again, there are worse things to worry about at the castle

Thankfully, after a few scares of finding more rats and birds at your bed and window, the gifts become a little more- romantic, and less disturbing

Flowers, beautiful ones set down on your nightstand

Either a beautiful, large bouquet, or small single ones scattered in your bed

Then, one day you open the small, white box set on the foot of your bed, and gasp upon seeing what is inside of it

A beautiful, silver ring with a yellow gemstone in it

You hold it gently

You can tell, it’s probably worth more than your life and all your possessions

Yet-

You can’t bring yourself to sell it

You know, it would make plenty money for you to live comfortable

To not need to work at the castle

But…it’s a gift. A beautiful one at that

Therefore, you wear it proudly, and only hide it in your pocket when you are worried it could be dirtied

More gifts and note come your way

“You have nice skin”

“You smell well”

“The ring suits you perfectly”

“I like your eyes”

“Your hair is beautiful”

Necklaces and flowers

Pralines and fresh food no other maiden receives

You savor each taste

You can’t help but burn with curiosity- who is your secret admirer?

It seems, it’s almost time your questions are answered

When you are summoned to Cassandra’s room to clean, you feel shivers run down your spine

There is a certain, open secret at the castle. You know- maidens usually do not return from her room

Will you be the same?

You consider yourself lucky when you enter her room and find it empty

You gaze at the blood on the carpet and floor, the mess of papers and weapons dropped from her desk

The fireplace will also need to be lit, and her bed will need to be made

The floor is- easy enough

It’s a lot of blood, and hard work, that involves a lot of scrubbing

Still, you consider yourself lucky. Cassandra doesn’t seem in any rush to return to her room

Little do you know, the unusually shy woman’s heart is beating fast from the other side of the hall, adamant on avoiding you until you move from her room

You too, though, are in no rush

Her room is- comfortable, despite the blood and weapons, the trophies of animals hung on the walls

It’s warm, and quiet

You continue on with her bed, and savor the touch of her thick, heavy blankets

The sheets are soft, and the pillows large

Her bed is fit for a princess. You can’t help but smile at the thought- all sisters, it seems, are spoiled endlessly

You also can’t help but inhale the subtle scent surrounding her pillows

They smell of the woods, and of rich perfume

Yet, the smell is comforting, and doesn’t sting in your nose

With a blush covering your cheeks, you readjust her pillows and move on to her desk

You bend down to pick up some of the papers off the floor, yet find yourself with your arm frozen in the air and your fingers twitching slightly

You recognize the paper on the floor. The crumbled, partly ripped one. The light blue colour of it remains

It’s burned in your mind now

But- why would she have this? Have there been more notes? Did she take them before they could reach you?

But…it doesn’t explain the empty paper on her table and the pencils around it

Has…Cassandra been writing them?!

But surely not. Surely Cassandra Dimitrescu would not be interested in you…?

But, what if?

You can’t stop yourself from reaching out

“The ring looks suist suits you perfectly”

You can’t help but smile at the spelling mistake. It’s adorable, and you can’t stop the grin on your lips

You unfold another

“I hope you like the flowers. The flowers aren’t as pretty as you. You’re a flower”

You smile. She seems undecided with this one. It’s a little adorable, you can’t help this thought

You know, you shouldn’t think of someone as Cassandra Dimitrescu as cute, but…

The thought of her starting over her sentences, over and over again because she can’t settle on something

You can’t help but pocket this one, and dispose of the rest to clean

You know, it’s your task to clean her room. It doesn’t mean you can have a little fun though, now you know who your secret admirer is

With a small grin, you take a slip of paper and a pencil

“You’re beautiful, too”

You groan. This feels by far too lame, but you’ve already written it down

Still, you turn away. Very well, then. It will have to do

Days pass, and the notes keep on, as well as the gifts

Still, Cassandra won’t approach you directly

You grow impatient, almost

It seems, despite her Playgirl reputation, Cassandra is by far more hesitant and shy as it comes to proper courting

You don’t mind, now you know who your secret admirer is

Cassandra has no time to prepare herself when you knock on her door, and for a moment, shamefully considers acting as though she isn’t there

She curls the paper in her hand, having just been in the process of writing another note

Then, at last, she opens the door with a smirk that looks more confident than she feels

“My, what is the darkness bringing me this fine night”, she teases, her lean frame leaning against the doorway

You feel your breath hitch

From her notes, you expected a shy Cassandra. Not a fierce predator

“I-I got your notes”, you whisper

A flash of surprise crosses her face for a moment, and you’re granted to see the vulnerability in her eyes for merely a split second

Little enough that, had you blinked, you’d have missed it

Alas, you did not miss it

You figure, now or never

With confidence only the notes and the ring around your finger grant you, you push gently against her collarbone

Cassandra is visibly surprised by this, and allows you to push her backwards into the room

You try not to think of how dangerous this could bed should you be wrong. If she is not your secret admirer…

You try not to doubt yourself as you close the door behind you and look back into her slightly widened, surprised golden eyes

She seems like a deer caught in the headlights, too surprised by this maiden’s courage to function

You eagerly make use of this

“Did you get mine?”, you whisper back

She’s shocked, and gasps when you move closer to her and set your hand on her hip

She nods, shakily

You can’t help but think she’s adorable this way

For a moment, she shakes her head and stands straighter

A squeeze of her hip is enough to make her fall back into her rather submissive, curious state

“Did you like them? I liked yours a lot”, you ask, your words true

Yet, Cassandra doesn’t seem to feel like answering

She’s looking quite shocked, adorably so

As though she believed her attempt at flattering and wooing you wouldn’t lead to anything

You can’t help but take small advantage of this. You’re so curious about her

Cassandra tugs her arm for a moment as you grasp her hand, her eyes widening a little when you feel the paper underneath her fingers

Now you feel surprised, too

“I want to taste your lips”

You tilt your head a little, and she follows your movement. A small blush covers her cheeks, and her eyes don’t quite meet yours

You decide, now or never

“Ah~!”, she gasps when you grasp her lower back and pull her closer, her lips smudged against yours

It seems, this brings her back to what is happening

Her hands, having hovered in the air, now rest on your hips and pull you closer to her at last

You smile against her lips. You too, wanted to taste hers

#cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #touch starved anon

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cookierunauprompts · 3 months

Note

I just finished watching King Kong (2005) and this idea hit me like a truck: Shadow Milk Cookie as King Kong and Y/N Cookie as Ann Darrow!

i have never seen king kong but i sorta understand like... the tiniest bit about it.... So uh, Reader's getting kidnapped for this one as that's pretty much the only thing i know from King Kong.

