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on-leatheredwings · 2 months

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False Pretenses (18+)

Yandere ! Damian Wayne x (Fem) Reader

romantic, 18+ > summary: Damian needs an heir someday, and he knows your body can provide that. > tw/cw: stealthing/baby trapping. there is consensual sex under false pretenses, so this could (and should) make this fall under dub- or non-con! there is also a brief mention of somnophilia. Plus, some breeding kink, praise kink. Also some weird thoughts about (cis) women who are fertile being ‘ideal’ and a preference for biological children. Just a warning. > word count: 5088. jesus christ. > [a/n: (smokes a blunt). ] > again 18+ only, damian wayne is 21

So, Damian has a breeding kink.

You sit in bed (his bed), knees to your chest, trying not to smile.

The covers are wrapped around your bare body as you recall the night prior’s events.

Last night was the farthest you two have gone physically. You’ve made out, of course. That was in short order after officially becoming a couple, the both of you starved for the other. You’ve groped each other, both over and under your clothes… You’ve given him a handjob… (To his utter dismay that you’ve brought him to orgasm first rather than the reverse.) And last week, you took him in your mouth for the first time. But yesterday night was the first time you had been on the receiving end.

Now, you are no virgin, but the memory does make you clutch your metaphorical pearls. You didn’t know simple fingering could be so… perverse.

Damian’s two middle fingers are thrusting back and forth into your trembling cunt. Your ears are steaming at the resulting noises filling the air. They’re lewd, and entirely involuntary on your part. Sweat on your temple drips, your torso heaves with shaken breath. Your damp back lies flush against his hard chest, two perfect puzzle pieces. Damien’s chin rests on your shoulder, allowing him to have a beautiful view of the mess you’re making on his slender digits. Viridian eyes have their entire focus on you, utterly fascinated.

The look in them is enough to make you blush, even if two of his fingers weren’t in you right now.

Sinful, reverent whispers into the shell of your ear marvel about how well you’re doing, how prepared you’ll be to take him afterwards. Damian’s free hand rests on your abdomen, pointedly over your womb.

He’ll fill you. Breed you. After all, you can handle that. You were basically made for it. He knows you’d be perfect at it.

Chin resting on the palm of your hand, you come back to the present.

Yeah, that was really turning him on, you mull, with almost academic interest. Your lips curl into a catlike grin. How curious!

Hey, you aren’t judging! You can see the appeal. After all, you hadn’t exactly been complaining last night… just caught off guard.

You sit with your thoughts as Damian washes up in his restroom.

It is in his bedroom you currently lounge, absentmindedly fiddling with satin sheets. His bed is large enough to drown in. His room is a wash of dark emerald greens and deep blues, with golden accents. On a table sits a sheathed sword, its grip a beautiful gold.

Both of you are college students finishing up your last semester. During the school season, Damian stays in his penthouse. Yes, his penthouse. Why he couldn’t just stay at his billionaire father’s mansion, you don’t know. Bird has to leave the nest sometime, you suppose.

Slowly lowering your knees and letting your back hit cool sheets, you lie down. You get lost in the ceiling – a beautiful Arabesque pattern is subtly molded across its expanse. Damian’s culture is so cool. Such was a sentiment you had communicated in such words, and he simply kissed your knuckles with a proud curve of his lips, and thanked you for the compliment. You blush.

Ugh. Damian is so cool.

You start pulling up every uncool thing about him in your mental reservoir. You can’t have him getting a big head, after all. Or rather, can’t have his head getting any bigger.

Hmm… breeding kinkster, breeding kinkster, thy name is Damian Wayne.

You blink dumbly.

Breeding... breeding…

Pregnancy.

Your body stiffens.

Wait. Does this… does that mean something? Is that like. A thing? What people call foreshadowing? You sit up, disturbed.

At that exact moment, Damian saunters out of the washroom. His eyes catch yours immediately, as if drawn by magnetism. He is still shirtless, navy blue sweatpants looking entirely artful on his tall, bronze body. His usual shrewd expression relaxes at the sight of you.

At the sight of him, your heart skips a beat, and not out of admiration for his looks. It was like you had been caught red-handed, speculating things. Sometimes you swear he knows what you’re thinking.

He stalks toward you, eyes loving. He places a kiss on your lips, punctuating it with “Good morning, my love.”

“G-good morning,” you return, painfully aware of your nakedness under his sheets. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He places kisses on your bare shoulder, trailing down until he’s kissing your hand. While normally you’d be melting, you remain stiff.

Damian pecks one last kiss when you blurt, “Do you want kids?”

You inwardly smack your forehead. Well, you weren’t one to shy away from a tough conversation. For better or worse.

Damian stirs, blinking at you.

You continue, trying not to wilt, “Do… Do you want kids? I-is that something you want? Like, someday?”

How the hell did this not come up sooner, you don’t know.

… Well.

Perhaps it hadn’t come up because your relationship was fairly new. You’ve known Damian for five years now. And for the last two, your relationship had been under a taxing, soul-sucking ‘will-they-won’t-they-it’s-complicated’ vague denomination for quite a while. Both of you knew each of you had feelings for the other. But Damian confessing his vigilante secret and his assassin past was quite the double whammy.

Damian was resolute in keeping you and himself safe and alive, but you had to think critically about a future with him. Eventually you said fuck it, throwing caution to the wind because you loved him, and you wanted him. And he, you.

Officially, it’s only been three months of dating – and you both are young. You both are in your last year of college. Talking about kids felt … fast.

Damian remains silent, face tentative. Having been leaning over you, he now sits on his bed, looking thoughtful.

“... Is that something you want?”

You sigh. Of course he’d turn it on you.

“I…” Your throat feels tight. God, why can’t we just enjoy a damn honeymoon phase… “I mean…? I’m… open to it. But yeah, it seems kinda… Like. I don’t know. That’s a lot right now.” Your voice is uncharacteristically small and meek.

You should stop there. Keep it vague. Keep things light. But you know which side of the fence you’re leaning on, and so should he.

“A-and you know– like, you know I didn’t have a good relationship with my mother– I just. Don’t know. If ever. I guess?”

You sit in awkward silence with him. You pray God just decides to smite you where you sit, because Christ. That was horrible.

Things like this could break a relationship, you know. And your chest clenches painfully at the thought of separating from Damian.

Damian takes in your words, nodding. He’s usually so easy to read – you’re well-versed in Wayne-nese by now, having spent a lot of time with him and the rest of his family. But he seems to be withholding his inner thoughts intentionally from you. Your heart sinks.

You nudge him with your feet.

“Damiii. Do you?”

Damian’s eyes glimmer with characteristic haughtiness, instantly making you warm. He crawls forward, hands sinking into the bed by your hips. He nips at your nose before locking lips. It’s a sweet, sweet kiss that’s like candy, until you feel the stroke of his hot tongue. You moan freely, not caring that he’ll likely tease you later for being so easy.

He retreats, licks his lips.

“You fiend,” you blurt. The insult rolls off him.

“What I want is to be with you.” You swallow dryly, heart thumping like a chorus line. You wouldn’t be surprised if Damian could see literal hearts in your eyes.

He puts a hand on your knee, stroking softly. You feel mollified at the action. Damian only did that when everything was alright.

“We’ve got class. If you get dressed fast enough, I’ll buy you that confectionary you’re always wanting.”

You stick out your tongue. “It’s a frappe,” you say, adding before he could say otherwise, “and yes, it is real coffee.”

Back from class, you decided to read on his living room recliner while he drew in his study. Damian indeed sketched, as he did everyday. Unsurprisingly, you were the subject, along with your favorite flowers. But Damian chose his study, rather than drawing you from life, because he also wanted to check if today was the day he thought it was. He opens the drawer of his wooden desk, papers neatly filed. He picks up a sleek black folder that spends most of its time laid in hiding underneath.

…

So, for the record, Damian did not lie.

He merely obfuscated an answer with a truth.

He does want to be with you above anything, and if children were out of the question due to natural causes… sure, he would learn to get over it. His brothers are all adopted and are as legitimate heirs to his father as he. But as it stands, Damian needs an heir someday and he knows your body can provide that.

… A not-insignificant part of him quietly admits that he simply wants his children to be blood-related. He’d never express this to anyone. His brothers are adopted, so how could he? But instilled from infancy into Damian was that he was the result of two genetically perfect individuals.

So why shouldn’t his child be the genetic amalgamation of you and him, both of whom are also two perfect beings? The thought of impregnating you sounds… good. Ideal. Natural, even. Call him a romantic.

When opened, inside the folder is a calendar for the year, with no notes or writing. Some days are blank. Some are highlighted in either red or green.

His eyes skirt down to the current day of the calendar, and Damian's pleased to see it is indeed among a week that's painted in green. You've ovulated, and the six days afterward are an ideal window.

You've said in passing that your cycle is pleasantly regular and Damian's past investigations have proved this to be true. Not that he asks anymore. He snorts, remembering how last time you looked at him incredulously and asked if he was a Republican, since he was “all up in your womb.”

However, you do keep menstrual products in your bag when he’s predicted it. You also spend quite some time at his place, so he does note when there’s pad wrappers in his bathroom trash bin.

Last year, the day he knew you were the one – his One – he brewed you a tea before bed. Its sedative contents ensured you wouldn't wake, and you were out like a light within minutes. So, Damian pulled off your pants, and collected a specimen from you as you slept. Of course, he did so with sterile, sexless precision – Damian wasn’t a pervert or deviant. He sniffs. He’s better than that. Even if his hands did linger.

Test results proved you were healthy and fertile. He recalls this with pride. As expected, you were perfect in all things. Damian closes the folder and ruminates in his seat.

Damian had assumed so, but now you’ve confirmed with him that you’re unsure about raising children based on your history with your own family. He hears you. As if he doesn’t have his own slew of mommy problems. If you bring it up again, he’ll wave you off. You’ll be an amazing mother. You just need a push, and you’ll be confident soon enough.

His fingers steeple. Hm… There’s the issue of having children before marriage… He doesn’t know how you feel about children outside of wedlock, but it’s not as though you’re very traditional. You don’t seem to have a problem with the fact that’s how he was conceived. It’s not a big concern regardless, because Damian is going to marry you anyway. If it’s an issue, you both could marry in as soon as a month.

It all works out.

It’s perfect, he thinks.

Damian puts up his sketchbook and folder alike, heading to his bedroom to change. It was about time he put his plans into action, and he knows just how to usher it into fruition.

“That doesn’t look like a very satisfying read,” Damian says, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

You don’t look up from your book, your cringing face only deepening.

“Well, that’s because it isn’t. I was lied to! By my favorite Youtuber! By BookTok! And fuck it, by the government–”

"My love."

“You ask for one slow burn rivals-to-lovers and instead you get him fawning over her within three chapters–”

“My love,” he repeats, though amused.

“And let’s not even start about how this prose is abysmal–”

“My love.”

Since it was said oh-so-sweetly, you look up from your book.

Damian is... oh. He's in that outfit he knows you like. The League of Assassins one that's sleeveless, dark, and form fitting with gorgeous gold trim. It turns his body into a marvelous painting of black and gold on the tanned backdrop that is his skin. And you’ve told him so… Except his eyes. His beautiful, intense green eyes. He straightens from how he leans against the wall, stepping closer.

You toss your book, not even watching its trajectory. It takes out a vase on the way down and you still don’t spare it a glance.

"Damian Wayyyyyne," you sing, hopping up to stalk toward your prey. Your hands land on his chest. Hello, tig ol' biddies, you cheer internally. It takes considerable restraint to keep from saying it aloud – you know Damian gets all flustered with his delicate sensibilities. “Why, are you trying to seduce me?”

An elegant, thick brow rises in amusement. Well, that was exceedingly easier than expected.

“That depends entirely on whether it’s working.”

“Oh, it’s working,” you say, running your hands down to his abdomen. His hands rise to capture yours.

“Tt.”

Damian takes steps backward, leading you by the hands into his bedroom. Your leer grows even bigger. Oh, yes. You two lock eyes the whole while until you reach the foot of his bed, merriment and attraction dancing in both pairs.

You push him onto the bed, on all fours above him. You dive down for a deep kiss, tongue eager for a dance. Eventually it’s you who separates to breathe, panting lightly. The sight below you is one for sore eyes, Damian Wayne lying with eyes glazed with lust. He’s acting awfully agreeable, and you can’t say you don’t like it.

“Habibti, I want you.” Damian slides his hand to cup your crotch. You shiver, at his touch and his words.

“And you have me,” you say, voice warm. “Habibti.”

He smirks, probably thinking your accent could use some work.

“It’s Habibi, coming from you.”

You nod shyly, but you can have a lesson later. You’re about to slip off your pants when he brings your hand in between your bodies, placing it on his crotch. You sharply inhale. He’s hard, and straining against sinful, elastic tights.

“... And I mean, I want all of you.”

Your brows rise. So, he wanted to go all the way today? You feel your cheeks and crotch flood with heat. You find it easier to nod your head rapidly, lest you start barking. At your agreement, Damian’s face washes over with anticipation. You’re glad it’s not just you over the moon at the prospect.

You both rip your clothes off manically, laughing and elbows butting into each other’s sides. Damian expertly flips positions, boxing you in with his knees. You exclaim in surprise, a sound that drifts into shaky breaths and mewls of pleasure as he runs his fingers over your breasts, your stomach… He wets his fingers with his mouth before his digits start circling your clitoris.

You inhale sharply, mesmerized by the cyclical motion. Never until Damian has sex felt so flustering. Just watching his administrations was overwhelming, let alone the feeling– Your head reels back from an electric shock of pleasure. You gasp into the air.

"W-wait... wait, you have a condom, right…?" you whisper, though you have half a mind to just go without. You need him.

Damian tensed.

"I... I don't like how it feels." You raise a brow. You've heard condoms can feel like a second skin, especially nowadays. Then again, men were always complaining about them. It's not like you had the necessary equipment to confirm, so hell if you knew how it felt.

You place your hands on his cheeks, and his hands ghost over your wrists. You bite your lip.

"Well… Just this once? And if... it's that important to you, maybe I'll get on birth control–"

His head jerks as if struck, his brows furrowed.

“No.”

You stare, agape. There’s a small pause, both of you staring at the other. Damian’s face looks as though he’s betrayed himself. Your boyfriend didn’t strike you as so… traditionalist, to say the least. Lord knows you wouldn’t be with him if he was… so you will hear him out before nurturing any suspicion.

Sitting up on your forearms, you ask, “... What do you mean ‘no’?”

"I mean… I…” Damian sighs, looking utterly frustrated with himself. “I mean, you don’t need to.”

You blink and raise a brow, unimpressed.

“... Because?”

Damian’s jaw hardens. He grits out, “Because, I'm… sterile."

You flinch, purely from surprise. Damian merely stares, eyes narrowed in what you presume is annoyance at himself.

Uh. Okay, hello brand new information? Why hadn't this come up before? Well, it is pretty sensitive information. And since you hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, why would he have brought it up? And today was the first day you had even thought about kids. It… makes sense.

"Y-you are...?" You settle down, much like a cat whose hair is lowering from standing on end. "Okay… okay...” Damian remains stony, but he cringes at your clear relief.

Mistaking it as embarrassment, you quickly stroke his cheek. “No, baby, I'm sorry about that." You could assume it's quite emasculating. Men and their complexes about performing and wow, suddenly the breeding kink makes sense.

“So, you can’t…” you trail off. Knock me up? remains gracefully unsaid.

Damian nods stiffly. He really does hate lying to you like this. "I've been told it's very... unlikely." In reality, Damian knows his sperm count, and he's verified there should be no issues with reproduction. You both are in peak condition.

Despite the heat raging in your pants and your body begging can we just fuck already, you furrow your brows. All of this sounded fine, but it was still just… you needed specifics. To be safe. After all, there’s no rush, is there? Even if your pulsating cunt would beg to differ, painfully aware that two naked people were in a bed not doing naked-people-things.

"When did you get tested? And w-why? I mean, you're only twenty-one."

He waves his hand, snorting with his typical condescension. "I'm an heir to a dynasty – as soon as I was of age, it behooved us to know."

Us. That’s not a you-and-me “us”. You cringe, thinking about Talia and Ra's Al Ghul making it their business to know Damian's fertility. What an invasion of privacy for him… And no wonder he thought nothing of being in your body’s business as well.

"Well, unlikely is still possible, right?” You fear any surprises. Lord knows it would be just your luck to get fertilized by the un-fertilizable. You point at him. “And we should be using condoms anyway! It's not just pregnancy we should be afraid of."

Damian wants to assure you how insanely low the chances are of an infertile male getting anybody pregnant, and is about to do so, when his eyes narrow.

"Is there a reason we would need to protect against venereal diseases? There are none between the two of us." You flinch at his tone, colored with the acidity of jealousy. Suspicion.

The implication (accusation?) causes you to glare at him.

“...Yeahhh, okay,” you reply coldly. “Moment's ruined.”

You push him off you, but in a panic, he hisses your name. You flinch. At your wary expression, the color drains from his face.

“I… I’m sorry,” he says, brows furrowed and looking utterly ashamed. “I… I’m sorry.” You don’t meet his eyes, simply nodding. He places kisses on your wrist, shoulder, nose. Damian sometimes had his moods, although he was truly confusing you today.

“It’s fine, really,” you reassure. And it’s true, it was mainly the heat of the moment. You were sure Damian could never really scare you.

Your words don’t persuade the shame and fear out of his eyes or lighten the heaviness of his brow. You smile, huffing. Taking his face into your heads, you kiss him chastely on the forehead, nose tip, both cheeks. Until you punctuate the action with a kiss to his lips.

“Damian, really.”

Damian nods stiffly. He’ll never truly forgive himself, but he’s probably okay enough for now.

You shift on the bed, and there’s the telltale sensitivity between your thighs. Damn it. You still want him. You two stare at each other, still very naked and aroused. You turn the idea in your head … He’s sterile, right? And pregnancy is your only reservation.

As if hearing your thoughts, Damian’s face fills with determination.

“... I-it’s–” okay, let’s have sex anyway, you are going to finish.

“I’ll do it,” he interrupts. You blink. He leans toward you, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. You’re sure he’s about to kiss you, when he suddenly withdraws.

Your eyes catch the glimmer of some metallic object. He holds a silver square wrapper in between his fingers, likely plucked from beneath his pillow.

You look at him, and he says frankly, “I’ll do anything for you.”

You melt… before grinning, catlike. “My, my. So it seems Mr. I-Don’t-Like-Condoms still prepares a contingency plan. Very Son of Batman of you–”

“Shut it,” he groans, dotting kisses along your neck to make you do just that.

You feel relief flood your bloodstream. Then it is quickly replaced with raging desire. Oh, finally.

“Lay back,” he says, too soft to be an order. You do so without fanfare, a little curious as to why he’s not following you. Then you see him scoot back, feel him hike up your lower half, and you feel a thrill of excitement.

You squeak, feeling your ass leaving the bed entirely. A pillow is quickly placed underneath, and you are feeling quite pampered.

There’s curious licks along your labia, to which you twitch.

Damian finds his way to your clitoris, suckling and stroking heavily with his tongue.

“Hhnngh,” you speak. Keep going. Right there.

“Truly, a poet,” Damian’s voice says, muffled. You bite your lip, unable to retort because it feels too good. Damian is curious, experimenting. You know he’s gamifying this, responding and changing his strategies entirely on what draws the most unintelligible noise out of you. He slips his tongue in, and you grasp at his hair. He responds by pumping it back and forth.

Eventually, you do fear he’ll bring you to orgasm with this alone, when you both have more plans for the evening.

You wipe a layer of sweat from your temple, panting. “I’m ready. I’m ready,” you say, tugging meekly at short black locks.

Damian hums, and the vibration hits you straight in the clit. He sits up on his forearms, lips delightfully messy. His cheeks are ruddy and his brows are pinched with effort, chest heaving for breath. He looks very good like this.

“I’m ready,” you say again. Damian doesn’t need to be told twice. Your head hits the back of the pillow, and you close your eyes as you catch your breath. You hear the rustling and discarding of a condom wrapper. Damian positions himself accordingly, hands sunk into the bed on either side of your waist.

“Ready?” he asks. His eyes hold… shyness, if you can believe it. You stroke his cheek, grinning.

“Always ready for you,” you respond. You make sure to sit up. You want to see.

You watch, fascinated, as the head of Damian’s cock slowly disappears into your body. The consonance between seeing it and feeling it only stokes the fire of your arousal.

You moan openly, the sound making your ears heat. Damian dares to chuckle, and you claw his back in retaliation.

“Oh, shut up, and go deeper,” you breathe, eyes fluttering with pleasure. You didn’t realize how much you missed this. The feeling of being filled, of being full. You didn’t realize you could miss something you never had as well – Damian felt like he belonged in you. You feel every inch of you work to accommodate his sudden presence.

“And how can I deny such a request?” he gasps aloud, voice strained.