Requested Prompts #44 - 💓

" White Lily Cookie! Don't! It's a trap!" You try to scream out, but no matter what you say nothing can reach White Lily's ears as she was trapped within your captor's maze. You watched as the flurry of the new guardian's magic went towards the fake tree, reviving it almost instantly to the shock of the eerily real-seeming fake Shadow Milk Cookie. You were the only one to have realized that it was fake, so he'd given the group a question that he knew they'd get wrong no matter what. Thus he'd taken you prisoner back in the 'real' world, one that looked a lot like the world within the Maze of Deceit except the key difference was that there was a lot more goopy, abyssal shadows littered with blue eyes staring at everything. You silence yourself with a yelp as one of the beast's fingers press into your head, because yes he does have actual hands apparently. " Ah ah ah!" You heard him tut, " I don't believe that this play needs any input from the audience, does it now?" Shadow Milk hummed, bringing you up to his face so you could look into his calculating gaze. " Besides, they can't hear you anymore anyways, so why even bother?" You hesitate, he was right and you knew it. You almost instantly deflated, your prior determination to escape filtering out of you like air from a balloon with a hole in it. " Aw, you look so cute when you're all hopeless like that! It's almost making me reconsider your position as prisoner!" He cooed, poking at your face with his claw(not the tip of it though). " I doubt that there's anything worse than being a prisoner to you." You groan, leaning away from his touch. A shriek is pulled from your throat as Shadow Milk grabs onto the sliver tree, or at least what remains of it. He spins around it like those character in musicals sometimes do with poles before hoisting himself up to sit between the branches as if they were a throne. " I' wouldn't be too sure about that~!" He teased, holding you up in front of his face. You doubted that, and it showed on your face. " No offense, but I doubt that there is." You said rather un-enthusiastically. " You really think so?" The beast grinned in an almost wild manner, you got the feeling you said something you really shouldn't have. " Because i can think of a lot of things! Of course, I won't be listing all of them for the sake of our family friendly audience. But there are much worse fates than being a prisoner to me!" " Like... like what?" You asked hesitantly. " Hmm..." He leaned in close, eyes shining brightly as he stared down at you. Some kind of deranged hunger slipping into his expression as he did so. " Like being a little snack." You froze up, the pause between that and his next statement being far too long for your liking. " Oh I'm only joking! There's no need to fret, I don't intend to cannibalize you... yet." You squeaked with fear, leaning away as much as you could as he threw his head back into a maniacal laugh. " Oh you're just so gullible- it's adorable!" He mused, a grin that was still far too wide plastered on his face. " I think I might have to keep you, even if Silly-Lily tries to seal me back up in the tree for real!" Well, at least now you know that unless the others save you you're probably screwed. Yippee.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run au #crk #cr kingdom #shadow milk cookie #cookie run au prompts #beast yeast #shadow milk cookie x reader #i love it when beast cookies are a bit beasty <3 #give them hands/j

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schrodingers-romy · 7 months

Text

Silver-Tongued Devil [Usagiyama Rumi x Reader]

Pairing: Usagiyama Rumi x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You somehow end up as the sacrifice for an incompetent cult. The demon they summon is not at all what they nor you expected.

Warnings: Kidnapping. Cults. Reasonably graphic depictions of violence and blood. Reader is injured (not extensively) but healed. AFAB reader; genitals are referred to by fem terms but no other gendered terms are used. Graphic Smut (MDNI). Strength Kink. Cunnilingus. Weird demon tongue. idk.

Word count: ~3,200

Notes: 3rd fic for Strange Lovers (my little monster!character x reader series for October)! Please ignore this was a day late i had such writer's block for this and i don't know why. I'm not sure if this is good or not honestly I just want to not have to look at it anymore. Mdni banner template from @/cafekitsune

[Ao3 Link]

I have the absolute worst luck, you thought to yourself.

Perhaps you had broken multiple mirrors in the past. Did breaking multiple mirrors mean the seven years of bad luck was worse, or was the period of bad luck just longer?

You supposed it didn’t really matter, but how else would you end up like this: hogtied and gagged in the middle of a red painted pentagram, surrounded by what sounded to be frat boys in cult getups.

One of the little fuckers had ambushed you on your way home with a handkerchief soaked in chloroform. Next thing you knew, you were tied up in the middle of the woods, surrounded by a bunch of college kids in dark robes chanting Latin.

You had no idea why you specifically were picked. You had a feeling it was just because you were the first person they had been able to grab; you weren’t sure whether that was better or worse than being specifically chosen.

So far, they hadn’t done anything to you other than knock you out and tie you up. Unfortunately, at least one of them must have been really good with rope, because you couldn’t budge an inch. All your screaming amounted to nothing more than a few quiet, unintelligible sounds through the gag. And just because they hadn’t done anything major to hurt you yet, doesn’t mean they wouldn’t. They had no problem with kidnapping you; you doubted your purpose in their demonic ritual summoning or whatever was just sitting there looking distressed.

The chanting had been going on for what felt like hours; yet however boring it was, your anxiety kicked back up drastically when they stopped.

The cultists stopped circling, and turned to face you. One of them, presumably the leader because of his unique blood-red rope belt, stepped forward until he stood right in front of you, close enough to kick if you had the freedom to do so (which unfortunately you didn’t, no matter how much you tried).

In a loud, booming voice, he started up another chant, different from the first. And then he pulled out a wicked looking blade from the shadows of his robes.

You tried to get away; you tried to scream. You could feel your muscles straining against the ropes, but they wouldn’t shift. The gag kept your voice to a mumble even as you tasted iron in your throat from your shrieks.

It was all futile. He crouched down, holding the knife above you; the blade glinted red in the light of the fire. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for pain.

The stabbing you expected didn’t happen, but you were not spared from agony. He roughly cut away the fabric of your shirt around your stomach, exposing it to the night air; his canvas. Slowly, excruciatingly, he began to carve a shape onto your skin; some sort of crescent moon, maybe; you weren’t sure, too busy screaming from the burning pain of it.

When the knife finally paused, you sobbed in relief. It still burned; you could feel the blood flowing and dripping onto the ground, both too-cool and too-warm feeling at once. But at least there were no new wounds made.

You drifted in and out of awareness, missing the cult’s final chants, but you did not miss the culmination of the ritual.

Once the final words were spoken by the robed figures, a violent bolt of lightning lit up the forest blinding white. The thunder followed immediately after, so loud it caused your ears to ring.

Your eyes took a minute to readjust to the dim light of the torches, and then you saw her.

You noticed two things about her right away: one, she was beautiful; two, she was utterly inhuman.

Her general figure was humanoid…if humans were seven feet tall. Her skin was a human shade of brown, yet her eyes were crimson red with slit pupils. Her broad, almost cocky, grin revealed shining white fangs. Her hair was pure white, hanging around her face in long braids. It was interrupted by the curling black horns emerging from her skull, and the rabbit-like white ears springing from the sides of her head.

She only wore draping gold jewelry, which seemed to drip down her body like liquid, covering her most private parts delicately. This allowed you full view of her muscles. She was built like a Greek statue: thick arms, prominent abdominal muscles, and thighs that could probably crush a man’s skull like a grape.

She radiated power. If you weren’t writhing on the ground in pain like a tortured worm, you would be cowering.

The cultists do cower a little, trembling in their robes. Finally, the one with the red belt steps forward.

“O Great Miruko, High Demon of the Moon, please accept this humble offering,” he said, gesturing to where you lay. “As per the summoning, we only request one day of obedience in exchange for the blood of the sacrificed.”

The demon tilted her head, never dropping her wide smile.

“So you losers thought you would have control of me with this ritual?”

Her voice wasn’t quite what you expected; it was human-sounding at first, if loud, but it echoed around the trees in odd ways, making it sound like thousands of whispers repeated her words. It was…unsettling.

The cultists seemed to agree. Their leader flinched visibly when the demon spoke. “Y-Yes. According to the ancient tome—” he said, pulling a beat-up leather book out of seemingly nowhere, “—we started the ritual on the right phase of the moon, we recited the proper chants, evoked the correct name, provided the sacrifice for consumption…everything is correct. As per the ritual’s rules, you are summoned to the mortal plane to do our biding for a full day, then you return to the hell from whence you came!” He was starting to sound frantic by the end of his tirade.

The demon crossed her arms across her chest, emphasizing their definition. “Well, you’re almost right…except for the most important part.” She stepped closer, and bent down dramatically at the waist to look the cult leader in the eyes. He scrambled to step backwards; this caused his hood to flip back, revealing a face that looked both scared and young.

The demon seemed amused by his fear. She smiled, cruelly, baring sharp teeth at him. “The one who gives the blood is not the sacrifice…they’re the one with control over me. Not you.”

She stood up again, stretching to her full height. “I’m not ‘contractually obligated’ to give you shit. All the power resides in the poor person you have trussed up like a ham over there.” She gestured to you, finally making eye contact. You shivered at the glowing red gaze.

“So, hon, want me to take care of these guys for you?” she asked, focus still entirely on you.

You were frozen for a second. Your brain was spinning. You still didn’t fully understand what was going on…but you would like your kidnappers gone. So you gave the smallest nod, all of the movement you could manage.

The demon smirked, returning your nod, and then she was a blur.

Your head span just trying to watch her; it seemed like only a second before all of the cultists were knocked out cold from the force of the demon’s lightning-quick kicks and punches.

Once she had taken care of them, she crouched down over you to run her hands over your bindings. Under the caress of her large hand the ropes and the gag dissolved into puffs of smoke.

You raised your tingling arms up to your mouth and coughed. Your throat still felt terrible, and coughing too deeply flexed your abdomen, causing the cuts to light up with pain again. But your limbs could finally regain blood flow.

You looked up at the demon, who was still staring at you. You had a hard time meeting her gaze; instead you looked out towards the cultists lying on the ground. “…are they dead?” you rasped.

“Naw. Just going to be unconscious for a long time. Didn’t think you would want me to kill them all. I mean. I can if you want me to though.”

“Um… no, that’s fine.” No matter how crazy this weird cult was, even if they wanted to sacrifice you, even if they had no problem kidnapping and hurting you…you wouldn’t want their deaths on your conscious. You couldn’t do that.

The demon shrugged. “Okay then.” She seemed much less intimidating and more casual now, even though she still loomed above you.

You tried to swallow, wincing when your raw throat protested the action. “So…what now?”

“Well, I am at your bidding, for a whole twenty-four hours. Then I can go back to hell…I never introduced myself, by the way. I go by many names, but you can call me Rumi.”

You stammered your own introduction.

Rumi gave you a broad grin, teeth flashing. “I’m guessing the first thing you want from me is for me to heal your wounds?”

Your voice had a hopeful tilt to it. “Can you do that? Please?”

“Aww, sweetheart, how could I say no when you ask so nicely?” she purred.

You could feel heat in your cheeks. You’re honestly surprised you still have enough blood for such a silly reaction to her words.

She chuckled, and moved so she could slip both her hands between your lower back and the ground. She lifted you up as she leaned down, until you could feel her breath on the sting of the cuts.

You weren’t sure what you expected her to do. Maybe whisper some sort of weird Latin chant and then the cuts would just disappear? But you would have never predicted what she actually did.

Rumi opened her mouth…wide. Out came a tongue between the glinting teeth.

Her tongue was long, and flexible, the end almost triangle-shaped with the way it tapered to a point. It dripped saliva onto your stomach, and you flinched.

You let out a shrill noise of surprise as Rumi uses her strange tongue to lick at your wounds.

Her spit almost seemed to leak into your cuts, causing them to close and disappear before your eyes as she lapped across them. Soon, the pain has disappeared from your abdomen, replaced by the wet, warm feeling of the demon’s tongue. She continued to lick long after the cuts were gone, removing every spot of blood from the soft skin of your stomach.

You felt flushed and tingly. You would have liked to attribute that to whatever strange demon magic was in Rumi’s spit, but you couldn’t quite lie to yourself that much. You’re ashamed to admit it, but the feeling of Rumi’s tongue on you is almost…erotic. The wetness on your abdomen was emulated by the slowly growing wetness in your underwear.

You couldn’t help but squeak in embarrassment at the realization. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you look at it) Rumi pulled away, tongue retracting back into her mouth like a snake.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“Yes,” you said, before losing yourself to another coughing fit. Your stomach was as good as new, no remnants of the strange carved symbol remaining, but your throat was still raw.

Rumi made a disapproving noise. “Well, it seems like you’re not all fixed up, hon. Something happened to your throat, right? Let me help.” She shifted her arms under you until she was holding you in a seated position, bringing your head closer to hers.