You feel more than a little pride that you were among the few who could make Damian bend to your whims with this (or any) level of subservience. The proud, proud Damian Wayne. The same Damian that sinks into you further, into your tight, hot wetness. He finally bottoms out and you exhale.

“You’re… a perfect… fit,” you say, dazed and in between pants.

Little do you know the resulting pang that shoots into his groin at that statement. He grasps you harder, maybe even enough to bruise. He needs you badly. He needs to fill you badly.

Damian leans even more forward, and you squeal. You’re just along for the ride at this point. He does all the necessary machinations to fold you in half, thighs bending back.

"W-wait," you stutter, but it falls on deaf ears.

He’s really stretching the limits of your flexibility here. Before you know it, you’re in a mating press.

“Damian,” you moan, because you’re too overstimulated to say much else.

“You’re perfect,” he says into the shell of your ear. “You can take this. You were made for this.” You nod, slack-jawed. He rocks into you, skin slapping against skin as your pelvises meet. Your eyes flutter and roll back.

“I could spend forever filling you up. I could spend forever watching it spill out of you.”

You close your eyes, cheeks aflame, much too embarrassed by his perverse whispers. You feel … almost ashamed at how much it arouses you. Almost. Majorly, it’s fulfilling a dark fantasy you didn’t know you liked.

“... Come inside me,” you breathe, unable to say anything more. You were embarrassed enough. He was using a condom, it was assumed he would be. But hopefully he’d see you were participating in his little fantasy, that you liked it too…

His thrusts are unyielding, and they only get harder, faster, more desperate as the time passes. Damian finishes with a groan, his abs clenching and flexing with effort.

You welcome it, taking it all because he’s right, you were made for this. In this moment, it’s like you were entirely made for this.

To your surprise, there’s sudden stroking on your throbbing clit, and that brings you to the finish line as well.

Your head jerks back violently, body snapping to attention as you ride the wave of an orgasm. A gasp by your ear. You’re clenching around Damian’s length, wringing him dry.

He collapses, narrowly keeping himself from squashing you flat. The two of you are a tangle of sweaty limbs, chests heaving.

“You’ve got to get out of me sometime,” you tease.

You’ve both been lying like this, too taxed to move for maybe ten minutes now.

“Is that so? Honestly, I could die here without complaint,” Damian says, and you get the feeling he’s dead serious. Nevertheless, he rolls away. He does not let you go far, wrapping his arms around you. You shiver at the feeling of him unsheathing himself, suddenly feeling empty.

… And wet. Wetter than expected.

You keep from flushing. Damn, you were really enamored with him, it seems.

You rub your thighs together, relishing in the feeling. Until you pause.

… No, like, you’re really wet.

You slowly sit up, investigating. To your surprise, you’re leaking… cum. And clearly not just your own. It’s smattered down your thighs, sticky. When you pause and can literally feel the cum drip out of you, you exclaim.

“Fuck… fuck.” You put a hand to your dripping cunt, and are surprised when it indeed comes back wet and pearlescent white. It’s for real.

“What’s wrong?” you hear, but you hardly register it.

You pull at a scrap of wrinkled plastic, pulling it out. The condom is shredded. It broke.

“Damian. It broke.”

You stare at it dumbly. It broke. You feel the onset of fear creep by… it’s held at bay, when you feel Damian hushing you, stroking your shoulders.

Damian holds you, asks why are you worrying…? He told you there’s no way. He can’t, he’s sterile.

You dumbly nod, combating fear by reasoning with yourself. Well… you were about to have sex without it anyway, after all. What does it matter if the condom broke?

You suppose it’s just the shock of a failsafe… well, failing to save you. So why do you feel so disconcerted? What’s this niggling feeling, you wonder. You stare at your inner thighs. His cum paints you like a mark.

“It’s nigh impossible,” Damian states. He’s doing what he does best – nullifying your emotions with facts. He pulls you back into his arms, your back against his chest. “The condom was really for your peace of mind. It’s not like it did anything.”

You don’t speak, simply staring at the condom in your hand. You nod.

“Really, there’s no point in wearing condoms from now on anyway. They break.”

Damian’s fingers trace circles on the bone of your shoulders. “I mean, they’re practically pointless. And either way–”

With his long reach, he grabs his phone off the nightstand. He pulls up an article, illustrating the likelihood of him successfully inseminating you.

“See?” he says. “It’s not a factor.”

Unwilling to let whatever strange funk you’ve entered ruin the afterglow of your orgasm, you nod again. You turn your head halfway, smiling. Of course, without missing a beat, Damian kisses you sweetly.

To hell with the condom. And to hell with getting stuck in your head. Lord knows you overthink everything. It’s as Damian says.

His fingers dance on your abdomen, and it tickles.

It’s impossible.

#yandere damian wayne #yandere batfam #damian wayne x reader #girllllll #i just have to post this already im tired #mine

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teapartyprincess4two · 3 months

Text

Collab- J. Guilbert

pairing: influencer!reader x Johnnie

classification: fluff

warnings: use of y/n, fake relationship, coquette!reader, slight cursing, brief mentions of Johnnie’s ex (just for the plot), Jake and Tara are dating in this

summary: You and Johnnie pretend to date, faking it for so long that it became real.

—

When you first began recording and posting YouTube videos you were only 16 years old. You were just an emo kid trying to make friends on the internet and trying to find people who could relate to you. Eventually, when you turned 18, your videos began gaining a lot of attention. This was the beginning of your YouTube popularity, your views skyrocketing dramatically. Soon you were collabing with other YouTubers who were in the same community as you. Through this you met so many new people, including Johnnie.

You met Johnnie at the peak of his emo boy career. He was posting regular videos and vlogs alongside his girlfriend at the time and the three of you became good friends. Your fans began asking for more videos of you all together, so you would constantly collaborate in order to keep the views coming in. Eventually, you developed a true friendship with Johnnie and his girlfriend so, when the views dropped and your fame disappeared you still continued hanging out.

After a couple of years, Johnnie and his girlfriend broke up and although you were friends with them both, you remained close to Johnnie due to your shared career paths. Years passed where you two were just friends who occasionally collaborated to create content for your loyal viewers. Because Johnnie’s now ex-girlfriend was no longer in the picture, those loyal viewers began shipping the two of you together.

At first you didn’t address it because it was weird and it would make you two incredibly uncomfortable, but eventually you decided to play into the speculations and rumors. At this point you were no longer emo, trading in your dark clothing for a much softer look. Your contrasting aesthetics and the ‘confirmed’ speculation that you two were dating caused your views to skyrocket once again. Johnnie was skeptical of this decision at first, seeing as his last relationship was completely public and on the internet, but once he saw the views it was easy to play along.

Through this decision both yours and Johnnie’s channel had a resurgence, allowing you to meet all the current friends you two hold close. Up until this point, your fans haven’t suspected the truth, even most of your friends haven’t figured out that your relationship isn’t real. Of course there were a few skeptics, but for the most part everyone believed it. Your fans continued making edits and commenting about how much they love you two together while your friends wish they could be in a relationship like yours.

—

You two are now 26 years old and have been playing this game for 2 whole years. Although you haven’t admitted it to your fans yet, some parts of your relationship have become real. You and Johnnie eventually moved in together, just to make your careers easier and because you two truly are best friends now. Plus, you were too far into your lie to back out now.

You’re currently sitting on the couch of your shared home, snuggled up under a thick blanket as you scroll through Netflix on the TV. Johnnie is sitting on the other side of the couch, scrolling mindlessly on his phone while he waits for you to pick something. It was easy to get caught up in small moments with him like this and forget that your relationship isn’t real.

“What about this show?” you ask, hovering over a random show and allowing the quick trailer to play on screen. He looks up from his phone briefly, watching the trailer on the TV. It was an action movie, a genre that you two didn’t make a habit of watching. He looks unamused and returns back to his phone, but not before moving closer to you and snuggling up under your blanket.

“Put something good, bro,” he mumbles as he cuddles into you. You adjust yourself slightly so you’re comfortable, feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter wildly. Sometimes you wished it was real, that even when the cameras weren’t rolling or you weren’t with friends you two could be a couple. Sure sometimes you’d share clandestine kisses when no one was looking, but you always called those friendly kisses. They didn’t mean anything right?

“I’m trying to find something, but nothings good!” You exclaim, continuing to scroll through the endless queue of movies. He shuffles under the blanket as he pulls it closer to his chest before dramatically taking the remote from you. “Here this is good,” he says haphazardly as he clicks a random movie on your watch list. You were about to protest, but you’ve actually been wanting to watch this movie for a long time. So, instead you just cuddle up closer to him and decide to enjoy this moment.

The movie was actually extremely boring and you fell asleep before the main storyline was even introduced. Johnnie ended up leaving to his room once he realized you were asleep, a part of him wanted to stay, but he promised his fans a Twitch stream tonight.

He’s currently in his room talking to his fans, singing songs they request, reacting to videos they recommend, and answering a lot of questions. “There’s so many people in here I actually can’t even read this shit,” he grumbles as he squints his eyes at the computer screen in front of him, attempting to catch at least one comment. There’s a brief pause as he finds a comment worth replying to.

Finally he catches a comment, reading it aloud instantly, “Where’s Y/n? She’s asleep in the living room. She fell asleep watching the most boring movie ever.” At the mention of your name the comments went even crazier, flooding his chat at lightning speed. “Dude, everytime I mention Y/n my chat goes crazy,” he chuckles as he messes with his settings to slow his chat down.

When his settings are in order, he continues reading, “What movie was it? Umm I don’t know actually, I just picked the first one on her watch list.” So many of the comments were asking for him to wake you up, the fans becoming desperate for more Johnnie and Y/n content. “Guys, stop telling me to wake her up. I’m not going to wake her up. She’s dead asleep, you’ll just have to wait for our next video,” he says, quickly dismissing the fans who were spamming his chat.

“What are you filming?” Johnnie reads before taking a sip of the soda can on his desk. He debated whether or not he should spoil the video, but considering it was a video he did often on his channel he decided to just let the fans know. “We’re switching aesthetics. She’s going to dress me all cute and pink and I’m going to make her look like this,” he gestures to himself with both hands. He was actually dressed very casually and didn’t have any makeup on, but nevertheless his look contrasted significantly from yours.

Even with the adjusted settings the chat is still going crazy, especially after he announced what video you all were filming. “Yeah we’re filming it tomorrow I think,” Johnnie says as he continues reading comments, a lot of them wanting to know exact details about when the video would be posted. “He called her aesthetic cute,” he reads, the comment immediately putting a smile on his face. Of course he called your aesthetic cute, if Johnnie thought you were cute then he surely thought the same of your aesthetic.

“She’s my fucking girlfriend guys, of course I’m going to call her cute,” he continues, a big smile on his face. The fans were definitely going clip that and edit it. Sometimes the word girlfriend still felt foreign, especially considering that your relationship isn’t real, but he loves saying it. Everytime he says it it feels so real. He continues reading comments, all of them asking questions that he’s already answered. It’s easy for him to become bored with his chat so, to keep the stream going, he decides to react to some videos.

“Do Jake and Johnnie bingo,” he reads, immediately knowing that all the comments were going to agree. He doesn’t fight it, instead he pulls up a YouTube video and his digital bingo card. This would make a great YouTube video too, so that’s a plus. He plays two rounds of bingo, filling the card up both times, before deciding he’s done streaming for the night.

He ends the stream and decides to check on you in the living room. You’re still sound asleep, the blanket up against your neck as a make-shift pillow. He smiles at this and decides to join you on the couch again, lifting the blanket slightly so he can cuddle up against you. The sudden movement stirs you from your sleep. “Is the movie over?” you ask through a yawn, subconsciously moving closer to Johnnie in the process.

“Yeah it ended like 4 hours ago,” he replies, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and bringing you in closer. “How long was I asleep?” this time you sound more awake, the realization of how long you slept sobering you up a little, but you’re still very drowsy. “Like 6 hours,” he says nonchalantly with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Was it good?” you ask again, another yawn escaping your lips. “Oh yeah, it’s was great,” he lies, smiling down at you and kissing you quickly before joining you for another nap.

These were the moments you wished were real.

—

The next morning you wake up bright and early in your room, having made your way to your bed sometime during the middle of the night. Johnnie followed you, missing your presence as soon as you got up from the couch. He was still asleep when you woke up and you knew he wouldn’t wake up until much later in the day.

You get ready for the day and go into the kitchen to start breakfast. Once you’re enjoying your meal, you pull your phone out to check your socials. Your Instagram is pretty dead, Twitter is worse, and YouTube has a few notifications of comments and likes left on videos. It isn’t until you open TikTok that you see where all your fans were hiding. Your TikTok was going crazy with comments, likes, and so many people were tagging you in videos. There seems to be a new edit that people are going crazy about.

The edit starts off with Johnnie in his room during last night’s stream, “She’s my fucking girlfriend guys, of course I’m going to call her cute.” Then it transitions to a bunch of cute clips of you two together, most of them being candid moments caught on camera where you were just being Y/n and Johnnie. The sappy love song plays on loop as you rewatch the edit, pausing during certain clips to admire them further. You and Johnnie looked so happy in every single video and if you didn’t know any better, you might think it was really too.

You read the comments on the video that were flooded with fans obsessing over your relationship, they made you smile. You’re stuck in a trance of reading and liking comments, but are interrupted by a loud knock on your front door. You only knew one person bold enough to visit you so early and knock so loudly, Jake.

You get up from the table and walk over to the front door, opening it abruptly to find the one and only culprit. Jake and Tara stand on the other side of the door with goofy smiles on their faces, holding all types of stuff in their hands including bags of food, drinks, and other random things. Much like you, they’re dressed and ready to take on the day.

“Brought you this,” Tara says as she hands you an iced coffee. She smiles at you before making her way inside, Jake following behind her. If they weren’t over at your house all the time you might’ve found their abruptness rude, but they were some of your best friends so their unwarranted arrival was welcomed. “Where’s Johnnie?” Jake asks, placing the bags of food on the kitchen table and searching through them.

“He’s still asleep,” you shut the front door, taking a sip from the coffee Tara brought for you. It was caramel, your favorite. “It’s only 12, he’ll probably wake up at around 2,” you comment again, going back to your previous seat at the kitchen table. Everyone in your friend group was an early riser except for him, so you were used to hanging out with Jake and Tara alone.

“Girl, did you see that edit on TikTok? I keep getting tagged in it,” Tara asks as she takes a seat next to you. Jake hands her her food and continues digging through the various bags in front of him.

Out of all your friends Jake and Tara were the only ones who knew the true nature of your relationship with Johnnie. It was easy to figure out, plus Johnnie accidentally drunkly confessed it to Jake one night. Johnnie was so drunk he didn’t remember admitting it the next day, but Jake went on to tell Tara who couldn’t help herself from asking you for all the details.

Of course, Jake didn’t fully expose Johnnie’s secret to Tara. He purposefully left out the part where Johnnie admitted to actually being in love with you. And when Tara asked you about it you admitted the same thing, but knowing her gossiping tendencies she actually told Jake. So, Jake is the only one out of your friend group who’s aware of yours and Johnnie’s secret feelings for each other.

“Yeah I saw it. It’s a cute edit,” you reply with a shrug, taking another sip of your coffee. You weren’t ready to admit that you just watched it on loop for 20 minutes before their arrival. “I don’t know how you do it. I could NOT fake a relationship for that long,” Tara comments again, taking a bite from her breakfast sandwich. “Seems like a lot of work,” Jake chimes in with a mouthful of food.

At this point, even you didn’t know how you two did it. It was easy at first to only pretend when the cameras were rolling. But, after a while the lines got blurred and you couldn’t even distinguish between reality and fantasy anymore. You found yourself questioning every single thing Johnnie did, trying to decipher whether or not he felt the same as you did.

You were about to respond to her, but the three of you are alerted of Johnnie’s presence as he opens the door to your room abruptly. He sends you guys a sleepy, grumpy glare before walking to the restroom. The three of you share knowing looks, Johnnie’s definitely grumpy because you all woke him up.

Johnnie appears from the bathroom a couple minutes later, grumbling a quick “good morning” to Jake and Tara before walking over to you. He knows he doesn’t have to pretend in front of them, but he can’t stop himself from acting like he’s really your boyfriend. “Why did you leave?” he mumbles lowly as he sits next to you. He looks so cute right now with his hair all messy and a bare face, you just want to plant a big kiss on his lips.

“We all can’t wake up at 12pm,” you reply playfully. You take a sip from your drink, using it to occupy your lips so you don’t kiss him. “Whatever,” he replies. Johnnie is the one who bites the bullet and leans in for a small peck. The kiss is quick and subtle, but it’s enough to hold you over for another couple of hours. His touch has easily become an addiction for you.

“We’re literally right here!” Tara says dramatically with a fake gag. “You don’t have to make-out in front of us. God!” she continues. A blush creeps on your face because the kiss really was unnecessary, especially if Jake and Tara know you two aren’t actually dating. Under circumstances like that, even the smallest peck seemed like a big deal.

“Tara stop. She’s his fucking girlfriend, of course he’s gonna call her cute,” Jake jokes, quoting Johnnie’s now infamous Twitch clip. “I actually hate you guys,” Johnnie says with a blank stare as he gets up and walks to his room.

When Johnnie is out of earshot Tara asks another prodding question, “Wait girl, are you two sleeping together?!”

—

When Johnnie was finally ready for the day, the two of you sat down to film your long awaited aesthetic-swap YouTube video. You introduce the video briefly because most of your viewers dont need the long introduction, they know every and anything there is to know about you. Well, except that you’re hiding a big secret from them.

“Today Johnnie and I will be swapping aesthetics. How does that make you feel, babe?” you look towards Johnnie, a big smile plastered on your face. “I’m fucking scared honestly,” he replies, messing with his hair anxiously. He’s done this video a thousand times with so many different people, but for some reason he was extremely anxious.

“Why? You don’t trust me?” you ask playfully with a fake pout.

“I do trust you, but what if I look dumb as fuck? Actually, what if I look good as fuck and then I never wanna be emo again?”

“Emo is a disease you can’t escape,” you say jokingly before clipping his hair out of his face, pushing his hair back gently. “Wait are we starting already?” he asks, loving the feeling of your gentle touch.

“Yup.” You stand from the bed, adjusting yourself so you’re right in between his legs. The two of you are positioned perfectly, the camera catching everything from the knee up. Once you’re in between his legs he instinctively moves his hands to hold your thighs right under your butt. You don’t shy away from his touch, instead you begin his makeup.

“That feels nice,” he comments as you massage moisturizer into his face, the cool temperature of the cream calming him. You hold his face in place gently, locking eyes with him briefly as you peck his lips quickly. He smiles up at you, he could be here with you forever.

The makeup brushes dance along his face as you work towards replicating your makeup routine on him. The two of you only engage in light banter throughout the video which fills the atmosphere with a calming energy. Whatever anxiety Johnnie felt towards the beginning of this has completely dissipated and honestly he forgot you two were even filming. He’s lost in a world full of thoughts of you.

“Almost done,” you whisper in concentration as you line his lips. He looked so pretty right now, the makeup contrasting his everyday look drastically. “Do I look sexy?” he asks jokingly, chuckling at his own attempt at flirting. “Always,” you reply, only half joking. You make the finishing touches on his makeup, dusting away the powder on his under eyes before grabbing a hand held mirror for him.

Once he takes a look at himself in the mirror his mouth goes completely agape, he would actually fuck himself right now. “Oh my God, I do look sexy,” he gasps, admiring himself for all angles.

“Kiss me, I’m so sexy right now,” he puckers his glossed lips out for you, pulling you in closer by your thighs. You laugh, taking his face gently in your hands and planting a kiss on his sticky lips.

—

The atmosphere completely changes when it’s Johnnie’s turn to do your makeup. There’s an air of chaos and nonstop laughter surrounding you both, especially because Johnnie is using all of his crusty makeup products on you.

He stands in the same position you were in with a firm grip on your face as he attempts to evenly spread your foundation. “Johnnie that beauty blender is rock solid. It literally hurts,” you laugh as you attempt to wriggle away from the sponge, his hand pulling you back gently each time. He sees the opportunity for a joke and takes it, “that’s what she said.” His eyebrows wiggle jokingly as he stares at you, causing you to burst out in laughter.

“Never EVER say that again-” you’re cut off by him patting the makeup sponge all over your mouth. You chuckle through tight lips, feeling as he blends fhe makeup down to your neck and then up again on your forehead.

“You look like you’ve never seen daylight. So…perfect,” he comments blankly, stepping aside so you can look at yourself through the camera. You’re so pale it’s shocking, your hand cups your mouth in disbelief. Being this pale immediately took you back to your emo phase. You swoop your hair in front of your face briefly and burst out in another fit of laughter, “dude look at me!”

Johnnie looks up from his array of makeup and sees your makeshift emo hair, laughing also. He stumbles back slightly from the laughter, reaching out for you to keep him steady. You let go of your hair and hold onto his hands, laughing equally as hard. Your hair is now on your face, causing Johnnie to laugh even harder, “you look terrifying right now.”

The rest of the video goes like this, just the two of you laughing uncontrollably at how ridiculous you both look. Johnnie packs on the black eye shadow onto your eyelids, instructing you to close your eyes so he can smudge it everywhere. Lastly he teases your hair, using one of his hairspray coated combs. By the end of it, you two look unrecognizable.

“Okay guys it’s time for the grand reveal,” you speak from behind the camera. You and Johnnie changed your outfits to fully immerse yourself in the other’s aesthetic. He’s wearing a pink top, a white skirt, and knee high socks from your closet. You, on the other hand, dug through your archives for one of your old emo outfits. You’re completely decked out in a studded belt, a multitude of bracelets, and black jeans so faded they looked gray.

The two of you walk in front of the camera, doing a twirl for dramatic effect. You actually felt ridiculous, mostly because this was a look you weren’t accustomed to anymore.

Johnnie was feeling himself and was posing dramatically for the camera, “my ass is so fat in this skirt.”

—

Originally you two were going to film the video and then wash all the makeup off, but Jake suggests that you two stream in public for your fans. The idea was funny, but also a little nerve wracking. Johnnie didn’t mind it, he was used to doing embarrassing things on camera for views.

So, now you’re at the mall dressed as an emo while Johnnie follows behind you in the girliest outfit from your closet. So many people were staring at you both, they probably didn’t see stuff like this everyday. The comments on your stream were going crazy, most of them gushing over how good Johnnie looked in makeup. Your OG viewers were commenting about the nostalgia they felt seeing you dressed like that again.

“Guys we’re going to the food court, Johnnie wants Panda Express,” you comment to the camera, holding it so only your face is in view. “A girl’s gotta eat,” Johnnie chimes in from beside you with a silly voice, adjusting his skirt that keeps riding up. “Johnnie is finally understanding how it feels to be a girl. Every guy here keeps looking at him. They definitely want you, babe,” you look up at Johnnie who’s looking directly at the camera. He pulls a goofy face and replies with a silly voice, “I’m irresistible.”

After eating you walk around the mall, entering random stores and buying useless stuff to try in future videos. You even run into a couple of fans along the way, all of them gushing over how different you two look. Most of them ask for pictures, greet your stream and ask for an autograph.

After the tenth store, you and Johnnie decide you’re tired and end the stream. Finally when you two get home you wash off the makeup and take a shower to wash out the pounds of hairspray in your hair. You’re now sitting on your bed editing the video from earlier today. Johnnie enters your room unexpectedly, his hair wet from the shower.

“Hi,” he greets quietly as he crawls into your bed, he cuddles up next to you under the covers. “Hi,” you respond, adjusting your laptop so he can see what you’re doing. As you edit the video you can’t help but notice how in love you two actually look, it looks so real. It gets you thinking about how it would be to actually date Johnnie, not just when the camera is rolling.

“Johnnie?” you ask tentatively, scared of what you are about to say. He hums in response, looking up at you through hooded eyes. “Do you ever wonder how we do it?” you ask again, clicking various buttons on your computer as you continue editing. He’s confused, “do what?”

“You know, act in love for the cameras.”

He looks up at you again, this time with more attention, “Um I don’t know.” This was a topic the two of you avoided like the plague, mostly because it reminded you that none of this was real. “Tara mentioned it today, that’s why I’m asking,” you comment, attempting to deflect. The only sound in the room is the clacking of the computer keys.

“I mean, what is stopping this from being real?” you finally ask, watching as Johnnie shifts away from you. You think that maybe you said something you shouldn’t have, “Sorry. Forget I said anything.” Your face is red with embarrassment, had you just messed everything up?

He ignores your apology, “it’s been real for me.”

His voice is low and quiet, he isn’t meeting your eyes. You shut your laptop, throwing it towards the edge of your bed. Gently you grab his face so he can meet your gaze, a big smile on your face. Now he’s the one who looks embarrassed, he looks like he just admitted his crush to someone who doesn’t reciprocate the feeling.

“For me too,” you admit shyly.

His frown is replaced with a smile at your confession. The two of you lean in slowly to kiss and even though you’ve done it millions of times before, it feels like the first time.

“Guess we don’t have to announce it,” he jokes, earning a playful slap from you. It was true though, you two were going to go back to normal after this, but this time it would be real.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Had to try a Johnnie story. Kkkk byeeee

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

#johnnie guilbert #jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert x you #johnnie guilbert fanfic #johnnie guilbert x y/n #jake webber #jake webber x reader #jake webber x you #johnnie guilbert <3 #i love my emo boyfriend

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bakubunny · 6 months

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bnha: voice kink!reader

bakugo | todoroki | kaminari | shinso

because sometimes, just the sound of their voice is enough to make you….

summary: head canons and drabbles on various bnha characters when they find out you have a voice kink

bakugo: the roommate

you’re trying to be quiet knowing you have neighbors, but it’s a little hard to tell how loud your whimpers are with noise cancelling headphones on. and it’s not like your roommate is home anyways, so it’s fine. plus, you can only do so much when you’ve got a dildo in one hand making a mess of your bedsheets. your mind is floating, rubbing your clit with the other, body shuddering in pleasure.

katsuki comes home early from a day of patrol paperwork and settles onto the couch in the livingroom. he can hear you because the walls are too thin in your tiny apartment. he wouldn’t mind (because honestly, everyone does it,) if he didn’t wonder what the hell has you cumming so goddamn much. he glances at the clock nearby; that must have been the fourth or fifth time in less than ten minutes. a small, breathy, “kats-” travels through the thin wall.

that’s it, he has to know.

you’re on the brink of cumming again as the bedroom door slowly swings open. katsuki leans on the doorframe and watches an orgasm rip through your body, back arching off the bed as your legs shake while he goes entirely unnoticed. he pulls the headphones off your head and puts them on before you can stop him. the grin on his face is almost sickening as he listens while you frantically reach for a blanket and your phone to cut the audio. the guy’s voice is low and gruff, filthy words spilling from his lips between growls and heavy groans, and he’s got to be using a pussy sleeve given the wet plap-plap-plap in the background.

funnily enough, katsuki thinks, the voice in question is… kind of similar to his, but his dirty talk is mediocre at best. your head is still foggy and swirling when you stop the audio.

“tch. is this really all it takes to get you off like that? some half-assed dirty talk from a random guy with his dick in his hand?” katsuki teases.

your face burns. “what the fuck are you doing in my room?” you ask as you sit up. “how long have you been here?”

“i can hear you in the other room, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls the headphones off.

your cheeks burn. “then don’t fucking listen, sweetheart. i don’t walk in on you jacking off in the shower twice a day, do i?” you deflate a little when his grin only gets bigger.

“y’said my name. don’t hear me sayin’ yours do ya?” he replies, leaning down to look in your eyes.

your stomach drops. “i-i didn’t-”

“don’t fucking lie to me. answer my question.”

“fine. it slipped out. and no, i don’t. does that stroke your ego enough, asshole? will you get out now?” at this rate, you’ll be looking for another place to live by morning with the level of shame and embarrassment you feel.

katsuki leans in further. you almost pull away, but he grabs you by the neck, his lips grazing your ear. “why should i leave you with that pathetic little toy when i’m right here, hmm?”

“oh fuck,” you whine.

“oh fuck is right, princess,” he says. “lay back down and open your fucking legs.”

soon, katsuki’s got your legs wrapped around his waist as his big, thick cock bullies your already swollen cunt. every grunt, every groan, every word he says is right in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. you’re not sure how many times you’ve cum by the time he’s finished, but you do know you probably have a new record thanks to him.

bakugo with a voice kink!partner

i get the feeling that katsuki knows how sexy his voice is… he’s not that surprised. as a partner, he teases the hell out of you with it. if he finds out you get turned on by him saying the most mundane shit, it’s over for you bbg. he’s going to use it against you lmao.

he likes being close, lots of physical touch (especially during sex), uses touch as a way of communication…. this has its benefits when you’re shivering from his voice and his breath on your skin.

sends you the filthiest audio clips you could ever dream of because he gets off on how much it turns you on. may or may not be stroking it for you to hear while he records them.

will absolutely call you and tease you if he knows you’re turned on/playing with yourself and he’s not around. it doesn’t matter what he’s doing (within reason). if he’s home alone or anywhere he can get away with it, it’s praise, dirty talk, and degradation. if not, he’ll talk to you about anything while he listens and his pants get tight. might even put you on mute during a virtual meeting or smth just so you can hear his voice, knowing what you’re doing while he does.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

todoroki: the clueless nerd

"...yeah. overall, this is well written. if you fix a few things you'll get a much better grade…."

shoto has no fucking clue, does he? you think as he continues to rip apart help you with your essay. it's for one of the last classes you have to take for your major to graduate; the content is dense and your professor is absolutely ruthless. shoto was one of two people in a class of thirty who managed to get higher than an 85 on the first essay, and luckily for you, he's also your friend who's willing to help.

you're trying to focus on shoto's words, truly, you are. but his low, slightly raspy voice is distracting as hell. it makes your skin hot every time he leans into you a little bit to look at your laptop screen to get a better look at what you're doing.

"...so if you break this paragraph up into multiple, you can further expound with an analysis of..."

it feels criminal how good one man can sound. your cheeks are turning red as he plainly explains what can be fixed. you find yourself leaning in as he speaks and you kiss him on the cheek mid-sentence.

shoto stops. he blushes. “i uh. i didn’t know kissing was part of helping you with your essay.”

you laugh softly.

“it’s not. your voice is nice to listen to, and it makes me wanna kiss you. is that okay?”

“y-yeah, that’s okay,” he says, a heavy breath on his lips as he smiles a little.

“then how about you keep talking, and i keep kissing?” you say with a grin and another peck towards his jawline.

shoto replies with a nervous laugh. “that - that might prove to be a little distracting.”

“i think that’s only fair after how long you’ve sat here making it so difficult to focus with that voice of yours.” your lips graze the shell of his ear as you speak and he shudders. you turn his face towards you. “can i kiss you?”

a breathy “yes,” leaves his lips before they crash into yours.

todoroki with a voice kink!partner

if he (somehow) didn't find out abt your kink until you were well into your relationship, he might wonder if there's anything different he should do. he's not insecure, but rather practical and wanting to give you the most pleasure. it's kind of sweet, actually.

shoto is absolutely clueless about how darling his voice is. he’s always a little surprised about how much he can turn you on by just talking. he thought his skill with dirty talk had improved (it had), when really it’s the sound of his voice brushing against the shell of your ear that makes your heart pound.

best moments are when you’re laying in bed and he’s telling you about his day. he’ll never truly get how incredibly sexy that low, raspy murmur of his truly is to you, but he’ll start to get a few hints if you interrupt him with periodic kisses.

he loves discreetly listening to you get off over the phone while he talks to you about whatever.

might try phone sex every now and then, but he’s probably not going to send you audio/video unless you ask him when you’re in the middle of it.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

kaminari: the boyfriend

denki is singing along to the tune on the radio as you sit in his passenger seat. his hand is on your thigh, and your mind can only focus on the bright smile and pretty voice leaving his lips.

“have i ever told you how sexy your voice is?” you ask.

denki stops singing. without missing a beat, he puts on a faux-seductive face and says, “who wouldn’t think this voice is sexyyy?”

“denki, i’m being serious,” you reply as a smile pulls on your cheeks. “you could say just about anything and i’d be able to get off from it.”

“oh really?” his grin widens. “then open those pretty little legs of yours and show me.”

kaminari with a voice kink!partner

once he finds out, he doesn’t realize that he’s so much hotter when he doesn’t try that hard. a little effort goes a long way, and you’re going to have to explain that to him. otherwise you’ll have to put up with his comedic “sexy man” voice when he’s actually trying and you’ll be holding back giggles for the rest of your relationship. 😭

he uses his voice to get you going and tease you once he figures out what you like.

even if you live together, he’s a fan of phone & video sex. whenever he’s gone for more than a day, he’ll be caling you.

denki loves recording the two of you together.

also another one that loves only giving and receiving via audio/video. he’s more than willing to talk to you on the phone discreetly and loves sending clips of him jacking off.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

shinso: the “best friend”

“hey, what’s up?” hitoshi says when he picks up the phone.

a shiver slides down your neck. how is his voice always so damn smooth?

“you busy tonight?” you ask, simultaneously hoping he wouldn’t catch the slight need in your tone while hoping he’d say no. you hear laughter in the background.

“i’m with a couple of the guys, yeah,” he replies slowly. his voice lowers a little. “why do you ask, hmm?”

it’s slight, but you can hear the playfulness in shinso’s expression. heat rushes to your thighs. why does he have to be such a tease? the background noise faded briefly.

you pull your phone away from your ear and mouth a silent, “fuck me,” before answering. “no reason in particular, just wondering if you were free to hang.”

“so you called?” it was more of a statement than a question.

“i- yes, i called,” you say, another flash of heat hitting your cheeks this time. “i’ll let you go. have fun, okay?”

“no. stay on the phone,” he demands. “get something for me.” shinso wasn’t asking for you to get just anything. no, he only said that when he wanted you to pull out a toy, and a specific one at that.

“shin, no. aren’t you with friends?” you ask. truthfully, your heart races at the thought of them possibly overhearing you.

“yes, i am. go on, get it out and send me the link,” he replies.

you sigh and shuffle around a bit as you grumble something about him being obnoxious, trying to avoid telling him that you were already wearing the g-spot vibe he was referring to.

"you've already got it in, don't you?" shinso's voice is warm and deep, so smooth that it slides straight down your body and sinks into your skin.

your shuffling stops. “maybe i do, yeah.”

————

“good girl.” his speech is slow and drawn out as he grins.

denki glances over at him, brows raised. hitoshi listens as a heavy breath leaves your lips. he holds up a hand indicating for denki to give him a moment. he puts a finger to his lips and taps the speakerphone button.

“can you quiet down? jeez. someone’s gonna hear you,” you reply.

“send me the link and maybe, yeah,” he says.

now denki, hanta, eijiro, and even katsuki fall quiet, not knowing what’s going on. a text message pops up on his screen.

“there it is. you listen so well, pretty girl.”

you hold back a moan. “fuck, don’t talk like that. what do you mean maybe?” you ask.

hitoshi turns on the vibrator and a whimper comes through the speaker. “i think you might enjoy it if everyone knew what you were doing right now.”

————

a shudder rolls down your back. “f-fuck you,” you say weakly.

“oh you want me to fuck you, huh? wanna hear me moaning in your ear instead?” hitoshi teases.

he starts moving the control for the vibe from low to high in waves and you can’t hold back a moan. your hand sinks between your legs to relieve the ache of your throbbing clit.

“yes, please, your voice is so sexy. wish you were here,” you reply

“stop on by, sweetheart.”

another smug voice chimes in.

“yeah, there’s plenty of you to go around, i bet,” denki says.

you groan, the weight of his voice and his words falling into your ear. “‘toshi, you fucking asshole.”

hitoshi put the vibe on high and left it there as your whining moans filled the room.

“what? you sound so pretty when you moan for me. it would be impolite to keep that from my guests, don’t you think?”

shinso with a voice kink!partner

shinso has a voice modulator with his hero costume. do you rly think he doesn’t know the power his voice could have over you without his quirk? he’s a smooth talker when he wants to be. he knows.

he’s constantly trying to nuzzle up to you and use that tone of voice that makes your head fuzzy. he could be telling you about the weather or his plans for the day and you’ll have goosebumps shooting over every inch of your skin because he’s damn good at it. then he’s all, “aww, what’s wrong, kitten?” like he doesn’t already know while you bury your face in his chest.

also calls you often or leaves unnecessarily long audios to give you something to listen to. sometimes it’s just to be sweet and let you hear his voice because it’s soothing to you. other times? he wants to hear what his voice does to you.

can totally see him asking to listen as you get off because your voice turns him on just as much. may discover his own voice kink.

will occasionally send audios of him jacking off as a way of showing love.

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

gremlins: @callm3senpaii @arlerts-angel @dcsiremc @darkstarlight82 @bookcluberror @zazter-den @breadandbutter33 @i-literally-cant-with-this @she-who-writes-for-multi-fandoms @rinalouu @stvrfir3 @r4td0lll @emmab3mma @mhadabiandhawks4eva @aria-chikage @gold24fish @yazminetrahan @doumadono @dreamcastgirl99 @maddietries @jazzafayesworld @karebear5118 @unofficialmuilover @cherriluvs35 @erensslut @citysweet @anonymously-ominous @hisconsistency

#aged up characters #feeling meh abt this but at least it’s out of my drafts #heads up there will be no pt 2 I just don’t have it in me sorry loves #bnha #mha #x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #bhna x reader #bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto #kaminari denki #shinsou hitoshi #bakugou smut #shinsou smut #todoroki smut #kaminari smut #bakubunny

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bakugoushotwife · 6 months

Text

no, please don’t kill me mr. ghostface, i wanna be in the sequel!

>>> you didn’t think you were making it out of kinktober without a visit from ghostface, did you? all cute and sweet pieces, blegh. it's time to play...happy halloween—don’t hang up on me you bitch!

>>> cw: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION. NO MINORS. dark content ahead. inspired by scream 1996. murder, blood, gore, stalking, yandere!characters, ghostface!characters, manipulation, major character death, alternate no curses!reality, physical harm to reader, manhandling, knifeplay, costumed sex, prone bone, dub con, non con just in case tbh, biting, choking spanking, face-slap, degradation (whore, slut, bitch, etc), praise, breeding, doggy, blood consumption, mating press, throat fucking, edging, double penetration, fingering/knife-fucking (?) (f!receiving) anal. threesome mfm/mmf, breeding. let me know if i missed anything. >>> wc: 15.8k >>> event masterlist: >>> playlist

you were starting to get majorly freaked out. the past year or so had been the worst of your life. your college professor was murdered last fall—sending the small town into a frenzy. some people were mortified. how could someone so brutal be lurking in the shadows of this cheery town? they stopped walking to school and carpooled instead, kids no longer played in the yards, and women rarely went out unaccompanied. some people thought it was funny—something interesting to talk about after years of mundane crimes barely making the news.

you were feeling something much more complex than just fear or interest; you were battling grief. grief that no one else even knew about, adding to the complexity of your feelings. toji was just your business professor—one that you paid frequent visits to on and off campus. you did a good job of covering your tracks, coming up with lie after lie to keep your friends well distracted from your taboo hook-ups with the community’s favorite teacher. they would bully you to tears if they knew you gave your virginity to dr. fushiguro—and between satoru and suguru’s relentless teasing, you would never know peace again.

plus, it’s nearly been a year, and you were nothing more than the other woman, a young girl that caught his attention over the monotony of marriage. it wasn’t going anywhere, and you knew that. in a way, the emotions you grappled with weren’t grief at all—but guilt. toji had young children—what you did was wrong. you felt that way when he was alive and you were actively doing it—but something about him pulled you in. maybe it was your own naivety that was to blame for believing him when he promised you he would leave his wife for you–all just to get you to put out again and put off your friends. maybe it was the subconscious belief that he was the best you would get, the best you deserved. your parents were hardly winning any awards for their methods, and the only other men in your life have been around you since high school, the aforementioned relentless teasers: satoru gojo and suguru geto.

you like to think that you put it all behind you, but you can’t stop this creeping feeling that toji fushiguro was murdered because of you.

and that wasn’t the end of the weird happenings. your lab partner—kento nanami unceremoniously dropped out this month, so the rumors around campus say, but you have a bad feeling about it. you’ve been calling him for days with no response, he has no after school work presence, and his best friend looks like he’s seen a ghost anytime you’re around. it was all the school was talking about, especially approaching the anniversary of dr. fushiguro’s death.

“i say he was murdered, just like the professor. we have a real serial killer on our hands, ladies and gents!” ieiri shoko—a haphazard extension of your friend group—wiggles her brows, reclined back on her hands to survey the rest of you as she puffs her cigarette.

gojo rolls his eyes, giving the speaker an unimpressed look. “i think they gotta tick a few more boxes before it’s a serial killer, no? only two murders, and so far apart?” he shakes his head to discount the theory. he makes a good point, perhaps it was just a creepy coincidence after all. there’s no reason to freak yourself out over nothing.

“yeah? well i think it’s connected too.” iori says from her spot on the ground, her head laying in your lap as you braid and unbraid her hair, just keeping your brain occupied on something other than the death that seems to follow you.

“yeah? and that’s why you don’t get paid for thinkin’.” gojo snickers, utahime’s annoyed attempt to swat at him blocked by suguru’s body, the two of them sitting behind you at the picnic tables out in the open sun. it made you feel a little safer, surrounded by friends and in a place where you could keep an eye out. you trust gojo and geto to watch your back.

satoru continues to giggle on about it until shoko interrupts, taking her cigarette out of her mouth and pointing gojo down with it. “what if they just pick one of us every year–some kind of halloween sacrifice?” she posits, and your eyes widen. the boys exchange a look, and suguru’s voice of reason cuts in.