You felt as if your face was radiating heat. She was no less beautiful up close. It was hard to have such a lovely face right by yours, especially after said lovely face was just licking your bare skin.

Rumi removed one hand from your back, to press a single calloused finger against your bottom lip. “Open up, sweetheart.”

You should have protested, but the pet name in Rumi’s soft, low voice made your head feel fuzzy. You opened your jaw.

Your mouth was soon filled with the demon’s tongue. Your eyes closed on instinct, feeling her lips press to yours in a facsimile of a kiss. You had never had a kiss like this, however; her tongue slithered down your throat, filling it and your mouth up to the brim. You would have choked on it, but the soothing feeling of her saliva healing your injured throat made you relax enough for it to slip past your gag reflex.

It almost felt like you were being throat-fucked by Rumi’s tongue; at the mere whisper of that thought, you let out a moan around the slick appendage inside you.

To your disappointment, she immediately pulled back. Once you realized what you had done, you felt like you were going to faint. You reopened your eyes, almost dreading to see Rumi’s expression.

Your breath caught when you finally saw her. She had an almost…endeared expression on her face. It would have been sweet, if not for the sultry darkness of her eyes.

“Aww, honey, you like my tongue?” Her voice was hoarse, and you shuddered, face nearly radiating heat.

She laughed at your flustered expression. “It’s okay, don’t be embarrassed. It’s cute.”

You let out a low whine, less of arousal and more out of sheer mortification.

Runi’s smile sharpened. “You know, I can do lots of other things with my tongue, if you’d like. After all, I am at your bidding.”

While the first sentence made you feel like you had been lit on fire, the second one doused your flames a little. “I don’t want you to do something because I’m making you do it…if you don’t want to do anything, you don’t have to. No matter how I feel.” You felt a little sick at the thought that you could force her to do something like that if she didn’t want to.

“You’re so sweet, honey,” Rumi said, chuckling. “But I promise I want to just as much as you do.” Her voice dropped lower at the last part, almost to a growl, and you shuddered in her arms.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Rumi, as her figure suggested, was ridiculously strong.

She ripped your pants and underwear off like it was tissue paper. She hoisted her arms under you, maneuvering you like a ragdoll until you were in her preferred position. Your legs were hooked over her shoulders, your hands gripping her horns in a weak attempt to stabilize yourself as she lifted you until your pussy was level with her mouth.

You could feel Rumi’s smirk against your sensitive inner thigh. You couldn’t make yourself look down, lest you have to acknowledge your position and the way your cunt was dripping.

“Sweetheart.” A quick flick of her tongue against your clit, making you gasp. “Look at me while I eat you out.”

You reluctantly made eye contact with her. “That’s it baby,” she cooed.

You watched as her tongue slipped out of her mouth once more, the thin tip reaching out to lightly caress your clit. Even though the touches were almost nonexistent, each sent a flow of heat up your spine.

Your legs squeezed rhythmically around Rumi’s head every time her tongue teased at your nub. Your arousal kept building, filling your whole body with sticky heat, yet it wasn’t enough to push you towards any type of climax.

You didn’t notice you had begun to whimper, softly, but Rumi did. She finally took pity on you and started to lap at your cunt in earnest.

The first lick went all the way from your hole to your clit, dragging the broad part of her tongue through your wetness. She let out a rumbling moan once she got a proper taste of you, and abandoned her teasing completely.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as she licked and sucked at your pussy without mercy. Rumi was too caught up in eating you out to chastise you for this. Anyway, closed eyes only made the sounds louder; the obscene slurping noises from combination of your slick and her spit, and both of your moans, yours echoing and hers muffled against you.

You let out a shriek as her skilled tongue wormed its way into your dripping hole. You were so wet from your arousal and her saliva that she had no trouble working the appendage deep inside of you, deeper than you thought possible. She pulled you closer to her face, until her lips were pressed against the soft folds of your sex, and you thought you could come right then.

But this wasn’t the height of your arousal. Not yet.

She then started to move her tongue inside of you.

It felt like Rumi was desperate to taste all of you, the way her tongue squirmed inside your pussy. Every sensitive spot was rubbed against the rough parts of her tongue, and then soothed by the slicker parts. She was basically fucking you on her face at that point, powerful arms bringing your body away from her just to pull you back and impale you on her tongue. Every time your cunt met her face again, she would grind the bridge of her nose against your clit, sending another spark of pleasure up your spine.

Your body felt almost unreal. No longer did you have control over yourself; instead, Rumi did. You were like her little doll, a pretty little thing she could pick up and play with effortlessly.

The pleasure was so intense that you struggled to simply open your eyes without slipping back into mindless bliss. You wanted to see her, though, and so you forced them open, squinted and teary as they were.

Bringing your gaze down to her, you could see her eyes were black with arousal as they peered back up at you. Her entire face was soaked, slick and dripping from your cunt’s juices. She looked utterly bebauched.

The view made you come on the spot.

If you weren’t a doll before, you were now; your entire body went numb from your orgasm. It was like a never-ending series of delicious shocks travelling through your nervous system. Rumi hadn’t halted her movements, even as you soaked her face even more with your come. Your pleasure stretched out longer than you thought possible before your nerves started to turn painful. She stopped once your whines started becoming less come-drunk and more overwhelmed.

Almost lovingly, she laid your dazed form back down onto the ground, still cradling your head. It took you a few moments before you were even aware of your surroundings again.

In that time, Rumi had moved to straddle your head, hovering above your face on her knees. One hand was stroking your cheek softly, while the other held up the delicate chains that hung from her waist, revealing her own glistening cunt to you.

“You were so good for me, baby,” she said, voice husky. “D’you wanna return the favor?”

There was no world in which you wouldn’t want more of her.

“Yes please,” you murmured, opening your mouth.

#bnha smut #bnha x reader #usagiyama rumi x reader #rumi usagiyama x reader #miruko x reader #miruko smut #usagiyama rumi #rumi usagiyama #miruko #bnha #romy can write #strange lovers event #afab reader

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ohimsummer · 4 months

Note

for ur lil date game

satoru taking you to a carnival? n we'll say 🍦for the emoji

— light descriptions of vomit, established relationship, satoru x reader, kinda proofread

“I…don’t think this is a good idea.”

Satoru snaps his head towards you, staring in utter astonishment. “Huh? What are you–,” he raises a fist to his mouth, turning away as a burp slips out, “–talking about? You don’t think this looks fun?”