“let’s leave the detective work to the police, yeah? i’m sure sheriff zen’in wants to solve his nephews murder.” he leans back against the table while gojo balances his weight with his elbows on his knees.

“yeah right. the sheriff couldn’t give a damn. ” you scoff, biting your tongue at the fact you spoke on the subject at all, but especially something so vague—implying you know more about toji than the normal student, and your cautious friends are also perceptive, you fear.

“what’s that s’pposed to mean? our loyal piggy doesn’t wanna protect the community?” gojo leans forward on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours. he’s studying you—every nervous shift of your eyes, the seconds you let pass before you answer, everything, and you know it.

“of…course he does. i only meant—”

“pshhh, everyone knows those zen’in families are weird.” utahime swings in to save you—feeling the way your body tenses under your best friends interrogating stare “why d’you think his last name is fushiguro instead, hm? probably left the family to be a better person—how dreamy of him.” she sighs wistfully, having been another one of the many girls that would have killed to be in your place. “and that old bastard probably doesn’t care. he probably did it himself, knowing how corrupt–”

“smoking on campus, are we, students?” headmaster yaga walks up to send the conversation to a screeching halt. shoko quickly snuffs out her butt on her boot, crumpling the evidence in her hand as the man comes closer. suguru’s never quite cared about the opinions of his elders, and he won’t start now. he keeps slowly dragging his—making eye contact with the headmaster as he comes to a stop before your group in the grass. “geto. you mind?”

he arches his brow in annoyance, sticking out his tongue to burn the ash on. gojo giggles. “what an anarchist!” he cheers jovially, nudging his friend with his elbow. “we didn’t see any no smoking signs sir, swear.”

suguru cracks a lazy grin at the defense, looking at yaga patiently. “i’m sure you’ve heard the news about your fellow classmate.” he starts, and utahime sits up properly to question him more specifically.

“that he dropped out? yeah–we heard that days ago.” she confronts with furrowed brows. you can tell by the clench of yaga’s jaw that there’s more news. your heart sinks to your stomach, that bad feeling you had making an ugly return with the shifting of yaga’s stance.

“what–did they find him?!” you push yourself up to stand, heart pounding in your ears. if kento was dead, was it your fault too somehow?

yaga turns to you with a sad and curt nod. “they did. he was…strung up outside of his house–brutally murdered. his parents found him. all we know so far is that he was on the phone when he died. his mother heard him.”

you cover your mouth with shaky hands. how awful, to hear your own son gargle his last breaths? what a horrible way to go, you can’t believe your stoic and stern lab partner was no more, meeting a fate so horrible you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemies.

“how awful…his poor family.” iori shakes her head, too stunned to speak further. shoko replaces her cigarette with a fresh lollipop, lost in her own head; no doubt contemplating the morbid horror film most closely resembling the current situation—she has a fixation with death.

“there will be a memorial fundraiser to help his family with the funeral costs.” yaga nods, arms folded over his chest. he was clearly at a loss for words, though what could one even really say? he settled for, “be wary, kids. the sheriff’s department will be issuing a curfew. please be safe.”

iori nods as the headmaster walks away—turning back to look at everyone. you hug yourself, feeling a chill in the air that only reminds you of what time of year it is—halloween. you’re still lost in thought, wondering what toji and nanami could have possibly had in common outside of knowing you and being at this school. what motive could be, who was next.

satoru and suguru exchange a look. they can see how wound up you are, noting that you seemed to know that something had happened to nanami before you were told. shoko breaks the silence first.

“this is just like scream, you know? spooky phone calls and brutal killings—says here that he was gutted and suspended from a tree.” she shakes her head, reading the pixelated news article from her nokia screen—grossed out and intrigued at the same time.

iori gasps, “that’s awful—don’t compare his death to a movie, ieiri!” she scolds, noticing you off in la la land. “earth to y/n…hellooooo? i hope this isn’t a scary movie because you are so dying first.” she snarks, and gojo arches his brows and grins mischievously at the sentiment. he gets to his feet, creeping up behind you–jerking you by the shoulders and gasping just to scare you.

you scream and jump back—punching him in the chest. “you jerk!’ you huff as he covers his stomach with laughter, stumbling back into his bench seat. suguru gives you an apologetic smile, standing and offering you his hand.

“c’mon, let me walk you home.” he tilts his head towards the path you take. gojo jumps up too.

“i’ll come with! make up for my prank?” he pouts, resting his chin on your shoulder. his icy blue gaze stays trained on you until you finally give in and look at him, making a bright grin spread across his face.

shoko huffs, “you’re an insensitive asshat—i’m sure you’re not taking this seriously because you always picked on kento. i wonder if the piggies know that!”

“he was a nerd—that’s all!” he scoffs with an eye roll, “oh yeah, so now i killed the guy, huh?” he furrows his brows, insulted by shoko’s insinuation that he could stoop so low.

“no one said that, satoru.” suguru claps his free hand down on the other’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “let’s all relax. i know this is scary, so make sure we walk in partners, at least.”

utahime gags and rolls her eyes at the dramatics, stretching out before getting to her feet. you look to her, thinking you should make sure your fellow woman makes it to her dorm, but suguru’s voice cuts through your thoughts again.

“we just want to make sure you get home safely with all of this going on, you look…worried.” suguru comments, stretching his palm out to remind you that his hand was extended for you. your heart warms at his kindness. he’s always been a gentle giant–especially compared to satoru; who has his own charms to him like his sense of humor and his striking good looks. he takes care of you in his own ways—but suguru’s always been more traditional. you place your hand in his, smiling thankfully. he turns to the other girls, but yu haibara is already escorting them the other way, careful to avoid you entirely. your shoulders slump at the idea that he blames you for nanami’s death.

gojo slings an arm around your shoulders and they steer you towards your off campus rental. it’s a little two bedroom one bath—no satoru mansion, but it does the trick. you’re rarely there anyways, bouncing between your friends’ residences for the “dates” you all go on—though ieiri and iori aren’t typically included.

“so this stuff’s really got you messed up in the noodle, huh?” satoru asks, exchanging careful glances with his opposite. you hum so he knows you heard him, settling into the rhythm they were walking for you. you don’t know if it’s the question or the crisp autumn air that makes you shiver—maybe it’s the way they both watch you so intensely, though the longer you think about it the more you realize they’ve kinda always been like that, letting their eyes stay on you too long, analyzing your features to decipher how you really feel. you can’t hide a thing from them. you can only buy yourself time.

“yeah. i guess so.” you settle on, tucking your cheek into your shoulder. you knew they would ask for more specifics, all in the due process of taking care of you.

“were you even close to that nanami guy?” suguru follows up, brows raised in curiosity. you know this trap. it was a miracle you’ve ever been able to keep toji a secret. they’ve always taken a special interest in your love life—they’re protective over you, and wanted to vet any potential match for you. but the boys you met in high school were easily scared off by the strong and intimidating friends of yours, so you figured college wouldn’t be much different. hence why you didn’t try—taking toji’s affection like a gift that fell into your lap.

“he was my lab partner, so we’ve done a few projects together. he seemed like a nice guy, never crossed any lines. responsible. the sort.” you shrug again, not wanting to seem too invested. “i guess it’s just…weird. he was here one day and now he’s not, and killed so brutally…it doesn’t feel real.” you explain, and suguru seems to reflect on the words.

“people die all the time, sugar. maybe he got caught up in something he shouldn’t’ve, maybe wrong place wrong time, or maybe he was eyeing something that didn’t belong to him. who knows. no use troubling yourself over it.” gojo shrugs, sliding his hand up to pat the back of your head.

“that’s easy for you men to say! if some serial killer came after you, you could fight ‘em off. i have no chance if he was…to pick me next.” you retort, trying to make them see why you were so amped up about it.

“what makes you think that he would pick you next?” suguru furrows his brows, but gojo just tilts his head side to side to mull it over.

“nanami was a man, right? i wonder why he died.” he thinks aloud, shrugging. you snap your head towards him to chastise him for such a statement, but suguru clears his throat.

“you have nothing to worry about, right? like satoru said earlier. these are isolated incidents, and they’ve only gone after men so far. chin up, angel.” he insists as you three walk up the steps to your house.

you take a deep but shaky breath, nodding. suguru was right. the only victims have been men. toji’s death and subsequently nanami’s had nothing to do with each other. it was just your guilt gnawing at you. if you didn’t get yourself together, your perceptive bodyguards would pick up on the fact that you were hiding something from them. “thank you. i…needed to hear that.” you nod in satisfaction.

“i’ll call you later, just to make sure you’re still..doing alright.” he assures, patting your hand before he drops it. gojo squeezes you into him, ruffling your hair.

“don’t worry, cutie. we’ll see you tomorrow!! dream of me!” he calls out as their figures retreat.

once the door shuts behind you, you sigh out a breath of relief.

you get some homework and laundry done in the few hours you have before bed. it’s a regular routine, but that’s why you found peace in it. you make yourself some dinner and cozy up on the couch, flipping through the channels to find something to make some noise outside of your loud brain. nanami’s picture makes you pause on the news, the reporter droning on about the case. according to phone records from that night, someone called his house six times, calls various in length from where kento was allegedly hanging up and trying to ignore the killer.

“it seems the young man was stalked from outside his home for the entire night—making a valiant effort to run according to forensics before he eventually succumbed to his injuries. the case is ongoing, and due to the nature of the crime, sheriff zen’in has ordered a curfew of 8pm, beginning friday.”

you’re reeling at the report, stunned beyond belief. it’s hard for you to even envision something so horrible. he must have been so scared. when your home phone rings—you’re jumping out of your skin–scambling up the couch with a scream. you stare at the receiver on the little side table next to you, fear nipping up your spine. that reporter said that nanami had been called repeatedly the night of his death—but suguru also promised to call. you decide to take the chance, satoru lives close enough that you could call him for help if it was this mysterious serial killer instead of one of your best friends on the other line—plus, nanami’s slaughter showed that ignoring the call wouldn’t help a thing.

you reach out a shaky hand, feeling your throat go dry and tight as your sweaty palm grabs the receiver. like it makes a difference, you quickly put it up to your ear, looking around frantically. you never realized how many windows your house has, and now it feels like you’re naked for the world to see. “hello?”

“hey, angel.” suguru’s luxurious voice calms your nerves instantly, like throwing water on a fire. you relax back into the cushions, sighing audibly.

“h-hey.” you card your fingers through your hair in attempt to rid yourself of any lingering anxiety.

“i take it you aren’t feeling better about the whole ordeal then?” he sighs with you, gnawing on his bottom lip a little. you were troublesome for his own nerves.

you play with the spiral cord connecting the receiver to the landline. “i was, i swear! then i saw the news and they were warning about phones like yaga did earlier and then–”

“your phone rang. sorry about my timing then, sweetheart. did you eat?” he interrupts, but his concern makes you tingle with warmth. they may be overbearing at times, but it’s so clear how much they care about you.

“mhm. i have some leftovers though, if you’re still hungry. i could…use some company?” you weakly excuse, slightly embarrassed to basically beg for his protection; but the truth was that you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight unless you had some comfort.

he chuckles softly and smiles into the phone when he agrees. “of course. i’ll be right over. give me ten minutes—i’ll bring slushies.” he hums enticingly, and you give him a choked up chuckle of relief. he would protect you through the night–and make sure that you had a good time, too.

“kk, sounds good. i want the cherry one!” you tell him like he doesn’t already know everything about your preferences.

“i know you want the cherry—i’m not a psychopath.” he chuckles with you, his car’s engine humming to life in the background. “i’ll see you soon angel. hang tight.” the line goes dead, but you’re no longer filled with a sense of dread, even if you were still nervous about the murderer on the loose.

while you wait on suguru, you do some more channel surfing. you wonder what satoru’s up to tonight and if he’ll be peeved that he wasn’t invited to hang out. who are you kidding, of course he’ll be jealous. you reach over for the phone to call him—even with suguru’s headstart he would probably still beat him here if you got to him now. the high pitched ringing of the phone sounds off again just as your hand wraps around it, making you jump just slightly—it caught you off guard, is all. it’s probably suguru calling to tell you that 7/11 is out of cherry—they’re always out of cherry. annoyed, you put the receiver to your ear.

“ugh, don’t tell me—”

“hello y/n.” the slightly garbled deep voice says. you don’t recognize it–and your heart drops to your stomach. this, this is who’s been murdering people, this is him. this is who they warned you about—why suguru is sneaking out to come see you through the night–suguru. you have to buy enough time for him to get here, if nothing else.

“who are you?” you ask, trying to give your voice some bravado. you start searching the windows again, the eerie sensation that you aren’t alone was making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. goddamn you need to invest in a dog.

“blegh–boring question. i want to know who you are, precious y/n.” the voice states, male in nature, but you can’t distinguish anything past that. your heart races at the avoidance.

“you know my name, and my phone number. seems to me you know who i am.” you clench your jaw together to keep your teeth from chattering, willing yourself to be intimidating. the voice on the other end cackles in amusement.

“you’re funny y/n. i mean the real you, silly girl! let’s play a game. for every question you get right, the longer i’ll let you live. every question you get wrong…one of your friends… dies!” he seems very entertained with himself over the threats, making the fear bubble up over your heart.

“m-my boyfriend is on the way! he’s really big and he’ll beat your ass–”

“and he’ll be the first one dead! question numero uno, and we’re starting easy!! oh, don’t cry now! you can do it, c’mon, iori and ieiri need you right? those are your girlfriends–and that’s not the first question!” he titters again, but his name drops make your rapidly beating heart still in your chest. “how far away is your little boyfriend?”

your chest heaves, the stranger’s wish for you not to cry was wasted. he knows everything–all your friends names—maybe the fact you hadn’t called satoru tonight was the only thing keeping him safe. you wonder how long this stalker must have been following you, listening to you. you wonder if he killed toji too—and why.

“l-like…six minutes, or so. I-i don’t know!” you cry out, clutching the receiver. you think about the consequences of hanging up—maybe that is what angered him into killing nanami. you better stay on the line.

“good girl. see? not that hard! just keep using that noggin’ of yours!” he encourages, breathing heavily into his side of the phone.

you nod, sure he can see you anyway. you shrink into the couch as if it will swallow you whole and keep you safe, but the feeling of comfort is short-lived.

“why was toji fushiguro murdered??”

you blanche. he is responsible. this is…all your fault after all. your worst fears are coming true right in front of you, and suguru cannot get here fast enough to stop it.

“i…i don’t know! i didn’t do it!” you put your hand over your other ear, trying to ball up and make this all go away.

“wrong answerrrr. you’ll find out soon that i’m not bluffing, sugar. let’s try again. why was toji fushiguro butchered?”

how does he know? toji must have told people. that’s the only logical explanation—you know that you haven’t spoken of it to a soul. this man knew, and killed him for it? was he related to toji’s wife, here for revenge? where did kento fit into this—is it really all about you?

you can hardly hear yourself respond over your heartbeat echoing in your ears, pumping your blood in a rush. “i..i dunno!! because i slept with him!?”

“ding ding ding! i knew you were a smart girl. but you do know that makes you a little slut, right? do you know that means you killed him, sugar!” he hisses the last part, as if personally hurt by the notion.

“i..it was wrong–yes–but i..i–” you try to explain, but realize the stranger has no reason to allow it. he’s here to punish you, and you have to either accept this lying down, or try to put up some kind of fight.

“is that two wrong answers? you’ll sentence your best friends to death over your pride, slut? how disappointing.”

“no, no–i am!” you clench your eyes shut, finding it easy to beg for their lives. if this caller was to be believed, then you already knew he wasn’t bluffing.

“you’re what? hmmm y/n?” his voice gets louder, like he’s closer to the device.

“i’m a…slut!” your cheeks burn, you shift uncomfortably on the couch as you wait for the stranger to reply. “please sir.”

“last question–speed round. what door am i at? your front door…or your porch?”

thoughts stop and instinct takes over, causing you to drop the phone and run to your porch–a sliding glass door with flimsy locks. you turn on all the lights, hoping to ward off whatever evil lurked in the night hunting you. you click all the locks in place, sprinting now towards your front door, which stood open already.

“no..” you say aloud, voice a broken whisper of realization. he was already in your house. maybe he had been the whole time, you don’t know anything anymore. all you can think about was suguru’s arrival—hoping you could last for a few minutes longer. you spin around, deciding to venture back the way you came. it was already cleared, he couldn’t have slipped behind—a gloved hand covers your mouth—leather thick enough to smother, and you throw your elbow back as hard as you can, stunning the captor into letting your face go. with a hurried gasp, you’re sprinting for your life. you run to your porch door, grappling with the lock that you just secured. you keep looking over your shoulder, waiting for the figure to reemerge, shaking the lock with all your might. you hear the footsteps, looking over your shoulder to see a tall monstrosity—cloaked in ghostface’s attire. you scream out and throw the door open. shutting it on him before he had the chance to grab you again.

your heart is racing and you aren’t sure where to go next, attempting to clear your fence to get to the main yard of your house, maybe you could get to suguru first. the killer is faster though, both in mind and in body. he grabs your ankle before you can get all the way over, yanking you back to his domain. you scream for help, but there’s no one around to hear you.

“my boyfriend—he’s scary, please mister!” you fight, kicking and thrashing to get all the openings to escape that you could. “let me go!” you throw your legs, connecting with his stomach. he reflexively clutched it in pain, giving you a window to scramble back to your feet and back into your house through the porch door you escaped from. locking it would be a waste, you just start throwing down whatever you could get your hands on to make an obstacle course for the masked man. you assume the cheap costume doesn’t have the best visibility, and you hope to use that to your advantage.

you sprint for the front door, hearing the grunting and frustrated groans of the man chasing you. you blink through your panicked tears, grasping at straws for what to do next. it’s then that you hear the gravel of your driveway crunch under what could only be tires—and who could only be suguru. you shove your couch in between you and the killer, flailing yourself down your front steps and into the yard, sobbing and out of breath, scrapes and scratches showing the evidence of the chase.

suguru is out of his car in an instant, by your side even quicker. he seems to put two and two together at the sight of you, running into the house just in time to see the ghostface impersonator sneak out of your living room window, fading into the distance. you can’t let suguru go very far, terrified beyond measure as you glue to his side and cry into his shirt once he assures you the scary man is gone.

he holds your face, trying to soothe you the best way he knows how. “shh, shh, let’s call the sheriff, alright? this has to be reported.” he insists, holding you to his chest as he picks up your phone to call the police to your home, your kitchen and living room a mess of the night that would undoubtedly scar you for life. you nod, burying your face in his comforting scent. “just tell them what happened, and make sure you tell them everything.” he encourages, petting your hair as you wait for them to arrive.

your heart sinks at the prospect of revealing your secrets to the police. surely they don’t need to know every word exchanged on the phone. you can communicate the gist. you rehearse in your head what to say—but nothing prepared you for sheriff zen’in putting suguru in cuffs and shoving him in the back of a squad car.

you protest, proclaiming his innocence–but the sheriff says if he’s truly done nothing wrong, then he can answer a few of their questions down at the station. you ride in a car too, like a passenger instead of a prisoner, to report what happened in detail that night. you can hardly get through an account of it—too nervous about suguru’s interview. he didn’t even wait for a lawyer, and had already used his phone call. deputy choso finally lets you go once it’s apparent you’re too shaken up to give them anymore than your scrambled memory, about being home and talking to suguru and then a very…summarized version of your call with the killer—and of course your run from him.

you’re relieved when a just-rolled-out-of-bed satoru throws the station doors open, face stern as he scans for you. his features soften when they land on yours, and he’s pulling you into his arms before you’ve even really processed that he’s here. suguru must have used his call on him, to make sure you were taken care of in the event they want to hold him overnight—you’re touched.

“y/n, what happened?! suguru said—a ghostface broke into your house?? are you alright, are you hurt—what are they talking to him for?” he asks, cradling your head on his chest after gawking at your bandaged ankle. you shake your head on him, just wrapping your arms around his waist.

“i dunno, the guy chased me, satoru—i thought i was going to die!! suguru got there just in time, he saved me, and they’re treating him like he’s a criminal! get him out of there—call your dad or something this is bullshit!” you heave, panicky breaths shaking out over his shirt.

he rubs your back, finding suguru’s eyes through the blinds over sheriff zen’in’s window. he takes a steadying breath, clearly trying to set an example for you to follow. “it’s gonna be okay, c’mon, you believe in your ole pal satoru, right?” he leans back, hands on your shoulders to give you a reassuring look. his nod gives you the faith to do the same, leaning back into his chest for that feeling of safety that seems so fleeting these days.

satoru goes back and forth with the deputy about holding suguru overnight, threatening the mayor’s intervention. but deputy choso calls his bluff, rolling his eyes in clear aggravation.

“even the mayor’s asleep right now, kid. unless daddy’ll come running at three a.m, geto’s spending the night.”

“we have classes tomorrow you dipshit. y/n was literally expecting him—what can you even be holding him on?” satoru bucks, arching his brow. it’s rare that he gets serious, but when he does he comes correctly.

“reasonable suspicion.” choso shrugs, leaning back in his desk chair. “doesn’t suguru know how to clone phone numbers? i seem to remember some trouble the two of you got in for prank calling.”

“in eighth grade?” gojo scoffs, grabbing your hand roughly. you know it’s just because he’s wound up about the situation at hand. first your attack, then they cage suguru up like an animal, and now he’s dealing with dumbass deputy dewey. “prank calling to psycho murderer, huh? i suppose that is the only logical fuckin step!” he shakes his head in disbelief, dragging you from the station. “let’s go, sugar. time to get you back to bed—”

ice floods your veins. “what did you just call me?” you pull back out of his grip, looking at him with wide eyes. satoru’s face falters as he searches over yours, paused mid-speech.

“what, sugar? i’ve called you that for years, y/n!” he rolls his eyes, sighing. “so paranoid, goodness. c’mon.” he pats your lower back, urging you into a steady stride alongside him. “let’s go to my place. wouldn’t want there to be a second strike or anything.”

you still stare at him with that quiet unease, brain racing through your conversation with ghostface. “h-he called me that, too.” you mutter, stumbling over your own feet every few steps. satoru slips his arm around your waist to keep you close and to keep you from falling.

“well, i didn’t exactly coin the nickname, i must admit.” he forcibly chuckled. “babe, please.” he rolls his eyes at your steady disbelief. “if i wanted to kill ya, do you not think i could pretty easily? i mean, my dad’s the mayor and you have no family. clearly, i only have your best interest at heart, y/n.” he raises his brow, and as blunt as his statement may be, it is effective. satoru’s strong enough to crush you in one hand, if he wanted to. plus they’d be the only ones that missed you if you were gone. “i’ll…try not to call you that anymore.” he adds on the end, squeezing your hip in an effort to give you some peace of mind.

you nod softly, processing. he’s always been sort of crude and a little brutal in his manner of speaking, always followed up by triumphant giggles at his own jokes. it’s his way of protecting you, of playing good cop and bad cop all at once, and over time you’ve gotten used to his bluntness. he was right anyhow, you shouldn’t doubt the only protection you have in times like these. plus, his offer of safety was too good to pass up.

so you let gojo bring you to his huge estate, not affiliated with the mayor’s property downtown, no, this was just for satoru alone. it was expansive but still held onto that homestyle feeling. his bedroom was cozy, warm and safe like his arms around you, protecting you through the last few hours of the night.

news of your attack had spread like a forest fire around campus by the following morning. of course everyone’s in your face, all swarming around you in hopes they could get any bits of information—did the ghostface mention nanami? how did you escape? why was suguru still at the station if he rescued you?

luckily satoru is there to serve as the buffer between you and the crowd, your other friends close in quickly as well, shoving and cussing until the path cleared and the rules to leave you be were instilled. you weren’t even sure how you were up and walking right now. you were exhausted between the chase and your collective two hours of sleep. your worry was weighing you down, the haunting anxiety of being attacked again, of causing more of your friends to be killed due to your wrong answers, of getting suguru into serious trouble just because this town wanted someone to blame for this. you felt like you’ve had too many iced coffees, body wired and fidgeting as you try to avoid all the lingering stares by making your way to the bathroom to hide for a bit—just long enough to let everyone settle into classes, so you can peacefully get to yours.

you hear a couple of girls chit-chatting between the stalls, a voice you recognize saying your name followed by a near audible eye-roll. you quickly tuck yourself into a stall so they don’t see you when they come out, heart racing now that you seem to be the topic of conversation.

“i bet she’s making it all up. i mean—a ghostface costume? really? that movie came out thirteen years ago! i mean if we’re getting in the halloween spirit, why not jigsaw?” she snickers, the metal door to the stall clanging open to signify that they’ve left—the water running at the sinks.

“mei mei! that’s awful, why do you hate her so much?” the other girl teases, grabbing some paper towels. you bite your lip in wait, insulted beyond belief that she could think you were that big of an attention whore.

“because gojo and geto follow that girl around like she has some kind of…spell on them! i wouldn’t be surprised if she killed dr. fushiguro. she was in his class last year—and he seemed to pick on her a lot. maybe he was some…witchy sacrifice to make the two hottest guys at this school fall in love with her! nanami was this years!” she reveals as if she’s solved the crimes herself, simply from being so self-aware.

“that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said, skank!” her friend dismisses with laughter, their voices fading as the bathroom door squeals shut, telling you they’ve left for good. you lean against the door of your stall for a moment, raking your hands over your face to cope with the cold sweat coating your skin and the disbelief gripping your heart. you fidget with the lock, stumbling out to the sinks for something to bring you back to life. you turn the faucet on, thinking some cold water would do the trick. it helps you perk up a bit even when it just hits your hands. before you can cup any and splash your face, a chill creeps up your spine—you’re being watched.

you bend over, looking under the doors of each stall to make sure there weren’t any feet lurking behind the doors waiting to attack you. you don’t see anything, puffing out your cheeks as you exhale and right your posture. you make eye contact with yourself in the mirror. you have to snap out of this, you tell yourself, raking your hands over your face, tugging at your eyes and rubbing your cheeks in an effort to remind yourself of reality.

“y/nnnn.” the distorted voice echoes in your mind, making you gasp and spin around to look at the stalls, look all over the bathroom, nearly flattening your chest to the floor to look under the stalls again. again, nothing. your brain is playing tricks on you. you’ve officially lost it. what was the likelihood of being attacked in your campus bathroom anyway—especially since he started at your house? you take a deep breath and gather your backpack up, hearing the clanking metal sound of one of the stall locks. “don’t ignore me, y/n.”

you squat down, there had to be someone there this time. you knew paranoia could only go so far, that voice sending your heart into a fearful spiral.

boots descend from the toilet, planting firmly on the ground. you start to breathe heavily, a jagged black cloak lowered to tell you that you were indeed being targeted by a ghostface impersonator, and you scream. he lunges out of the stall—a huge hunting knife clasped in both hands over his head as you duck, limboing under his attack and making for the door.

“help me!!” you scream frantically, voice so shrill it hurts your throat. you feel the heat of his body against your back, so you fling your head backwards into his chest—surprising him enough to falter. you fling the door open, making that connect too, scrambling for any extra time and space you could get. your vision is blurred by the nervous tears that spring automatically, searching for an exit or someone to help. you see a few guys standing together at the end of the hall—one of which has stark white hair that you could recognize from worlds away. “satoru!! he’s here, help!!”

the frantic desperation in your voice grabs all of their attention, satoru and naoya zen’in—grandson of the sheriff–sprint closer to figure out what’s going on. they see the masked man stalking after you, but you can only keep running for your life. your legs nearly give out as you make it to satoru, collapsing in his arms. his eyes are wide as he pushes you back behind him, turning to deal with the intruder—but the zen’in beats him to it. he tackles the figure, managing to wrestle the knife away even before the ghostface rolled them to win the struggle, punching naoya hard enough that his head bounced off the floor. you gasp–shoving satoru forward.

“help him!!” you panic, not able to stomach the thought of someone else dying over you. satoru barrels forward and roughly pulls the ghostface off, turning to naoya to ensure he was still alive while the masked figure tumbles to the ground with a grunt. you’re paralyzed with terror as one of the other boys, a freshman named ijichi, checks on you, grabbing your attention with his shaky voice.

“y/n, are you alright? goodness.” he pats your shoulder, and you nod–turning back to the commotion. you catch the sight of the cloak slipping down the stairs, screaming out for gojo to warn him. he quickly moves to follow—but finds no trace of the man. he turns back to you with a shake of his head. he was gone.

satoru moves to pull you to your feet, holding you securely to his chest as yaga and a host of other teachers bustle through the hallways looking frantic.

“he came to this school. that is it!” yaga shakes his head, surveying your crying and terrified form. “classes are canceled until further notice!” he declares, instructing for the cops to be called immediately–and to bring a paramedic for the student injured in your defense. you feel so guilty when you look over at the zen’in boy holding his eye, wincing. he had no business with you and didn’t have to get involved at all, but he likely saved your life!

you sniffle, gently pushing yourself off of gojo with a weak smile. you give him a grateful look, nodding to him in a way that communicated your need to accomplish something. “i’m okay.”

he nods a little, letting his hand fall off of your elbow. he watches you slouch over to naoya as he shoves himself into a seated position. you crouch to his level, giving him a gentle but still anxious smile.

“hey..does it hurt pretty bad?” you ask, sympathetically frowning at the shiner. he scoffs a little at your question. you sure are lucky you’re stunning–and that he has a reputation to uphold.

“yeah? it’s a massive bruise. i’ll live though.” he shrugs, brushing his hair out of the way.

“well…thank you. for doing that, you could have been hurt worse.” you nod, standing. you reach your hand out to help him to his feet. he smiles, and takes your hold despite his usual pride, he’s able to capitalize on some arrogance.

“i had it under control, don’t worry about it. what kind of man would i be if i didn’t step in?” he smirks, and the little look makes you blush. maybe you had a soft spot for the zen’in families good looks.

“i see, well. thank you anyway.” you hum, turning back to satoru. “i guess we’re free to go home, huh? classes are canceled…” you scratch at the back of your neck anxiously, hoping satoru would let you attach like a little lost puppy in order to stay within the realms of safety.

he rubs at your shoulders, wiggling his brows a little. “mhm, way to go, princess. you got us outta school!” he cheers, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “i say, party at my house!! everyone’s invited!” he yells out into the emptying hallway, the announcement of canceled classes causing the majority of your peers to spill into the schoolyard, escaping before the headmaster changes his mind.

the idea of a party right now made you nauseous. anyone of these people could be the ghostface poser or his next victim. you wish you could just hole up in your house, but being alone was hardly an option for you right now. satoru keeps a hand on your back to guide you out of the civics hall, assuring you that a party is exactly what you need to get your mind off of things.

“there’s no way i’d leave your side anyway! plus the girls are gonna be there, and—look who the cat dragged in!” his long finger turns your head in the direction he was looking, and your eyes widen at the sight of suguru waiting against the group’s usual tree. relief floods your system. at least suguru was free, clearly they couldn’t pin this on him like they wanted.

he strolls over to fall in line on your other side, giving you a sly smile. “hey angel. shoko told me what went down, and i am now on your side. that sheriff doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing.” he sighs out as he loops his arm around your shoulders. you give him a proper hug, letting him pick you up slightly to keep walking to satrou’s place. it was a normal happenstance, the two of them loved passing you between them like a toy football they tossed back and forth, this time it was suguru who lifts you from the ground. you wrap your legs around his thighs with a giggle—feeling a bit of lighthearted fun spring to your heart.

“oh don’t tell me you didn’t get the honeymoon suite.” satoru mocks, reaching for your upper half to pull you into his hold, to which you and suguru insist in passing you over. it’s all part of the games they like to play with you.

you roll your eyes. “we tried to get you out, well—sato did. that deputy was a big ole meanie about it.” you huff, being carried like a baby in gojo’s arms. he nods, pouting down at you.

“totally. was gonna get dad on it and everything! but hey—this party will be epic, the girls are getting some snacks, we’re on beer duty!” he cheers happily, gently tossing you up into the air. you freely giggle, falling back into his protective hold. he passes you to suguru, who slings you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. you playfully kick and giggle and that sweet sound prompts satoru into comment. “she’s always so happy with us, huh sugu?”

he pats above your back, nodding. “of course. you’re our girl, right?” he hums, giving satoru a knowing smirk. you squeal a little and nod.

“mhm, i just feel so…safe with you two!” you sigh, relaxing across his shoulder. he finally lowers you to your own two feet once it’s time to walk into the general store with that one boozy cashier that would let geto have whatever he wanted from that store—including his weight in beer probably two times the legal purchase amount. you stroll around the aisles with them, satoru urging you to pick your own snacks over whatever gross shit iori and ieiri brought over.

for once, all seems to be well. you settle into a couch at satoru’s place, letting the boys fight over where they sat, deciding they’d just let you lay across them both. so your new couch becomes satoru and suguru, but they’re just as comfortable. shoko and utahime laugh at the sight when they come in, a few more stragglers that heard satoru’s invite making their way in for the free booze.

shoko of course came with her bag stuffed with horror classic dvds, starting with the obvious scream given her recent comments, and you roll your eyes and groan at the selection. suguru pets your hair back at your reaction, chuckling down at you.

“what, not a horror fan?” he raises a brow, the idea making gojo titter.

“probably not enough lady killers for our princess’ liking.” he elbows geto playfully, squeezing your thigh with his other hand. “or too many bimbos. which is it?” he asks expectantly, blowing some hair out his eyes.

you shrug. “what does sidney say, something about how insulting it is that all the girls are so dumb? always running upstairs when they should be going out a door on ground level. it’s annoying. and yeah—more girl killers!” you giggle back, finally settling into a decent spirit now that you knew you were safe with your friends.

“totally!! carrie’s like all we have!” utahime complains from the floor.

“well—all the victims have been dudes so far. maybe we have a lady ghostface out there.” satoru raises his beer to clink it with utahime’s. she’s already tipsy enough to toast gojo, so you know this night will be eventful, though you can’t help your unease at his statement. you felt like it was important to only pass around the proper information in regards to something like this, even though satoru’s only joking innocently.

“it’s not a woman. he’s too tall.” you mumble, reminding your friends in the room that you’ve suffered at the hands of this killer not once, but twice. your friends shift around awkwardly at the realization that they’ve gone a little too far.

satoru pats your thigh. “hey, y/n—” you assume he was going to apologize, but he’s cut off by the phone. your heart plunges. no, this can’t be happening. not here, not in the safety of satoru’s home–with all of your friends gathered around. your gasp makes a few heads turn to you, and satoru’s face falls at your jumpiness. “hey, it’s alright. probably just my folks. don’t worry. shoko—answer it?”

she nods, though you can tell she’s a little nervous too. she puts the phone to her ear and hums–seemingly recognizing the voice on the other end. the room all takes a collective breath of relief, but that doesn’t last very long. shoko clamps her hand over her mouth as she gasps, turning to you all to repeat what she was just told.

“it’s the sheriff’s grandson—naoya. they found him strung up the flagpole—gutted like nanami!” she whisper yells, sparking the intrigue of most of the mildly intoxicated young adults in the room. she nods a few more times with whoever’s on the other line, shaking her head at the grotesque crime until they hang up.

“well—what are we waiting for, let’s go check it out before they pull him down!” some freshman suggests, getting whoops and hollers from the other nameless faces as the pile out of the room, shoko leading the charge. you’re gripped with fear. this is the last straw. there’s no room to deny it anymore. the only common thread is you. when would this man get gojo? get geto? get ieiri and iori—you? would you have to watch all your friends die in front of you before he finally got you? naoya was not a nice guy, he had wronged plenty of people and was toji’s cousin—but he had saved you that day. and been punished for it.

“i need to go lie down.” you declare, sitting up on the only two men you could trust these days—which only made you fear for their safety that much more. suguru looks up at you wistfully, seeming to understand. gojo pouts, but nods his head towards his room.

“we’ll know where to find ya, sweet cheeks.” he assured, helping you slide off of their laps. you smile and nod at him gratefully, breaking out in that nervous cold sweat you were prone to as you creep up the steps towards satoru’s room. your heart thunders in your chest, so loud in your own ears you think it may be audible to everyone else. suguru ‘awwws’ as you walk off and utahime blows you a kiss, stretched out in the recliner. she’s invested in the movie—totally into billy loomis, naturally.

you wish you could be so naive to spend your night crushing on the killer in an old horror film, but your mind is too preoccupied with the one you’re living. some comfort soothes at your heart as you enter satoru’s large personal space. it smells of his soothing sweet scent, and you melt right into his bed, looking up at the rotations of the ceiling fan. you aren’t sure how long you stare up at it, wondering what entertainment your classmates were getting out of seeing naoya’s dead body. it makes you shudder to think about it, you wish that this was some sort of nightmare. at least those weren’t real. but that can’t be, because you feel yourself fall into some kind of satoru’s scent-induced slumber.

“you know, it is pretty spooky how similar these past few deaths have been to the movie.” utahime scrunches her nose as she looks around the remaining friends. gojo nods, lips turned down in a pondering frown.

“yeah–like the disembowelment? totally creepy. awww i’m all out of beer. utahimeeeee?” he coos, shaking his bottle at her. she jiggles hers and rolls her eyes at the emptiness. she shoves out of her comfy spot on the recliner.

“you’re lucky mine’s empty, you bastard.” she chuckles, shaking her head and making her way out to the garage.

“let suguru beer-sit for me when you get back, i’m gonna go check on the princess!” he yells after her, using his own thighs to propel himself into a stand. he turns to suguru, brows raised. “she’s been so skittish lately. i’ll be right back.”

suguru takes a swallow of his room-temp beer, making a face at the taste. he finds himself alone with the movie, no choice but to watch the corny film that the current killings seem styled after—at least in costuming. he sighs.

some time must have passed by the time you blink awake. you think it’s the trees rustling in the october wind that rips you out of your brief reprieve, or maybe it’s the uncomfortable silence and stillness to gojo’s house. either way, you’re yawning—stretching out on your stomach as you remember what caused you to isolate yourself from the rest of the party in the first place. you close your eyes as if that will stop the thoughts in their tracks, but it’s no use.

the scraping up the trellis outside of satoru’s room does plenty to wipe your mind, followed by what could only be the sound of the window being opened from the outside. you push yourself up, ready to flee the bed, but his voice stops you as if he had puppeteer strings controlling your limbs. the distortion is familiar, just like it was on the phone that day.

“don’t move you little bitch, i’ll slice you to ribbons!” he cheers, boots scuffing against the floor. you’re holding your breath, still laying on your stomach, head faced away from the killer.

“wh–what do you want from me?” you gulp, clenching your jaw as his weight sinks into the bed. your hands grip satoru’s pillow as the ghostface touches your back, hand resting in between your shoulder blades. he trails one finger along your spine, stopping at the curve of your ass.

“ya mean you haven’t figured it out?” he slides his hand under your skirt, curling his finger in the waistline of your panties, pulling them out and letting them snap back against your skin. “i want that pretty pussy in exchange for another day on this spinning rock!”

you shiver, fear creeping up your veins. you feel something sharper than a finger against your back—unmistakably the point of his hunting knife. your body straightens and you gasp, his gloved hand palming at your ass. while the blade keeps you in place.

“p-please, mr. ghostface, i–i dunno what this is all about!” you breathe heavily, feeling a tingling warmth bubble in your abdomen at his touch—fear had to be crossing the wires in your brain. he uses one hand to shove up your skirt, slapping the skin, the leather covering his hand only intensifying the feeling. you squeeze your eyes shut at the pleasurable sensation–shaking your head in surprise with yourself.

“i just told ya, sugar. open up those ears and those legs. you’re gonna let me fuck you dumb if you ever wanna see outside this room again, be the good little slut i know you can be.” he pops your ass again, causing you to make a strangled sound of enjoyment. your cheeks burn, you can’t be enjoying this, the stranger that’s been terrorizing your life for the past few months—even possibly the man that killed your lover a year ago—should be the last person on the planet that causes your pussy to clamp around nothing.

you obey, spreading your legs wide enough for him to shift between. he repositions himself there on his knees, hooking his arm around to press the long blade across your delicate neck as he pulls your hips up slightly. you gasp at the sharp weapon pressed to your jugular, careful not to move or you’d slit your own throat. he giggles, using his free hand to leave the outline of his hand on your ass. your heart thrashes, blood pumping in your ears as a disgusting need burns viciously in your gut.

“that’s a good start, see. you can do it.” he kneads your ass approvingly, big hands gripping the skin so tenderly you whine out, biting your lip immediately after. his laugh is taunting, and makes the anticipation shoot up like sparklers. you’re ashamed. this is a dangerous and scary murderer, and he’s in here fucking you, you can’t deny that it makes you feel a little special—as he’s only targeting males. “ohhh you’re an even bigger skank than i thought, wow. you like it!” he licks his teeth audibly, hooking a finger around the crotch of your panties, yanking off the soiled fabric. he delights in damp juices covering his fingers as he tucks the soiled undies in the back pocket of his jeans beneath the robe. “you’ll fuck anyone won’t ya?”

you move to shake your head, feeling blade bite into the flesh beneath. you open your mouth in your defense, silenced by the feeling of his bare fingers playing around in the mess holding you at knifepoint has created. “no! that’s not true!”

he slaps your ass, sighing. “yeah? why’d you give this pretty little cunt to your married professor then? eager? desperate? did he make ya feel special?” he inquires, making your pussy grip again. the possessive lengths this murderer went through clearly spoke to your pussy if not your heart or your brain. you feel the man move around, freeing his cock if you had to guess. you ask yourself why you did fuck toji, and you decide to tell the truth. with the way things were going, he’d know if you were lying anyway.