As if to prove his point, a round of shrieks reaches your ears, the cart of people zooming by in a blur. Your eyes follow the ride’s track, the loops and sharp dips of it, angles that would have your stomach churning.

“It’s not that I don’t think it’s fun...,” you reply, gulping. “Maybe just not so soon after all that ice cream.”

“Pft. What are you, a wimp?”

Your brows furrow, avoiding Gojo’s gaze even as he leans over to grin at you. “No, I’m someone who doesn’t wanna puke all over themselves. You’re supposed to wait like an hour after you eat before getting on a ride, remember?”

Satoru crosses his arms, leaning back against the side of someone’s game booth. “Waiting, schmaiting, that whole thing’s a myth anyway, ya know?”

“…Is it?”

“Duh, babe. How could you get sick just from eating something and then getting on a ride? Use that pretty little head, we’ll be a-okay!”

Doubt and suspicion still creep at the edges of your mind, but Satoru’s confidence in his belief convinces you enough to let him drag you in line. Your tummy feels a bit full, having been stuffed with all the different flavors he wanted to try, but it’s only replaced with a somewhat empty feeling as you both draw closer and closer to the front of the line. Satoru is giddy, bouncing on his heels, jittery and jiggling you under his hold around your shoulders.

“This is gonna be so cool!,” he rambles, points at a section of the roller coaster. “Look, it even goes upside down at that part! If you do puke, it should probably be right there– ow! Pffft, baby, I was joking!”

In no time, you two are squished into one of the carts, right at the front as Satoru’s preference, and the attendant tugs the belt to make sure you’re both properly restrained.

“I wonder if they have one of those secret cameras that takes pictures throughout the ride?,” he asks aloud, reaching an arm around to pinch your cheek and laughing when you slap him away. “Make some silly faces, I want a new wallpaper.”

The ride begins before you can laugh at him to shut up. It’s a slow start, gradually creeping upwards to reach the tip-top of the first hill. You lace fingers with Satoru's, who’s chatter has suddenly gone quiet, and he faintly returns the tight squeeze you give his hand.

“All good?,” you ask, eyes stuck on the path ahead, ears filled with the loud rumble of the coaster as it draws nearer to the top. In your peripheral, you see the swish of Satoru’s hair as he gives a swift nod and a short ‘mhm!’.

You glance over at him, and immediately something’s wrong. His bottom lip tucked between his teeth, brows furrowed and eyes wide with anxiety. “You sure you’re okay?”

He glances over at you and smiles, forced. “Y-yup! I’m fine, baby.”

“Satoru, you’re sweating.”

“It’s just hot–“

“You’re also really pale, even for you.”

His lips falter, eyes blink as though the sun beams straight through his blackened shades. “U-uh…”

You study the way Satoru wipes his forehead, and then smacks his lips. He doesn’t answer your ‘what’s wrong?’, only presses himself back in the seat as the coaster finally crests the first hill.

He licks his lips, smacks them again. “Ugh, my mouth feels really watery.”

Your brows raise. “Oh?” And then you recall something you’ve read related to sickness. “Doesn’t that mean you’re about to vomi-“

Your shriek, not because the ride has went plummeting, but because liquid now ejects from Satoru’s mouth, spews between his fingers as he tries to hold it all back. You lean away, constantly glancing back to see regurgitated ice cream shooting back on other passengers. Someone screams ‘Eww, what is this?!’ and you just pray they’ll think it’s bird poop or whatever, and also that too much of Satoru’s puke doesn't reach you.

By the time the amusement ride ends, a crowd of people are giving both you and Satoru dirty looks, mumbling insults and complaints under their breath and heading to the nearest restrooms to clean up. Satoru’s once clean shirt is stained in a dull rainbow of tossed-up ice cream, and you grab napkins from a nearby food booth to wipe his face clean.

“This is embarrassing.,” he mutters, shielding his face from passerby as you both begin heading home.

You sigh. “I told you we should wait, ya big baby.”

bonus :3

The next say, Satoru grabs your phone, intent on his usual activity of snapping an overabundance of selfies that you won't notice until the next time you check your album or he hints at having tampered with the device if you take too long. His thumb freezes over the camera icon in the corner.

"Y/N!," he yells, and you come rushing because why does it sound like he's in trouble?

You come sliding around the corner in socks, gripping the doorframe to steady yourself before coming to a halt in front of your held-out phone.

"What?", you ask, biting back a grin.

"What? Look at this photo!"

A giggle threatens to slip past your lips at the picture, a polaroid of you with a look of absolute shock and disgust as you hold up hands to shield yourself from Satoru, who sits next to you on the ride with wide, blue eyes, puffed out cheeks and throw-up bursting from between his fingers.

"Don't need to, I've been laughing at it since yesterday."

feel free to send a char + date idea <3

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru drabble #satoru gojo imagine #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo drabble

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gaysindistress · 11 months

Text

When Night Comes - two

Summary: Who would win in a staring contest? New York’s resident mob boss and master of the side eye Bucky Barnes or the daycare teacher who really wants to go home and smoke?

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: cursing, douchebag Peter Parker, drug use (taking an edible), drinking

word count: 4.3k

one | masterlist

a/n: spoiler alert: there’s a surprise coming in the next part

tag list: @cakesandtom @vickie5446 @buckybarnessimpp @hidden-treasures21 @unaxv

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

The lowkey kickback she was promised is anything but that. Cars line the already crowded and narrow street while people mill around and stream out of the towering house. Music blasts throughout the house and onto the street, no doubt upsetting neighbors and warranting noise complaints; however the party goers and the homeowner don’t seem to care. Their uber pulls up to the address and practically dumps them and speeds off, probably wanting to avoid any kind of problem that the party might bring.

Jessica wraps her thin black cardigan around her body, “Let’s go inside. It’s too damn cold out here.”

Sunny rolls her eyes, following the girl up the steps, “I imagine wearing a bra for a shirt would be very cold.”

“Oh shut up. I look hot even if I am freezing to death.”

Her short brown skirt hikes as she climbs the stairs to the point that Sunny has to reach out and tug it down from behind. Her goal is to entice one man and one man only, however he has yet to be seen as they push past drunk and high people. A familiar blonde spots them as they make their way towards the kitchen.

“Jessica you came!” Yelena shouts over the loud music and people’s conversations, a smile plastered across her face, “And you brought a friend.”

“Yelena this is Sunny,” Jessica beams, pointing between the two women,” Sunny is this Yelena, the friend that’s throwing this party.”

Sunny extends out her hand to shake Yelena’s but she’s pulled into a tight hug with Yelena whispering in her ear, “Jessica’s situationship is here but he brought another girl just FYI.”

“Shit,” she pulls back and offers Jessica a fake smile who is staring off past them. Sunny follows her stare and spots the very thing she’d hoped to avoid until later; the man in question making out with another girl.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” she shrieks, marching towards them. Neither of them are fast enough to catch the angry brunette who practically rips the woman off of him.

“Seriously? You go on and on about loyalty and then you fucking show up with another girl? What the fuck are you on because you’re clearly not thinking right,” screaming at the couple, Jessica’s beyond pissed as she stares daggers at them.

“Jessica, oh hey I didn’t know you were going to be here,” the man tries to play off the situation, running a hand casually through his hair to hide the evidence.

“Bull fucking shit, I was the one who invited you and you have the audacity to show up with some other girl? Where do you get off?”

“Babe it’s not that serious, I swear,” the lies slip so easily through his teeth, “You know you’re the only girl for me.”

As he speaks, what looks like a fang flashes ever so slightly but disappears when he shifts his gaze to Yelena and Sunny behind her. He tries to grab her hands to calm her down but she’s quick to step back from him, “I might not be the smartest but I’m definitely not that fucking stupid that I’d actually believe anything you said. Get fucked Peter Parker.��

Yelena stifles a laugh with a cough and leans over to Sunny, “How much you wanna bet he’s going to follow her around all night?”

“I’ll do ya one better; she’s going to punch him.”

“Deal,” she shakes Sunny’s hand as Jessica storms over to them with a rather pissed off Peter in tow.

“Jessica just stop,” his demeanor has shifted to a much darker one, “You know that we aren’t exclusive so you can’t get mad if I date other people. You’re still my number one girl.”

“Oh I’m sorry I don’t think I remember having that conversation. That must have been another one of your girlfriends. Just leave me alone Peter. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

His hand darts out and grips her wrist harshly as a cloud of anger takes over his already inky eyes, “That’s enough. Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Hold up, take your hands off of her and take a step back Parker,” Yelena demands in a stern tone as she steps up to Jessica’s side, “She said she didn’t want anything to do with you so back off.”

“Stay out of this Yelena, this has nothing to do with you.”

“It does when you’re at my party, let her go or I’ll make you,” she warns.

“And what are you going to do?”

“It’s not her you should be worried about,” the honey voice calls over the noise and tenses every fiber in Sunny’s body. She doesn’t dare to turn around or even move to confirm if it’s him. The almost spicy smell of his leathery sandalwood cologne is enough to confirm that Bucky is coming up beside her.

“Let her go and you won’t lose your hand,” his voice is level and calm even though there is chaos descending around them. His brown leather jacket clad arm brushes against hers, sending shocks through her knit long sleeve dress.

Peter dramatically drops her wrist, making a scene of the action and his frustration as every disgruntled frat boy would. He mumbles something under his breath about how fucking ridiculous this all is but doesn’t dare repeat it when Bucky gives him a warning side eye. Jessica curls into Sunny’s side while Bucky and Yelena create a protective wall between her and Peter. When he’s satisfied with the distance between them, Bucky turns to look at them, “Jessica, right? Are you okay?”

She nods quickly, not really wanting to speak.

“It’s good to see you, Doll. How are you?” The sudden shift confuses the shit out of her.

“What are you doing here?”

Yelena takes her cue to leave and nods at Bucky as she takes Jessica from her arms, leading her away from the couple and to a calmer place. He laughs at Sunny’s question, “This is my house.”

“Excuse me?” “Well one of my houses. Yelena crashes here from time to time and uses it to throw parties when she’s in town,” He explains, blue eyes glistening in the LED lights as he stares down at her.

“And you’re okay with her trashing your house whenever she wants?” She asks while she stumbles forward from the force of someone accidentally shoving her from behind.

Bucky is quick to catch her, hands steadying her by her shoulders, “Easy there tiger. Can’t have you falling for me just yet.”

She scoffs lightly and shakes his hands off, “I was pushed.”

“By destiny into my arms.”

“No by a drunk asshole into another asshole.”

Once again he lets out another damn addicting laugh, slinging an arm over her shoulder and leads her away from the crowd. The weight of his arm is nice, comforting even as they weave their way through people to the backyard. Maybe it’s how amazing his cologne smells or how she can feel the cold of his body through the thin white t-shirt he’s wearing under his jacket. The edible she took before they left Jessica’s apartment definitely plays a part in how she leans into his embrace and doesn’t immediately pull away when they step out into the cold nighttime air.

“Do you have an answer?” The question pulls her away from her thoughts. Clearing her throat, she steps out from under his arm and wraps her own around her, mulling over what he asked her.

“Answer to what?”

“I asked if I could make it up to you with dinner after Scott was rude. You never gave me an answer.”

“Oh,” she looks down to her scoffed docs for a few moments before making eye contact with him, “No.”

“No?”

“Yeah, no I won’t go to dinner with you,” she revels in the way confusion eats away at his beautiful features.

“Fair enough. How about I pay for dinner for you and Jessica?” a soft smirk dismisses the confusion and she has to look away before heat flushes her face.

“No.”

“Catering for lunch one day?”

“No.”

“Coffee every morning for a month?” “Jesus no.”

“Flowers?” He tries one last time even though he knows she’s just going to shoot it down. The way she’s struggling under his gaze is worth more than any material thing to him; he’s getting under her skin in the most delicious way possible.

“Why do you have to make it up? Just leave it, that’s what other people do.”

“Well I’m not like other people. Manners aren’t dead and it’s only fair I reconcile with the beautiful woman who didn’t call the police on us when she should have.”

The view of her docs is no longer interesting and the city lights are too bright to see the stars so her only option is to look at him with that flirtatious smirk and smooth words. Her head body starts to feel weightless as the THC comes into full force and it’s a struggle to form sentences that aren’t littered with giggles, “You think I’m beautiful? Oh… shit that’s not what I meant to say. What I meant is just leave it alone. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

His superstar Adidas barely make any noise against the stone pavers as he slowly saunters towards her.

“I think you did mean that first part,” his right hand finds her chin and tilts it so she’s eye to eye with him, “And to answer your question, I do think you’re beautiful. You are, by far, the most stunning woman I have ever met and I would love the chance to get to know you better if you’d stop being so obstinate.”