“because i was horny and he was hot and there—and i…i guess i did feel special, he picked me.” you reply, earning a growl in return. the smack on your ass has you screaming this time, the force of it causing you to brush up against the knife a little, feeling the first layer of skin give way.

“wrong answer.” he gruffs, not as jovial sounding as before. you know what comes next. you briefly wonder what he’ll feel like, how curved or thick he’d be, and if he’d actually let you live after he’s done. he answers most of your questions rather quickly, feeling like lightning had struck you and split you open—you realize he’s shoved himself all the way in while you’re still laying on your stomach. you sputter out gargled sounds from suddenly being so full, balling up your fists in satoru’s pillow. maybe it was his scent wafting in your nose that made you horny instead of the masked man plowing your insides, holding your ass cheek apart with one hand in order to reach top speed. “little slut likes getting ruined by a psycho, huh? maybe i will keep you around after all, gripping my cock like you love it.” he giggles, laying all his body weight into the thrusts.

you’re mewling, gripping satoru’s pillow like it was the only thing tethering you to this earth. the ghostface was hitting every spot so rapidly and with so much force that you’re seeing stars. it takes everything in you not to slump forward—only the threat of imminent death keeping you awake enough.

“you keep grippin it, lil slut. dont wanna let me go?” he chuckles at the way you keep lifting up to escape the blade. “cute slut though!! and a good one. gonna give you my load for being so obedient—i guess you didn’t have much choice though!” he laughs and pulls the knife from your neck, sickening slaps of his hips into your ass sound out across the room, growing slower in pace until he stills altogether, seed flooding your insides–his tip pressing it directly to your womb. his breaths are slightly ragged as he presses your ass back together, trapping his cum tight as he pulls out of you, humming at the sight of his slimy seed sliding out of your hole and pearling up on your pretty thighs. you heard his zipper at the same time you heard a knock at the door, a voice you recognize all too well kicking the panic up again.

“y/n? i heard screaming, are you okay?” suguru asks, jiggling the handle. “everyone’s gone and i just want to make sure you’re alright. i’m coming in.”

you shake your head, turning to scream out a warning, but the ghostface clamps a hand over your mouth. suguru pushes the door open— furrowing his brows at the sight, immediately rushing forward to intervene. he grunts his displeasure, snatching your hand to yank you away from the figure.

“run y/n!” he commands, trying to shove the man away from you. you slide off the bed frantically, trying to get geto to run away with you as he and the ghostface struggle for dominance over the knife. he turns his head to look at you still standing in the room. “go, now!” he calls out, the sound of the blade making contact with his skin making the color drain from your face. his eyes widen as he looks down at the knife in his chest—while the masked murderer cackles wildly before he grabs the wooden handle. geto looks back up at you, eyes growing more and more lidded.

“yet another friend you’ve killed, little skank!” he cheers, yanking the knife out with a harrowing schlick before embedding it in him again for good measure—his form falling to the ground. the sound of geto’s body collapsing was enough to send you scrambling down the stairs in search of the only other person who could help you get away. your legs move faster than you’ve ever seen them go before, taking two steps at a time as you bound for the door.

you hear the stomps of ghostface’s boots coming after you. you shudder out your cries of anguish, trying to figure out a way to put some space between you and him—not wanting to put any merit in his promise to keep you alive. you jump over the couch, slinging the tv down and once again throwing any and all obstacles in your path. it seemed to work well enough the first time you tried it, and based off of his hiss and a subsequent thump, you know you tripped him up a little bit. you sprint towards the garage, flipping on the light and pressing the switch to raise the door—screaming in horror at what the lights reveal.

iori utahime was nearly unrecognizable, her head smashed in the refrigerator with a broken beer bottle sticking out of her chest. hot tears spring out of your eyes instantly—muttering your apologies as you dip under the opening the garage door gives you, full sprinting like your life depends on it. you’ve made it to an open field—somewhere you once felt safe now making you feel like a deer waiting to be pounced on. you keep your head on a swivel, trying to locate the black mass in the night—but it was virtually impossible.

when he comes out of your peripheral—running at you from your right side, you see him in enough time to slide under his attempt to bear hug you, turning an about face towards the house. maybe you could make it back there, make it back to geto’s body—if you could just lock the doors and windows, you should be home free. satoru was still around–luckily you didn’t find his body. you struggle to get oxygen into your system through the chilly night air—feeling it squeeze at your lungs as you desperately fight to get back to some idea of safety, running in bursts and patterns to keep the masked man guessing and confused through the tiny holes in the mask. tears still sting at your eyes as you throw yourself up the steps, making it to the door which you deadbolt instantly. you sweep the house, making sure the other doors were locked before coming back to the front—hearing the beating of the ghostface rap against the door.

“don’t lock me out sugar! we had such a good time!” he appeals, using the weighty knife handle to beat on the door some more. you grip the sides of your hair, out of breath and full blown panicking. if satoru wasn’t in the house, then you’ve locked him out, and who knows if suguru was clinging to life upstairs. noise behind you makes you wheel around to confront it—terrified that the ghostface snuck in through a window like he had earlier.

instead, a heavily injured and bloody suguru limps out of gojo’s room, gasping out your name as he tumbles down the stairs, falling all the way to your feet. you cry out and crouch to him, face contorted up with concern and horror. he motions to stand, asking you to help him do so.

“suguru! he’s outside–oh my god, are we going to die? where’s satoru? i need him to be safe too! we have to call the police—” you prattle on, doing your best to help lift his weight. he groans in pain, helping you to the best of his ability as you get him propped up against the wall. he keeps you from pulling away, holding your hand in both of his.

“we’re going to be alright, angel. i’ll call the cops.” he assured, stumbling forward—toward the door. he nods to help you calm down, a bloody hand cupping your face to have you look him in his gentle eyes. “i’m going to get us out of here.”

“don’t!! he’s gonna break it down or something—stand back, suguru! i’m scared!” you warn him as he looks out the peephole, shaking your head frantically.

“you should be.” he says, leaning against the front door, giving you a cunning smile. gentle brown eyes shift into something much more sinister—though the lust that always swims in them remains. his words rock you off kilter—you’re sure you must be so paranoid that you’re making things up now.

“wh-what?” you shake your head, furrowing your brows a bit as he lifts a bloody finger to his mouth, sucking the red digit clean with repeated swirls of his thick tongue—and making you step backward as the shock wears off. he was involved. you don’t understand how or why—but your best friend suguru geto was involved.

“shame you don’t like horror movies, y/n. maybe if you had seen scream, you’d have known what to expect. high fructose corn syrup—just like in carrie.” he hums, trailing his tongue along his hand. you shake your head, steadily backing away from him. he wasn’t hurt at all—just theatrics to get you right where he wanted you. which means satoru—

“n-no…this is impossible. you…you came to my house!” you argue, trying to find a way for it to not be true. you back straight into another hard chest—and the figure dangles your panties over your face. your veins are frozen as you turn slowly—faced with the missing satoru. he’s beaming, wiggling the fabric in his hands.

“surprise! look what we did for you, princess!” he cheers, stepping forward to make you back up—pushing you back into suguru with every calculated step. you blink rapidly, processing all that’s before your eyes. satoru and suguru? they were working as a team this whole time? a murderous, manipulative team?

“for me? what on earth are you talking about??” you shake your head incredulously, wondering how they’ve cloaked their insanity this whole time. “i–i never wanted this!” you begin to sniffle, the tears of realization starting the burn your eyes.

“no? you know how we feel about boys around our princess.” satoru hummed, shaking his head.

“after all of our years of devotion to you,” suguru shakes his head, stepping in front of you as well, leaning down to capture your vision. you avoid his eyes, too busy dealing with your racing thoughts. “you reward us by giving your virginity to a married man. what were we supposed to do about that angel?”

“how–how did you find out–”

“you’re so loud in his office, pretty girl. we know what you sound like all too well—and you had been missing a lot that semester…we put two and two and two together!” he says shrilly, devoid of the costume though the large hunting knife was still in hand.

“i…i didn’t ever get any attention from boys!!” you start to cry, the full weight of their words taking hold on you. everything was your fault after all, those haunting feelings were all true—and your best friends were the ones behind the whole scheme.

“why would you need any other attention?? are we not more than enough?” he snarls, deeply wounded that you gave your body away after he’s spent so much of his time catering to it.

you sniffle, recoiling away at his tone. geto was always so gentle and calm, but it seems like he’s finally snapped. you never thought they had any romantic intent with all their safe-guards, assuming they viewed you more like a tiny kitten that needed their protection. but it all makes sense now, their abnormal need to spend their time with you, the cuddling, the touching, even the carrying game—you were sure now that it was all about their feelings for you. geto grabs your face in one broad hand, jerking your chin up to look at him.

“you’ll look at me when i’m speaking to you. answer. are we not enough?” he demands, clenching his jaw so tight that you can see the muscles twitch.

“yes! you’re enough—i just didn’t think it was like that, boys–i didn’t think you both liked me, i–i just thought you were being nice–”

“well. there’s no more of that, slut. if we didn’t kill the other two, who knows what you would have let them do.” he snarls, squeezing your cheeks together to keep you from speaking further. satoru claps his hands, tugging you to the couch.

“it’s time we make you our final girl, sugar. aren’t you so lucky? who else would love you like us?!” he asks you, pushing you into the cushions. he holds the knife to your shoulder, pouting. “don’t make me use this on you, pretty girl. just listen to us and we’ll go from a scary movie to a happily ever after.” he hums, sitting at your side so he could keep the blade steady.

you’re reeling, brain light and heavy all at once. they did this…for you? all to show you their love and devotion? it’s too much. his words are sweet but his actions have been anything but. you shake your head. “utahime…what did she do to deserve that?” you snap, tears slipping down your cheeks, you feel bolstered with the confidence that they won’t hurt you. this elaborate scheme has all been to make you theirs, after all.

geto laughs, shaking his head as he comes over to the couch, the boner in his pants so obvious your pussy clenches involuntarily. you’re lucky your skirt has you covered enough that neither of them saw it, for you’d never hear the end of it. geto strokes himself over his pants, giving satoru some kind of direction with the nod of his head. gojo shifts you to your knees, forcing your head forward to stare at suguru as he unbuttons his pants.

“utahime was in the way.” suguru shrugs, letting his endowment slap up against his red corn syrup stained shirt. he peels that off next.

gojo scoffs. “you don’t need friends anyway, you got us!” he cheered, repositioning his digits on the back of your neck. suguru pushes some hair over his shoulder, gesturing to his cock with a simple look down.

you shake your head no, trying to fight against satoru’s hold, but he points the knife under your jaw, following the line of the bone. suguru chuckles darkly.

“this whore will fuck anything on two legs, but when it comes time to fuck the men that earned it, you wanna be shy?” he shakes his head with disappointment, “you even slutted yourself out for someone you didn’t know. what’s the problem? if he holds the knife against your neck will it make you drip again?”

the statement makes you gasp softly, the pang in your core causing you to whine in disbelief. why was this turning you on? there’s no way you should be giving in to such a crazy stunt. they’ve ruined your life, killed anyone close to or interested in you—and now they’re here to claim their due reward. and your pussy is absolutely leaking over it despite the alarms ringing in your head. the way that geto grabs a fistful of your hair to guide your face to his drooling slit has you opening your mouth to welcome him inside without any more protests, causing gojo to giggle at the sight.

“told ya she’d give in. we know her better than anyone, yeah?” he dances the knife along the side of your neck as your throat bulges with suguru’s thickness. your eyes roll back at the feeling of his fat tip hitting your uvula, keeping you from speaking anyway.

“there we go. you’re pretty when you listen, y/n.” he hums, cock jumping in your mouth. you felt better than he could’ve imagined—and nothing could recreate the mix of fear and taboo lust that you look at him with, tears dotting the corner of your vision as he guides your head in bobbing along his thick shaft. gojo just keeps your hair from falling in your face–eager to see all of you as you arch up on your knees, wiggling your pretty ass in the air. “nasty little thing. you’re just as bad as us, you know. you made us kill all these poor people—if only you listened to us and left boys alone.” suguru grunts, watching as satoru pushes your skirt up, trailing the tip of the knife over your ass cheek, careful not to slice as he peppers slaps to your other side. you whine at the feeling, pussy tightening at his teasing even though suguru filled your mouth to the brim. suguru slaps you—medium intensity, but coupled with satoru’s spanks and his dick forcing your throat apart—it had your vision darkening. you never stop sucking his cock though, and that’s what he was testing for.

“let her ride it.” he rewards you with his approval, and satoru snickers happily. suguru’s hand falls to grip your neck, loving the sounds you make when struggling to breathe. the pain is so delicious, you can feel the morale in you dying the longer they toy with you—your need to be touched outweighing your fear–transcending it into trust. you know that they love you, in their own fucked up way, so they won’t kill you. your drowsy eyes shoot open when you feel the cool wooden handle of the hunting knife nudge against your clit. gojo holds it carefully by the blade—too skilled to let it cut him even with your uncalculated movements. suguru chuckles at your reactions, letting your hair go to see how you swallow him up on your own accord. you don’t falter, not even when the handle slides around your hole, teasing you into steady rolls of your hips to find it. gojo loved this—watching you grow so needy you’d settle for fucking yourself on the weapon that slayed your professor, your lab partner, your white knight, and your best friend.

“look who’s a needy whore now. you wouldn’t ever be satisfied without us, angel.” suguru insists, watching the pleasure on your face as satoru finally lets you sink down on the handle. it’s wide, stretching you open with a slight burn—but it’s delicious friction strokes against your insides, and you were eager for anything to relieve the ache in your stomach, the way they used you but loved you mercilessly has you clamping, wetness sliding down the weapon. the guilt pushing back against the pleasure was slowly fading—losing. “oh, no, no. don’t let her cum.” suguru tsks, sliding his cock free of your mouth. you whine at the loss, rubbing at your sore jaw, feeling gojo’s hands find your waist again. he pulls you to lay in his lap, his own excitement pressing against the tight seam of his zipper. you’re careful to lay your head on his thigh, looking up at him and feeling a sense of relief—even as he pressed the blade to your neck.

“you liked this earlier, right? that’s because you’re just as fucking nasty as we are, cutie.” he snickered a little, cupping your clothed tit. suguru saddles between your legs this time, pushing your knees to your chest without pause, absolutely nothing but a feral need to claim you flashing in his eyes. he pushes your shirt up just to see all of you, “i’ve waited far too long to see these tits, angel.” he grumbles, palming at them in between squeezes from satoru’s large hands. you moan at their touches—so intense yet different and identifiable. satoru hums at the little noise, tweaking your nipple as geto parts your pussy lips. he doesn’t warn you before he sheaths himself, making you take his length all at once. your eyes widen at the feeling—so wide you don’t understand how your throat accommodated him. your back arches off the couch at the sensation, you think you can feel every vein and ridge along his length as he lets you get used to it. gojo’s enamored by the face you make, brows pinched and mouth dropped open—wide eyes flickering between them. he’s dreamed of this for so long—they would do all of this as many times as it took to have you like this now, but luckily you’re obedient. satoru cups your face with his free hand, trailing his fingers along your cheekbone in a touch reminiscent of his ghostface earlier. he’s gentler than suguru despite the blade he wields. suguru’s grip on the back of your thighs will bruise, it hurts even now—but in the type of way you want to feel forever. he’s not gentle with your pussy either, pulling his full length out, tapping your clit with his head to make you mewl. the force he uses to plow back in causes satoru to move the knife from your neck, drawing circles over your bouncing fat tits instead.

“she’s so tight, huh? think she’ll stay like that between the two of us?” gojo giggles, looking up at the pretty faces suguru himself was making. his eyes are lazily lidded, but still serpentine and focused on the sight before him. you squeeze down on his cock, and he loves that he can’t tell if it’s from fear or your returned affection.

“so tight, despite giving it up so freely. isn’t that right–our little slut?.” suguru mutters, watching the glint of the blade as satoru swirls it around your delicate skin. your eyes widen at his question, face burning at the fact that they knew. blaming them wouldn’t get you anywhere—it seems you had to own your mistake and hope that groveling can return you to your former glory, despite how you clench around him calling you a slut.

you nod, “i’m sorry! i didn’t know that you two love me, i’m sorry, suguru!” you lean up a bit to appeal to him, causing satoru to knick your skin with the blade. you moan at the slight burn, beads of blood bubbling to the small cut. satoru curses at himself, though the noise you make has his eyes narrowing at yours in intrigue. you liked it, just like you liked fucking at knifepoint earlier

“you’re a dirty little bitch.” satoru chuckles, looking up at an intoxicated suguru. his eyes were nearly blacked, pupils fully dilated. he leans over, running his fat tongue along the shallow wound, humming at the few drops of your blood that he got to taste. satoru arches a brow, fascinated by the reaction. it makes him want a taste for himself—but suguru’s still hungry for more. his thick hand steadies your jaw, his tongue licking a thick stripe up the side of your neck. you shiver at the feeling—all the feelings. the warmth threatening to spill over at the cock splitting you in half, the slight dizziness that came from the cut—how lewd and chill-inducing suguru’s tongue felt, the intense desire behind satoru’s groping. it was all consuming, and you were losing sight of yourself relatively easily—after all, you felt your safest with them. they’d never hurt their final girl.

“let’s see just how dirty, satoru…” he hums, never faltering with his hips as he moves his lips to your neck, licking and sucking spots into your skin almost romantically. you’re so undone that you even move your hips, circling to try to get closer to suguru, teetering on the line.

“oh–it feels so good, suguru..” you mumble, and satoru giggles at your blissed out face, dick throbbing in his jeans.

“i’m sure it does, pretty slut.” satoru sings to you, his normal taunting voice was layered with the sick affection he holds you in. he watches your cut pearl up with blood again, the sight so pretty to him. he’s seen plenty of blood eradicating all the threats to your happiness, but yours seemed so much better. like you were more pure than those that he’d eliminated on your behalf. he wanted to see some more—and suguru does too. satoru makes a matching cut below the accidental one, swiping his thumb over it to collect the hot crimson. you watch him, lengthening your neck to tilt your head back—eagerly following how his tongue wrapped around the slender digit to suck the tangy taste off.

the opening you give suguru is so delicious he can’t repress his chuckle as he picks the perfect spot between your neck and shoulder. he bites down and you can feel his canines pierce the skin deep, screaming out at the painful bliss. your red blood covers their white teeth, leaking out of their pink lips. suguru looks like a vampire instead of a masked murderer with his chin dyed burgundy, satoru’s tongue darting out to collect the remnants on his own mouth before he leaned up–grabbing suguru’s jaw so he could lap up the stain, letting your blood mingle together on each other’s tongues as they wrestle together. gojo holds the knife carefully away from suguru’s head as he puts his other hand on his face, the two clearly just as into each other as they were you—a fact that was terrifying and insanely hot at the same time. you shudder—feeling your heartbeat echo through the cuts and your bite, pussy throbbing around suguru. he breaks away from satoru—yanking him back by a fistful of his white hair.

“our little bitch thinks it’s time for her to cum.” suguru sighs, and satoru grins down at you with a mix of blood and saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth. satoru shakes his head.

“but i haven’t even touched her!” he protests, pouting down at you. it makes you feel a pang of guilt in your stomach—but not because you were fucking two serial killers, no–because you hadn’t given one of them enough attention.

“you did take her earlier—without permission.” suguru growled a bit and looks over your slightly bloodied chest and fucked out face. he knows exactly what will perk you back up and get satoru back in line. he releases his hold on his hair and slips out of your sopping folds, moving to slip the knife from satoru’s grasp while taking your chin in his other hand. he nods satoru to you. “prep her ass—i wonder if she ever let the professor in there. wait no…i’m sure he only fucked your ass.” he gently pulls on you, prompting you to get back to your hands and knees, facing him. he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, tilting your chin up with the blade to look at him.

the intense knowing in his eyes makes a shudder trill down your spine—and your pussy clench. how did he know that? knowing about the affair—hearing it—was one thing. but how did they know the intimate details outside of…being there. the puzzle pieces click into place and suguru can see it in the way your eyes widen. he chuckles, nodding to confirm your fears while satoru jiggles your fat ass cheeks in his hands. he’s admiring the recoil, the leaking pussy he had to spread your ass to see—it was all such a wonderful and worthy reward for him.

“you think we’d miss a show like that? tsk tsk.” he pouts, keeping you engaged so satoru could warm you up on the other end. “professor fushiguro didn’t want any more children? how sad.” he teases slightly, running the knife over your plush lips, watching the way your skin gives in to the metal, bouncing back up as he moves it to a new spot. satoru gathers the arousal pooling down your thighs, adding his spit to the nasty mix on his fingers. you gasp softly, feeling his digits prod around your puckered entrance. “could have made a pretty little thing like you his baby mama? hm. maybe if he’d been smarter about it, his existing son wouldn’t be fatherless. though that’s on you too—”

you whimper, shaking your head. “n–no, don’t say that!” you protest, feeling the humanity in you lash out at the statement.