Maybe it’s the THC or the tornado his touch has thrown her mind into but she swears she can’t feel any heat coming from him as he gently grips her chin.

“Maybe learn to take no for an answer,” her eyes flicker down to his lips briefly, “Besides it’s unprofessional.”

“We’re two consenting adults,” he leans even closer, his nose brushing against hers as he speaks, “It’s only unprofessional if you let it distract you.”

“Hey Sunny… Oh fuck,” Yelena shrinks back into the house when she spots the two of them wrapped up in their own bubble of sexual tension. Bucky chuckles with mild annoyance at being interrupted but steps back and gives her space to breathe again all the same.

Embarrassment fills Sunny’s body as she rubs her arms to regain control of her breathing again,“What’s up Yelena?”

“Uh Jess wants to leave. She’s a mess about the whole Peter thing.”

“Yeah, okay let her know we can leave. Can you have her call an uber?” she attempts to brush past Bucky but his arm pulls her into his side just like before.

“Don’t be silly, I’ll drive you guys home.”

“We can take an uber, it’s not a big deal.”

“Doll let me take care of you,” the not so subtle meaning freezes any protests and he smirks at her before heading back into the den of sweat and alcohol to find the damsel in distress. Sounds of sobbing and sniffing come from the kitchen, letting them know she’s been hiding out there.

“Oh Sunny,” she launches herself at Sunny, tears having ruined her makeup, “I feel so fucking stupid, oh my god.”

“Come on, let’s get you girls home,” Bucky mumms as he lets go of Sunny to pull her under his arm. Still being a gentleman, he offers his other arm to Sunny so she doesn’t get lost and she does take it even though she’ll try to deny it later on. He won’t let her live down how tightly she’s gripping his arm or how she follows after him like a puppy as they zigzag their way to the front door. Yelena isn’t in tow, saying something about having to make sure the party doesn’t end up a complete failure and slipping her number into Sunny’s hand. The action goes unnoticed by Bucky as he’s too focused on Jessica and keeping her shielded from other party goers.

Slowly climbing down the stairs, he digs into his jean pocket to find his keys. A blacked out Mercedes AMG G63 a little ways down the crowded street lights up when he pushes the fob. A part of her is impressed with his choice in car but the other part is more concerned about why he would leave such a nice car out in the open where it could easily get broken into or stolen. Then again with what she knows about him and his work, he has more than enough money to replace it if anything were to happen to it.

Jessica immediately clamors into the front seat, leaving Sunny to navigate her own way into the backseat. He opens the door for both women but abandons Jessica to gently lift Sunny into the vehicle. “I can do it myself,” she protests, trying to swat at his hands on her hips.

“I’m sure you could sober,” he teases her as he clips the seat belt over her and closes the door.

“Dick,” she mumbles under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What was that?” his blue eyes glitter with mischief in the rear view mirror as he pulls away from the curb.

“I said you’re a dick.”

“Be nice to him! He’s being such a gentleman and taking us home,” Jessica interjects, placing her hand on his arm in a very flirtatious way. Of course she decides now is the time to try her hand at flirting with the hottest man alive according to the teachers at their work.

Knowing exactly what she’s doing, he removes her hand and puts it back on her lap, “Sunny means no harm but I appreciate you standing up for me.”

The rejection doesn’t sit super well with Jessica, the hurt from earlier still lingering and she starts to complain about Peter all over again. She throws in unnecessarily details about the pictures she sent him, the sets she bought for him, and all of the things he wanted to try. At some point, Sunny completely dozes off and leaves Bucky to fend for himself as he grows increasingly more uncomfortable with the amount of information she’s rattling off.

She jolts awake when the car parks and she rubs at her eyes when she notices that they’re parked in the garage of Jessica’s apartment complex. Jessica is still rambling on about Peter as she had been for the last twenty minutes or so and she can tell by the bored look on Bucky’s face he mentally checked out at about the same time. He throws out the occasional hum and ‘yeah’ while he helps Sunny out of the car and into the elevator that leads up to the apartments.

She’s still complaining about how Peter could never make her finish while she unlocks her apartment door and lets him set Sunny down on the couch. She waltzes off to her room, leaving a very high Sunny smiling like an idiot at Bucky.

“Where’s your phone?” he asks, taking a seat on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Sunny hands him her purse, mumbling incoherently about how it’s inside.

Shaking his head at her state, he digs out her phone and has her unlock it. She tries to watch him through her lashes to see what he’s doing.

“I put my number in so if you need anything, call me,” he answers her unasked question and hands her back her phone, “I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay Doll?”

She blankly stares at him, not quite catching onto the fact that he asked her a question. Albeit delayed, she nods in understanding, earning herself a reward in the form of his laughter and a feather light kiss to her hairline.

“I’m leaving Jessica. Lock your doors please,” he yells to the other woman and winks at Sunny before closing the door behind himself.

“Girl please tell me that you’re going to lock that man down. He’s so into you, it’s so obvious.”

“What?” Sunny drops her head back against the couch to lazily look at Jessica.

“Are you serious? He wanted nothing to do with me and I was flirting hard. He only has eyes for you.”

“No, no, no,” she waves hand to dismiss the imaginary image of them together, “He’s just a flirt, he acts like that with everyone.”

Jessica locks her door as he had asked and spins to face her very clearly out of it friend, “Sunny, be so fucking for real right now. I bet if you called him right now, he would be knocking on the door in seconds.”

“Yeah because he’s still in the building. Jess I really don’t want to debate whether or not he’s into me. I’d rather go to sleep and argue with you tomorrow.”

“Fine,” she raises her hands in defeat, “If you don’t call him or at least text him tomorrow to say thank you, I will steal your phone and do it for you.”

“Fine, whatever,” Sunny drags herself off of the couch and slowly walks to Jessica’s bedroom meanwhile the other woman is getting water for them to drink in the morning. They’ll no doubt have cotton mouth or a hangover or maybe both when they wake up. Sunny barely gets her boots off before sleep takes over and she passes out on the covers still fully clothed. Jessica chuckles to herself and gets ready for bed before trying her hardest to get Sunny under the covers.

“Night bitch.”

Sunday mornings with the girls consisted of waffles, fruit, and an endless supply of champagne or weed, it really depended on their mood. Given how shitty last night had been, it seemed like champagne would be the chosen remedy for Jessica’s broken heart and a joint would be the preventive medicine for Sunny’s ears. The sweet smell of sugar and syrup mixed with the earthy smell from her joint coated the air of Jessica's apartment, suffocating the smell of the burning waffles that she’d forgotten about during her endless rant about Peter.

“I seriously can’t believe that he would do that to me,” she sighed, staring absently at the kitchen floor with her drink in one hand and back to the smoking waffle iron.

Sunny gently pushed her aside by her hip to get the waffle out, “I mean….”

“I just need your ears, not your opinions,” she stops Sunny from saying anything that might upset her and continues, “I mean look at me; do I look stupid? Do I look like someone who just enjoys being fucked over? I’m getting really tired of his bullshit.”

Sunny just nods along, taking over the waffle station and filling the iron with batter. A plate full of waffles appears in front of Jessica and quickly snatches one off, taking small bites. After a few minutes of her not talking and the sounds of the iron dinging when the waffles are done, Sunny tries to speak again, “Are you done?” “Yes, obviously I’m done talking,” she sneers, chugging her half full cup and making another glass of champagne with a splash of orange juice.

“Well,” Sunny starts after taking a long drag from her joint, “he is the epitome of Chad, the worst frat boy archetype. You met him on Hinge so in the nicest possible way, what did you expect? At least with Tinder you know what you’re getting but with the other ones, it’s the damn Hunger Games and you offered yourself up as tribute pretty quickly with Peter.”

Even though she’s not looking, she can feel the daggers coming Jessica’s dark eyes but she doesn’t let up, “My advice; ghost him, block him, get so drunk you forget he exists, and find yourself someone new. He’s never going to be who you want and if you keep letting him back in, he’s going to keep treating you like a doormat and you, my goddess of a friend, deserve someone better.”

“Why can’t I just like girls like you? Men are so stupid,” she sighs more dramatically than humanly thought possible and drops her head onto Sunny’s shoulder.

“First off, that’s not how it works and second off, girls are just as bad as guys are.”

“Yeah but girls are so much prettier and they don’t stick their dicks in anything while walking.”

She chuckles, “Homegirl you clearly haven’t spent any real time around queer people. Douche bag transcends the social construct of gender. My last queer relationship ended because she tried to sleep with all of my friends while planning my proposal. Shitty people are going to do shitty things no matter what.”

“Touché,” Jessica lifts herself from Sunny’s shoulder, “Talking about your relationships, have you texted Mr. Sexy?”

Rolling her eyes, she unplugs the waffle iron and drops the batter bowl into the sink, joint still trapped between her fingers. Before she has to face the music of Jessica on a mission, she hops onto the counter and continues to smoke, “Nope.”

“Why not?” “I don’t want to?”

“I sense a question mark. You want to but your damned ego won’t let you,” Jessica declares, finger pointing at her in a very accusing manner.

“It’s not that,” Sunny leans back to snuff out her joint on an ashtray sitting on the counter behind her, “That’s not the only number I got last night.”

“Spill, right now.”

She vaguely gestures to the living room where her phone is at, “When I woke up, I had another number stuffed into my purse.”

Jessica stares at her with expecting eyes, “Who’s?” “Yelena.”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD! YELENA?” Jessica’s loud and very drunk voice bounces off the walls and bounces in their ears.

“Jesus quit screaming,” Sunny covers her ears and chides her friend. “You have to text her and Mr. Sexy.”

“What? No, I'm not doing that.”

“You kinda have to. You need to thank him and you need to flirt it up with Yelena. If you’re lucky, you might find yourself in both of their beds,” Jessica calls as she rushes to grab Sunny’s phone.

“Oh for the love of god,” she curses, sliding off the counter to catch her friend before she does anything stupid.

However she is too late; Jessica already has her phone unlocked and is rapidly typing away at the screen. There’s no use in trying to stop her, she’s surprisingly strong and fast when she’s drinking. On more than one occasion, Sunny has had to put an air tag on her or physically tie them together when they go out because Jessica will bolt the moment tequila touches her tongue.

“Hey there Stranger, thank you for being such a gentleman last night. Chivalry isn’t dead it seems,” the tipsy woman narrates as she types away Sunny’s soul to the devil.

“I don’t sound or text like that.”

“I know. You’re so boring and weird. You call people when they text you. That’s the move of a psychopath,” she pauses her betrayal to tease Sunny, “‘It's too bad I had to leave, we didn't have time to make out’ and send.”

“Oh my god,” Sunny laughs in half disbelief and annoyance. Of course Jessica would pick the most out of pocket shit to flirt with Yelena on her behalf.

“I’ll have my assistant send over my invoice when you and yelena go out,” she blows a fake kiss and plops down on the couch, Sunny not far behind.

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Hmmm let me think….. No I’ll be sending your texts for today, ya know to keep the balls rolling,” she retorts.

The phone in her hand vibrates awake, alerting them that someone has responded to Jessica’s devious messages.

“And we have our first answer,” she reads the message to herself before a wide grin stretches across her face, “To tell you or to not tell you, now that is the question.”

“For the love of god just tell me, what did they say?”

“It really is a shame we didn’t get to make out, dinner friday and we can try again?” Jessica reads out but her grin drops just as quickly as it appeared.

“What? What is that look for?” Sunny sits up from her slouched position on the couch.

Jessica laughs nervously, “Okay so don’t be mad. Be so chill about this.”

“What did you do?”

“I may or may not have accidentally switched the texts around.”

Hands slapping against her face, Sunny drags them down in disbelief as she falls back against the couch, “Please tell you’re fucking joking.”

Jessica smacks her lips and shrugs, “Well on the bright side, you now have a date with Bucky so there’s that.”

“Did you text back yes?”

“Obvi,” Jessica starts typing away again, completely ignoring the girl to her side who is going through an emotional crisis over this, “So now you’ll have two dates and a better chance at getting laid.”

The groan that leaves Sunny is unnatural, bordering the sounds that a demon would make but alas there is no demon and it’s just the deep anguish that she’s feeling reaching the surface. Her joint from earlier is doing little to ease her misery and the giggles that leave Jessica’s mouth are fuel to the fire. She has no idea what her friend is saying and whether or not it’s going to get her into trouble come Friday. Knowing Jessica, she’s flirting which only means that Sunny is going to have a lovely time the next time she sees Bucky.

“Could you not flirt with him? I really don’t want to keep it going when I go home.” “Oh my god get over yourself. I’m helping you here, you’re terrible at flirting.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles, reaching for the TV remote to turn on some stupid show to distract her. If she can’t control what Jessica is doing, she can at least control what show they’re watching.

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