“why? hard truth? don’t worry princess—we’ll give you plenty of kids. you won’t be left wanting, poor thing.” satoru pouts with you, giving you the first finger down to the knuckle. you squeeze around it, any combativeness dying right back down as the brain fog returns. he’s slowly thrusting it, letting you rock your hips back for more, the unrelenting need in your gut yet to be satisfied under geto’s punishments.

“and your kids will have two fathers just to keep you extra safe. can’t you see? we’re the only ones who can protect you and make you happy.” geto implores, stroking your cheeks and watching your reaction to satoru’s second finger, tucking his lip between his teeth.

“oh she already knows that, sugu. c’mon sugar. tell him.” he encourages, defending you in his own way. he scissors his fingers in your ass, giggling at the wet squelch that accompanies his movements. “you’ll be so happy–just tell him, princess.” he appeals, your brain mushy with the feeling of their hands on you and their promises swimming around your brain. they have protected you from so much over the years, between your average bullies and boys that truly crossed the line back in high school—you know that in their own deluded way, they’re right.

“you guys are the only ones that make me happy!! i feel so safe here–i know you won’t hurt me.” you whine, nodding. it appeals to both of their hearts–the sultry call of your voice had them eager to fill all your holes.

“oh we’ll hurt you, slutty princess.” satoru hums, sliding his fingers out of your choking ass. he repositions you, hands fitting into the handles of your waist to right you in his lap, angling his proud length at your hole. “see, this will hurt a bunch! but you’ll love it.” he assures, pulling you down on him a few inches at a time. you scream out, looking up at geto for rescue. he only steps in front of you–fisting his own cock in the angle he needs it. your eyes widen when you realize that they plan to fuck you at the same time—and they don’t have the decency to let you get accustomed to one before giving you the other.

gojo hisses, your ass was still so tight despite all his hard work, though the amounts of spit and your own slick he slathered around were making it easy to sink into you. as soon as you hit the hilt of his dick—absolutely shaking from the pressure in your ass, suguru’s nudging your pussy lips apart to bully you some more.

“you can take us both—you’re a slut, remember? you can do it for us.” suguru reminds you tenderly, holding your face as they get used to the feeling of you and each other through the thin wall of tissue that keeps them apart. you sputter, grabbing onto suguru’s shoulders in an effort to not fall over. satoru uses his hold on your waist to propel you to move, making geto’s work minimal. the pace he sets is brutal, picking you up and slamming you back down while suguru just rocks his hips to add to the sensation of two cocks fucking you open.

if you thought either of them were big and splitting earlier, then this was what you got in return. white hot pain and pleasure courses through your veins, replacing the fear and unease that has been haunting you for days. they were taking care of you, and if you didn’t have to fear their wrath—why wouldn’t you squeeze their cocks, scream for them, and make them feel just as loved?

this is what they deserve, what their hard work has earned them: your silken walls being beaten into the shapes of their dicks and nothing else—your tits and ass bouncing with the impact of their brutal thrusts sending you back and forth like a tug of war.

“it’s too much!” you cry out, feeling the heat in your stomach burn as bright as a star–you felt like you were on fire. pleasure tingled up your veins, the gummy spots of your cunt being abused perfectly by suguru’s thick cock—your insides being rearranged by gojo’s unrelenting brutality, despite his sweeter speech.

“d’awh, no it’s not. look at you—you’re doing it.” he encourages, putting his lips to your neck. “you’re takin’ it so good.”

“squeezing us even. stop lying–you want even more.” suguru huffs, grabbing your throat. you sputter a little, erotic moans turning higher in pitch. he chuckles at his prediction—cock twitching in your walls.

“toomuchtoomuch—need to cum, please, please boys—wanna cum all over you!” you plead for yourself, though it’s not exactly a performance. they were fucking you mindless, and at this point you would do whatever it took to have them—even lying to the police about what happened here tonight.

“aw sugu, listen to her. i wanna see it, let her cum.” satoru adds on your behalf, balancing his chin on your shoulder. he bats those crystal blues at suguru, knowing he surely can’t deny you both—and he won’t.

“tell us you love us, angel. tell us who fucks you so good, then you can cum.” he grunts, laying his hands over satoru’s to feel you move your hips on them both, fucking into geto just to throw your ass back on satoru—it’s so fucking good.

his demand isn’t even a challenge—you’ve succumbed to their desires for you some time ago, accepting their brutal form of love as the one that you’re deserving of—men who would kill for you. what more could you ever want?

“i love you, fuck—i love you both so much! i always have–i always have, you’re my boys!” you pant, your voice begging plead. “you fuck me so good–let me cum to show you, please–suguru!! satoru!!” you cry their names so sweetly that satoru can’t hold himself back anymore—hot cum fills your ass before you even finish saying it. he’s shuddering, nodding to give you his permission, though you wait for suguru too.

he leans forward—jerking your chin up into a proper kiss with him, gnashing on your lips and giving you a taste of his tongue. he holds your face still as he pulls away, nodding. “cum, angel. you’ve been so fucking good.” he drawls in your ear, giving satoru a rewarding kiss too as your hips spasm under his command. it strokes his ego, the way you scream and jerk as your orgasm overtakes you—the ones he’s denied you factoring into the toe-curling sensation of this one. he follows after you—his hot seed spurting out in bursts, so so much cum. it’s clear suguru and satoru have planned this for some time—and now that delights you instead of invoking the fear it should, if you were normal.

satoru rubs at your shoulders, pulling away from suguru’s lips with a loud smack. you can feel your heart pounding—hearing it in your ears as they turn to you—cocks still plugging you full. “now princess…” he hums as suguru picks you up off of him. he looks so pretty, you think, his skin slightly red from excitement—blue eyes wild with adrenaline. “we’re gonna get you cleaned up—and then it’s your turn to attack.” he giggles, making you snap your tired head up to suguru who holds you like a baby.

“the police. we have to be believable survivors after all. didn’t you watch any horror movie, y/n?” he shakes his head, a fond grin on his face as he takes you to the kitchen, sitting you on the counter for satoru to wipe down. gojo kneels between your legs to clean you carefully as suguru tucks the knife into your hands.

“aim for the stomach. you’ve got our hearts already.” suguru smirks, dialing 911.

1K notes · View notes

pedgito · 2 months

Text

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 | Javier Pena x fem!reader

summary | your boyfriend delivers the worst news possible on what should be a day filled with love. luckily your coworker is there in wait, not allowing a perfectly good dinner reservation to go to waste. [2.5k]

content warning | this is probably the tamest thing i've ever written, who am i? mostly fluff, vague descriptions of your boyfriend (technically ex-boyfriend/some misogyny (not by javi), small age gap, co-workers, dinner dates and more, unrequited (innocent) crushes, minimal spanish (mostly just pet names), open-ended

author’s note | @pascalispretty happy valentines day!! this is my first time doing one of these and i was your secret valentine, but i hope you enjoy! i haven't written for javi in so long and i was really craving some soft!javi so this was a joy to write. i hope you enjoy!

You hated the stigma around holidays and what they meant, what they entailed, and why people upheld them so highly. But, here you were—tapping your fingers insistently against the desk across from the pool of DEA agents who would throw a file of paperwork on your desk and expect it to magically poof away and, by default, relinquish themself of any responsibility over it in the process.

You couldn’t fault them all—some of them actually managed to follow instructions. A signature here and there, all in order, leaving with little work to do other than file it away. Murphy followed it to a degree that made you think he probably has some time of background outside of here, back in the states. Always uniform, always proper—he’d been a good addition from the start and a perfect match to Javier Pena’s strong personality and unwillingness to give up control.

He also smiled at you every morning and offered a kind greeting, a small acknowledgment of your existence which couldn’t be spared by many others.

As for Javier—he did the work. There was never an issue, but halfway through an expository to a question he asks his attention is drawn elsewhere. Usually to one of the other few in-office secretaries or visitors that just couldn’t resist a bite at the overconfident and suave agent.

You could see the appeal, but that didn’t mean you had to like it—sometimes it impeded your ability to communicate with him and it really, really annoyed you.

Plus, your boyfriend was perfect. Too perfect that it felt unreal at times, but as all things in your life tended to implode on you—you were waiting for the ball to drop.

“Buenos días, señorita.” Javier greets with a smile that shines perfectly under his thick mustache, dressed in his usual pairing of tight jeans and form-fitting button up. This one was pink though, or a deep red. Jesus, how many different ones did he own?

You snort softly, “Morning, Javi.”

And you’re expecting that crisp folder to slide onto your desk but he’s traversing down the steps into the bay of other desks, straight for his. He’s still in eyeline, his and Steve’s shared workspace right in the center.

His eyes flit up briefly, scanning the room before they land on you again and of course you’re staring, but not for the reasons he’s assuming. And there’s a fierceness behind your eyes that he’s seen before, like he’s about to be lectured.

You grab at an empty file on your desk and hold it up lazily, eyebrows raising in expectation.

“Oh shit,” He curses lowly, but not soft enough for you to miss before he’s reaching in his desk and holding up the paperwork, “Here—I’ve got it.”

You pluck the item from his grip as he approaches, this time lingering. He’s got his fingers spread out wide on your desk and he leans, practically towers as you sift through his work quietly before jotting something down on a separate sticky note and filing it away for the time being.

“Sorry, bonita,” He apologized, some sincerity in his voice, “I stayed late last night and finished it up but you were already gone—I don’t forget, you know that.”

“All good,” You offer a polite smile and he still doesn’t move, nodding kindly to a few women that pass by, seemingly more done-up than usual, “big plans tonight?”

A man like Javier, there was no way he spent Valentine's Day alone.

Javier offers a non-commital shrug and nods his head in your direction, “What about you? You got that boyfriend, right? Kid with the glasses?”

And okay, Javier was a good chunk older than you. Ten years, maybe. But, kid? Please.

“Yes, that kid.” You roll your eyes light-heartedly. “Um, I reserved a table for dinner at that restaurant Steve recommended a couple months ago. The one he took Connie to.”

“Yeah—yeah, I know that place.” Been a few times, it lingers on his tongue. It didn’t matter if he went alone, the food was decent enough. “You made the reservation?”

“Come on, Javi,” You slap at his forearm gently, “It's not that big of a deal—besides I just…need a break. I thought dinner would be nice.”

“You know I can’t judge you for living at this place,” Javier says around a soft chuckle, “I’m guilty of it too.”

Many nights spent stuck in the office with just you and Javier—the occasional appearance of Steve. It led you to learn a few things about the men, even if inadvertently.

When leads were dry, Javier will go through half a pack in a day and Steve would chew at his fingernails almost constantly, tapping and fidgeting nearly nonstop. They both had obvious tells—a more obvious one for Javier being the close-mouthed smile he gave to women he wasn’t interested in but still remained polite to while the other, the unabashed grin was reserved for the women who piqued his interest.

He's given you both, but that was beside the point.

“Any recommendations?” You ask curiously, fidgeting with the plastic clip on your pen.

Javier considers it briefly, lips pursing together as he taps his pointer finger in thought, “Well, the Pescado Frito they have is pretty good—can’t really go wrong with that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You note, leaning back in your chair as you spot Steve making his way into the office.

“I thought you hated holidays like this?” Javier questions curiously, a sentiment he shared. They seemed pointless outside of the few that offered him a reprieve from work.

You shrug, looking away briefly to avoid his steadfast gaze.

“Well, I don’t think all of us are impervious to stuff—I wanted to do something…nice. I guess?”

Javier isn’t entirely convinced, seeing the uncertainty in your shy smile but he lets it go, slapping the desk lightly before waving a quick goodbye as Steve pulls him aside.

It had to be intel—and good intel at that by the way Javier’s face morphs into sudden interest, thumb and pointer finger brushing over his mustache.

And really, you shouldn’t keep staring at him. Not with that dinner on the forefront of your mind, the one you had so meticulously planned out for you and your boyfriend.

Things had to be perfect. There was no other option.

But, then Javier chances another glance in your direction and something swells in your throat—anxiety, sadness. You can't quite place it, but you swallow it down. Force it away.

Only a few more hours to go.

The call comes an hour before you’re due to head home, already packing up your belongings preemptively. And you smile at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice.

It’s been a few months. Good months. Too good.

He was younger, like you—some IT guy in his earlier twenties with a kind heart. Or, so you assumed.

“Hey,” You answer softly, lightly into the phone, “reservations are in a couple hours.”

“About that,” His voice sounds off, distant, “I don’t think I can make it.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and you find yourself chewing at your bottom lip in worry, watching wearily as Javier and Steve hold matching coffees in their grip, marching back to their desks in sync. Javier’s gaze lingers for a moment, a normal motion he did just to check on you.

Nothing more.

But, he spots the change in your emotion.

Still, he continues on.

“What—I—I’ve had these reservations for two weeks,” You reply in a hushed voice, trying to contain your frustration, “what happened—what changed?”

“I just—I don’t really know how to say this,” The dread is immediate, but your mind is filled with anger—rigid, bitter anger that wants to bite, “I think we should break up.”

“Are you fucking serious?” The small outburst catches the attention of you people but you avoid their gaze, even more pointedly Javier, who’s gone from inconspicuously spying to full on gawking now, alongside Steve who had a sudden interest. They’ve never seen you like…this. “Today? This felt like a good thing to tell me today?”

“I’ve been trying—“

“You’re an asshole.” You bite harshly, “You can pick your shit up from my apartment this weekend.”

You don’t let him have the final word, slamming the phone back down into the receiver and ignoring the gathering stares and sparse, hushed whispers.

You could sit and wallow, allow yourself to stew in regret and worry, wondering what you did wrong—but you knew it wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been. All the trying and trying and trying you do, the maximum amount of effort met with little enthusiasm. You were naive to think that things would work,

You’re thankful when the shift nears its end and people file out quietly, albeit with a few side-stares, you find yourself mulling over the idea of canceling the reservation completely. But, then there was perfectly good, hard-earned money going to waste. And you could eat by yourself, but the idea seemed even more miserable as you had specifically booked a table for two, decorations and accommodation to match. It felt ridiculous, in hindsight.

You pass the stack of paperwork off to your boss as you step into his office, scurrying back to your desk with your head down—already prepared to go home and wallow in your self-pity.

“You alright?” Javier asks suddenly, jumping slightly at his voice as you turn on your heels, hip bumping into your desk in the process, wincing at the pain, “shit—sorry.”

He’s smiling to lighten the mood but it doesn’t help.

“You’re…fine,” You wave him off, leaning into the weight of the desk as he lingers, fingers shoved into the front pockets of his pants, “I’m heading home in a bit.”

“No dinner?” He asks curiously—if he was attempting to be coy he was doing a terrible joy.

It was only minimally amusing, cracking a smug smile at his obvious prying.

“No dinner,” You confirm, “and he broke up with me, so…”

“Cabrón,” He says under his breath, but it isn’t lost on you, “I’m sorry—that’s…fucked up.”

You shrug, “Now I’m debating on canceling and wasting the money I put down to reserve it or looking pathetic if I show up by myself—“

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Javier defends, speaking entirely from personal experience.

“Javi, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“And?”

Suddenly though, you’re struck with an idea.

“Are you busy?” You ask curiously and Javier raises a curious eyebrow your way and smirks, “No ladies in waiting tonight?”

“Not yet.” Javier jokes lightly, knowing his usual routine of hitting the bar after work would end in one of two ways, and even if he didn’t mind spending his nights alone, it was nice to be in the company of others in whatever capacity.

“Go with me.” You suggest, poking at his bicep. “Since you love the place so much.”

“Come on, hermosa,” Javier chides playfully, “If you wanted to take me on a date, just ask.”

You grin wide, heart fluttering at the flirtatious tone he carried in his voice—it wasn’t something you weren’t used to, but it was never so pointedly directed at you.

“I am,” You tell him, “I just—I’ll need to go home and change first.”

His brow furrows and he looks you over, seeing nothing wrong, “Why? You look fine. You always do.”

It’s something he tells you daily—and maybe he has his own selfish reasons, though you know he does it to most of the women in the office, but the way he’s saying it to you now feels different.

He means it, no humor in his voice.

“My—” You can’t even address him in the moment, rolling your eyes with full force as you rub your fingers over your forehead to will away the lines of stress that form there, “I just—he used to say work clothes never complimented me very well. I already had a dress picked out, I can be quick.”

“Save it. I think you look perfect.” Javier affirms softly, keys jingling in his back pocket as he fishes them out, “I’ll drive us.

“But, my car—”

And hand breaches your shoulder, hot to the touch as his fingers curl around your form.

“Hey,” He’s searching for your eyes, waiting until they lock with his own and he nods, expecting the same motion to make sure you’re with him, “I’ll drive you there and back, you don’t have to change—we can enjoy some good food and forget about your shitty boyfriend, alright?”

You nod quietly, earning a gentle squeeze in response.

–

It wasn’t a date, not in the slightest. But, Javier did his damndest to make you feel like it was.

And maybe it was the guilt over him knowing you just got dumped—that whatever you had spent so much time planning had fell out underneath you, but it didn’t quell the nervous anxiety that you felt as you both sipped on a shared bottle of wine and your separate dinners, watching Javier grimace around the lip of his wine glass.

“Horrible, right?” You laugh softly, watching as he forces the liquid down and nods jerkily.

“Food is great, though—the wine,” Javier makes a face of uneasiness that has you covering a laugh with your palm, “—that’s why I stick with tequila or whiskey.”

“Can’t say I have much of a preference,” You admit, “as long as it does the job.”

Javier nods knowingly, stabbing his fork into a piece of food and chewing thoughtfully, the fingers of his unoccupied hand rubbing together as an idea forms in his head, “You know, if you’re not busy I was going to meet up with Steve and Connie for a drink. Later tonight—if you’re interested?”

You can’t believe how instantly you want to agree, blaming it on your impulsivity.

“Javi, I don’t know,” You respond quietly, “I don’t—I don’t really go out like that.”

“Well—that dress you were talking about. It wouldn’t go completely to waste if you wanted to wear it out tonight. Plus, you treated me to a nice dinner—let me treat you to a couple drinks.”

It sounds like the perfect idea. Too perfect. Too good to be true.

“Javi,” You tease shyly, “if you’re trying to ask me out on a date just say it.”

Javier chuckles softly and you know it’s only an attempt to make a shitty day not so shitty, but the underlying chase you two have allowed to happen for so long now was unobscured by outside forces and you hated how easy it was for him to distract you from everything that had transpired today.

“Is that a yes?” Javier teases.

You sigh reluctantly, though a subtle grin pulls at your face, eyes soften at the expectant look on Javier’s face, all puppy-eyed and nothing like the man you’re used to seeing in the office. This was a side of him that felt new and you were curious to discover more. You nod.

“Well, hermosa—I guess it’s a date then.”

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n #javier peña #pedro pascal #my writing #spacesisterssecretvalentine

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lostgirlmuseum · 9 months

Text

The Signal

Made this using images from Pinterest ^ Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader

Summary: You and Bucky get separated from the team after an unfortunate mishap, of which Bucky blames you. Except you’re not at fault! You thought… you aren’t too sure anymore.

A/N: Thank you all so much for all of the positivity on my first fic, I am actually BLOWN AWAY. You are all so kind!! I actually started writing this all the way back in February of 2022, but seeing the response gave me the motivation to finally finish it.

Warnings: Nothing absolutely horrible, just a bit of angst and fluff(?), plus a little gaslighting and violence.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

“Everything is going to be okay. We’re fine. Everything is fine. Everything–” She repeated the mantra over and over again, not quite believing it.

“Will you shut up?” Bucky growled.

Only an hour prior had both of them been sneaking through a dense forest and scoping out a running ex-HYDRA base deep in the frozen woods. Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Sam, and Y/N were used to missions like this, except this one required a higher level of subtlety and a successful sneak attack was critical. Their intel informed them that the base was rigged to blow if any unrecognized technology was detected, including any disturbances in the radio waves. Because of this, they all turned off their communications signals once they approached the range of the base. At least, they were supposed to.

“I’m just trying to keep myself from freaking out.” She grumbled, slightly trailing behind Bucky as they crunched through the brittle layer of snow.

“Why? You should be freaking out. You should very much be freaking out right now. Considering we’re stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no connection to anyone who can help, and I’m stuck with you.” He recognized he was being cruel, but he didn’t have the strength to stop.

“It wasn’t my fault!”

“The sooner you stop lying to yourself, the better.” Bucky responded without even looking over his shoulder. He hadn’t looked at her for the majority of their trek to the nearest safe house since they got separated from the rest of the group by the explosion.

“This is not my damn fault! I turned off my signal, just like Steve told us to.” She struggled to keep up with him, but she wouldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t show him any weakness–he’d just use it against her.

“Except you didn’t!”

“How are you so sure it was me? There were five of us!” She awkwardly jogged to get a bit ahead of him, and turned around to face him as she walked backward. “What makes you think it wasn’t you?”

“Please, like I would ever be so careless.” His gaze remained on the terrain ahead, and it looked like the trees of the woods were starting to thin out, signaling an exit soon.

“And I would?”

“Yes! Yes, you would. I knew from the start it was a bad idea to take you along. You can’t even follow simple instructions like turning off a signal.” He managed to pass her again, leaving her to struggle to stay next to him. He saw out of the corner of his eye her pointing a finger at him.

“I’m trying really hard not to take your attitude personally. You’ve been acting like a dick for the past week, but I’m sick of it.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sweetheart?” He finally glanced at her.

“Yes.”

“Why? Is it reserved for Steve?” Bucky’s eyes quickly returned to the path in front of him.

“What are you on about?” Genuine confusion laced her voice, but her question went unanswered as they reached a block in their path.

“Y’know your genius safe house plan?” Bucky gestured to the map balled up in her hand, the thing they had been using to guide them to safety. “Well, looks like we’re here.”

“This can’t be right,” she shook her head, quickly unfolding the map, “maybe we got turned around.”

“Just look up.”

She followed Bucky’s gaze to the sky, at which she finally realized the ridiculousness of their situation. They were stranded at the bottom of a steep cliff, which looked to stand nearly a hundred feet in the sky.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Because who the fuck puts a safe house on top of a cliff? “There’s got to be an elevator or something, there’s no way we’re expected to climb this.”

They both scanned the base of the cliff, looking for any indication of a secret passage to the top. She ran her hand along the jagged rock and ice, and bit her bottom lip as she concentrated on the wall, eventually spotting a thick rope among a couple vines.

“Shit.”

Her voice gained Bucky’s attention, and he looked over to see her holding not one, but two ropes, each attached to a relatively large weaved basket. It wasn’t quite big enough for the two of them, but one person could definitely fit.

“After you,” he mocked, gesturing to the basket that was meant to work as a (sketchy as hell) pulley system.

Instead of answering, she merely pointed to the inside of the damp basket. Bucky peered his head over to see the bottom had completely fallen apart, leaving a gaping hole where a person would supposedly stand.

“Looks like we’re climbing.” Bucky sighed.

“I can’t–”

“Afraid of heights?” He snapped.

“No, but–”

“Good. Then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

He grabbed a knife from his belt and efficiently cut both sides of the rope from the basket. She watched, dumbfounded, as he took one rope and tied it around his waist. Then, he gave the rope a hard tug, and satisfied by the lack of give, turned to his belt and grabbed three more knives. He grabbed duct tape out of his tac pants, and expertly taped one knife to the bottom of each shoe. Finally, he tossed her the duct tape, knowing she already had her own knives. She watched both impressed and annoyed as he firmly stuck his feet as best he could into the ice and rock of the cliff, and used the other knives in his hands as leverage.

He made it about ten feet up before glancing back down to see she hadn’t moved.

“Are you coming or what?” The impatience of his voice stung almost as much as the cold did her nose.

She looked at him, then the rope, and then the knives attached to her legs, before making a move. Unlike Bucky, her combat boots came equipped with hidden spikes that could be used for climbing (although she had never used them for such activity, and normally used them as a treat when fighting, basking in the pride of catching her enemies off guard with a swift kick and metal spike to the face, groin, etc). She adjusted the spikes to be poking out of the toe of her boots, and tried not to think as she grabbed the second rope and knotted it around her waist.

Ignoring her left hand, she grabbed only one knife opposed to Bucky’s two, and stabbed it into the ice. She cautiously looked down at her feet as she began her climb, and looked back up at her hand as she found purchase a foot above her head. Already exhausted from the fighting and explosion earlier, she winced at the tension in her right arm as she pulled herself up.

At the slow pace she was going, Bucky was already 15 feet in the air by the time she was 3 feet off the ground.

Bucky looked down to see her far behind, and raised an eyebrow when he saw her climbing with only one hand.

“You’re supposed to use both hands, you know?” He mocked.

She rolled her eyes, but said nothing, as she let her left hand join her right hand on the handle of the knife protruding from the rock. Bucky noticed her silent grimace as she successfully pulled herself up to the next level. He continued to watch as she stiffly removed her right foot from the wall and placed it above her left foot, before once again grabbing the single knife with both her hands and pulling for a second before letting out an agonizing cry.

Out of curiosity more than frustration, he called down.

“What’s going on down there?”

She briefly looked up at him before looking back at the ground, “I can’t climb.”

“Missed the training day on it?”

His sarcasm went unappreciated as she growled.

“My wrist is broken, asshole.”

Her wrist is broken, and she’s climbing? What is she thinking?

“And you’re still trying to climb? You should’ve told me.”

“I fucking tried telling you! But everytime I try to say something, you interrupt me! Constantly! Besides, what’s the point in telling you if you’re just going to brush it off?”

Bucky swiftly removed the knives in his hands from the cliff, and held onto his rope, before half-hopping and half-climbing down the wall to the ground.

“Bucky, just go,” she sighed, “I’ll figure something else out. I’m not going to be a burden on you.”

She said it in part because, yes, she didn’t want to burden him, but also because she didn’t want to hear his whiny complaints.

He ignored her protests and gently reached for her left hand, inspecting the incredibly swollen wrist. He winced at her soft whimper. He let go and simply looked at her.

“Hop down.”

She didn’t like that he was ordering her around, but his voice was void of any emotion, and out of curiosity and self preservation skills, she obeyed.

“C’mon.” Bucky turned around so his back faced her.

After a couple moments of silence, he looked over his shoulder to see her face twisted in confusion.

“C’mon now, just get on.” He repeated, squatting down a bit more. “You’re going to have to hold on tight.”

Ignoring the absurdity of the situation, she did her best to climb onto his back, at which point he gently grabbed her non-injured arm and wrapped it around his neck to encourage her to not be afraid to cling to him.

After what likely was about twenty minutes of climbing in utter silence, minus the whipping of the cool wind, Bucky made the mistake of looking down. The good news was that they were almost at the top–probably about a quarter of the climb left. The bad news was that meant that they had already climbed about 75 feet, and despite Bucky’s fearless persona, he was not fearless.

“Fuck.” He whispered.

“What’s wrong?” She rested her chin on his right shoulder.

“Nothing… I just didn’t realize how high up we were.” He grimaced the moment he said it. He’d shown weakness. He’d given her ammo. “Gonna make fun of me now?” He started to shake just a little, and prayed that she would assume it was because of the cold and not his anxiety…even though it had been cold for the entirety of the climb.

“No.” She stated.

His head started to spin from the memories. He tried to push through it, but all he could think about was the first time he was this high up. It was as cold as this too. He felt as his left arm subconsciously twitched.

The first time I was this high up, I still had two human arms.

A sweet voice interrupted his thoughts.

“I think I can see the compound from here.”

It was a stupid joke, but he couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“You know, I’m pretty scared of the ocean.” She continued.

He didn’t respond, unsure of where she was going with this. He continued to pull themselves up.

“Just deep water in general scares me. My brother always made fun of me for it.”

Don’t look down, Bucky. Don’t look–

“One time when I was like–fifteen? I think? My family took a trip to this really big lake. We got on one of those pontoon boats and went out into the water.”

He was glad that she was so close to him, otherwise the whipping of the wind would’ve been too loud to hear her calming voice.

“My brother thought he was really funny, and told me to look over the edge of the boat while we were still in motion.”

He tried to grunt to indicate he was listening, but no noise came out.

“He pushed me right as my dad started speeding up. I fell in, and freaked out. Especially as I watched the boat leave me behind.”

He continued to listen to her and focused on her voice, and the vibrations. Her tone was casual, but he couldn’t help but sense she was telling him a secret.

“Luckily, my mom saw what happened, and got my dad to turn around.” She chuckled. “He claimed he was trying to help me get over my fear. But I got my revenge later that day, so it was fine.”

“What’d you do?” Bucky finally spoke up.

“Well, he’s afraid of peanut butter.” She tried to shrug, despite having one arm around his neck and the other hanging limply.

“Do you mean allergic?”

“No, I mean afraid. The stuff freaks him out. He won’t go near it. He’s weird like that.” She sighed in remembrance, and continued.

“So once we got back to the house I grabbed some peanut butter, and slathered it into his hair when he wasn’t looking.”

Bucky looked up again and was surprised to see how close they were to the top. When did that happen?

“He screamed so loud–it was hilarious.” She smiled. “He ran to take a shower, flailing around and being dramatic. ‘Mom! She put peanut butter in my hair! My hair! Mommy, get it out!’”

Worried that Bucky was judging her, she quickly added,

“He was seventeen at the time, by the way.”

Still no answer.

“I don’t think he’s forgiven me yet.” She whispered more to herself than Bucky, but he still nodded as he grabbed at the top of the cliff.

“We’re here.” Bucky didn’t mean for his voice to come across gruff, but the cold wasn’t helping his throat.

“Thank you for carrying me.” She smiled once she had both feet on the ground. It didn’t reach her eyes, but he could still tell she meant it.

Slightly embarrassed, Bucky attempted to grumble out a ‘Thank you for distracting me,’ but he wasn’t sure she heard it.

Come on, you can do better than that Barnes. Just apologize to her, he thought.

“Listen, I know I’ve been acting like a–”

Bucky’s words were cut off by a mysterious and sudden mangled…shriek?

“Oh my God, Bucky.” She patted his arm to get him to turn around.

He obliged, and his eyes became saucers when he saw what had made the noise.

At the top of the cliff was a partially snowy but also grassy plateau, inhabited by a herd of roaming goats. So, so many goats.

“Look at all the goats!” She gasped.

Right as she had said it, one goat had snuck up to them and started biting at Bucky’s prosthetic.

“Get off,” he quelled his shock and grumbled as he shook the animal off of his hand.

“Aw, it likes you.” She giggled, falling to her knees to pet the goat—more like ‘goats’, plural, because the animals seemed to multiply, and fast.

“Let’s get inside. We need to fix that wrist.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Beside the disturbingly large population of goats, and the absurd location of the safe house, the house itself was fine. Well, it was shaped more like a barn, but it was decorated like a house. After coaxing Y/N away from the “adorable” (her words, not Bucky’s) goats, and inside, Bucky led Y/N to the forest green rug where he had started a fire in the fireplace.

When he finished briefly looking around, Bucky grabbed some ice that had frozen outside the barn and wrapped it in a cloth from the kitchen. With her permission, Bucky carefully placed the ice pack where he saw the most bruising around her wrist.

“So,” Bucky had settled himself across from her, so they could face each other as they talked. He couldn’t help the pang of sadness he felt as she stood up and backed away to sit on the couch.

She wouldn’t move away if I were Steve, he thought, staring into the fire. They’d probably cuddle up together like they do on the couch during movie nights at the tower.

Y/N didn’t want to move away from Bucky, especially now that he was being amicable again. But the heat from the flames was melting the ice that cradled her wrist, and she didn’t want to add ‘soggy’ to her list of problems.

“So?” She asked, noticing Bucky never finished his thought.

“I’m just thinking about the logistics of this. There’s a high possibility we could be stuck here anywhere from a week to a month. Your signal was fried in the blast too, right?”

She nodded, and released her right hand from holding the ice, letting it balance on her wrist, as she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her signal. Definitely fried.

He pulled out his own signal from where he had kept it in his pants pocket, and showed her how it was crushed. “Well, without our signals, our team can’t track us. We just have to hope that they’ll figure out that we made it to a safe house, and that they don’t check this one last. Because I’m pretty sure there are at least two more safehouses dedicated to the vicinity of the Hydra base, right?”

She nodded. “We got unlucky with this one.”

“First thing we need to worry about,” he raised his eyebrows, trying to gain her attention, “is food. I looked at the kitchen pretty quickly and there’s not that much stuff stocked. A couple cans of beans, and such. Not nearly enough for how long we’re going to be here though. So unless we want to climb back down again, and see if we can find any food anywhere…”

She squinted and tilted her head as if she was a confused puppy.

“We’re going to have to kill a goat.” He finished.

Her eyes went comically wide. “I am not letting you kill Cheetoh!”

Bucky shook his head, exasperated, “You’ve already named them?”

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

The longer they were there, the worse the winds got. But that didn’t stop Bucky from hearing the strange overlap of whipping winds, leading him to lean into the noise from his spot on the couch.

“Do you hear that?” Bucky nudged her.

“It sounds like the wind got a lot worse,” She nodded.

“No, something’s off.”

At Bucky’s concern, Y/N got up off the couch and beat him to the doors. She looked at Bucky, who stood directly behind her, before pushing hard to get the sliding door to budge. Instantly the biting cold attacked them again, and she had to place her right arm over her forehead to keep her hair from whipping into her eyes. Everything outside seemed to be an array of grays, until she was able to spot a shadowy figure emerge from the settling fog. A person appeared, as well as a helicopter.

“Sam?” She called, hoping her voice carried far enough to be heard above the wind.

“Y/N! Bucky! Thank god you guys are okay,” Sam called back, and was quickly met by Y/N who had run the rest of the distance to meet him. Bucky was shortly behind.

“I’ve never been so happy to see your face, Sam.” She giggled, setting her right hand appreciatively on his shoulder.

Quickly spotting Steve exiting the chopper, Bucky hid a scowl as he watched Y/N light up and bound over to the bundled up blond, while calling, “Steve!” He wished he had looked away before seeing her pull him in for a hug.

Wanting to distance himself from the interaction, Bucky stood by Sam.

“How did you find us so fast?” Bucky shook his head, and raised his voice, as the wind started to pick up again.

“My signal, man.” Sam yelled back, despite being three feet apart.

“What?” Bucky wondered if he heard him right.

Sam reached into the left pocket of Bucky’s under jacket, and pulled out a small familiar looking device.

Bucky felt a punch to the gut as he suddenly remembered.

The group had just landed the quinjet deep into the forest. They couldn’t land too close to the base and risk setting off alarms, so they settled for a three mile hike away. Bucky and Sam were meant to approach from the north side, while Steve, Natasha, and Y/N planned to approach from the south side, so the group split off after the jet to take opposite round-a-bout paths. It was about two miles left to go when Sam started complaining.

“Dude, does this thing actually fit in your ear?” Sam gestured to the communications device in his hand. “Because it keeps falling out. It’s getting on my nerves.”

Bucky gave a short grunt, which Sam translated to a ‘yes, it does fit in my ear.’

“I can’t,” Sam finally huffed, “I give up. I don’t have any pockets, can you hold this so I don’t lose it?”

Simply wishing for Sam to shut up, he obliged, and shoved the tiny device into his pocket for safe keeping. Neither of them thought to turn it off first, because in their minds, and past experiences, it always stays turned on in the field. Excluding the moments when people turn them off in acts of defiance.

About a mile later, both men heard a small rustling to their right. In hindsight, it was probably just a rabbit, but Sam suggested he go check it out, just in case. That’s what led to the two splitting up, but Bucky wasn’t worried. He knew that if there was a problem, Sam would’ve made it clear immediately. He also knew that Sam knew his way to the base all on his own.

Bucky arrived at his location at the same time that Steve’s voice buzzed in his ear. At this point, the extra signal was long forgotten.

“We’re in position.” Steve’s voice rattled.

“10-4.” Bucky responded.

“Alright, going dark now. Turn off your comms, let’s go.”

Steve’s voice was followed by the soft beep of Bucky’s signal as he turned it off.

He didn’t realize Sam’s signal was still active in his pocket.

“It was just bad luck dude, don’t feel too bad. I should’ve turned it off before I gave it to you, and I shouldn’t have assumed you’d turn it off yourself.” Sam tried to hide his pity with a half-smile.

“I–I was the leak?” Bucky whispered right as the wind started to calm again. He stared at the small device as Sam hid it in the pocket of his own coat. If only Sam had worn that on the way to the base.

“Yeah,” Sam said at a normal level now that the noise had nearly ceased, “but everyone’s safe now, that’s all that matters.” Sam reassuringly pat Bucky’s shoulder twice before looking back at Steve helping Y/N into the chopper.

Bucky let out a short hum, and focused on the ground. He wanted to crush that stupid little signal. He hated the way it made his chest feel tight, and his heart heavy with guilt.

Sam’s voice interrupted Bucky’s thoughts.

“Those are a lot of goats, man.”

Before Bucky could respond, Steve appeared in front of them.

“Hey Buck,” Steve smiled, pulling him in for a quick hug, “I’m glad we found you so fast. Are you injured at all?” Steve pulled back to examine Bucky’s form.

“No, I’m fine,” Bucky swiftly assured, before feeling the throbbing of guilt consume him again, “but Y/N’s wrist is broken.”

“Don’t worry, I know. I already told her I’d take her straight to medical once we get back. Speaking of, we should get going.”

“Right.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Three hours later, the group made it back to New York. As the ramp lowered, Bucky quietly pulled Steve aside.

“I can walk Y/N to med.” He nodded to where she was sitting, staring off into space.

“You sure?” Steve struggled to hide the surprise in his voice.

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded.

“Okay.”

Bucky gave his friend a firm pat on the shoulder before sauntering toward Y/N, who remained in her seat.

“Come on, Y/N.” He held out his right hand, offering her to take it.

“Huh?” She blinked twice, and stared up at him, eyebrows scrunched.

“I’m walking you to med.”

“Oh. Okay.” She paused for a moment before standing up. “So much for being stuck for months.”

“Yeah, I guess that calculation was a bit off.”

“I’m just glad we’re back home. And that you didn’t need to kill any goats.”

“I was going to leave Cheetoh alone.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

The rest of their walk was relatively short, but silent, until they reached the doors of Dr. Cho. Bucky didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, as Dr. Cho was given a heads up to Y/N’s injury, and already whisked her away.

Bucky rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet for a minute, until he decided it would be uncomfortable for all parties involved if he stayed. He knew she’d be alright, he convinced himself, so there was no need to be in the way.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

A couple of the Avengers found themselves mentally recovering in the lounge, waiting for Y/N to get out of her evaluation.

“She’ll probably be out for two months. Broken wrist and all that.” Steve relayed, taking a seat on the couch.

“Two months?” Sam repeated, looking up from his bag of chips.

“I think she’s pretty bummed, so try not to mention it.”

As if on cue, Y/N entered the room.

“Hey guys,” she smiled, waving with the arm that wasn’t in a cast.

“Hey Hon. How’s the wrist?”

“Really, Tony?” Natasha glared at him.

“What?” He feigned innocence, throwing his hands in the air.

“It’s fine guys. It doesn’t hurt that bad, I’m more embarrassed than anything.”

“Embarrassed by what? I think that cast makes you look tough.” Sam added, doing his best to cheer others up as always. “And hey, you and Bucky can be twins now.”

“Yeah, kinda. Look at that Buck!” She lifted her left arm in the direction of Bucky, who had been silently brooding in the corner. The bulk could be seen under the fabric of her hoodie, but she felt the need to emphasize the point by taking the pullover off.

She first tried tugging the sleeve off her cast, but it was a bit too snug. After a couple more moments of failing, she switched tactics to just pulling off the hoodie from over her head, but that got her stuck in an awkward position too.

After a second too long of borderline uncomfortable silence and shuffling, Steve spoke up.

“Do you want help with that?”

“Nope, I got it. Just gimme- a second…”

Somehow she had gotten the garment twisted around her right arm and upper body.

“Hon, just let us-” Tony started, but was quickly cut off.

“You know what? It’s suddenly cold again. There’s a weird draft over here.” Y/N quickly tugged the hoodie back down and gave a weary smile. “I’m going to go to my room.”

She ran off before anyone could offer an opinion. Unsurprisingly, Steve was the first to speak.

“I’m going to go check on her.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

A soft knock came to her door.

“Come in.”

“Hey, Y/N.” Steve gave a sympathetic smile as he gently closed the door behind him.

“Hi Steve, what’s up?” She looked fine, but he could hear the strain in her voice.

“Nothing, I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” He stood in front of where she sat at the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just got a little frustrated, it’s no big deal.” She shrugged it off, avoiding his eye line.

“It’s okay to feel frustrated.”

“I know. I shouldn’t though. It’s my fault, anyways.”

“How so?”

She cast her gaze to the floor and swept a hand through her hair.

“Well, I think the whole reason we were ambushed was because of me.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

She took a deep breath.

“After Bucky and I got stranded after the attack, I was sure it wasn’t my fault. But then he started saying things, and they were mean… but he was also right. I started second guessing myself, and I thought about it. I mean, out of all of us, I’m the newest. And I was so sure that I turned my signal off…but now I don’t know. I can’t remember. And if it really is my fault they found us, then it’s my fault that fight happened, and it’s my own doing that this—” she pointed to her cast, “happened. I just feel stupid.”

“You weren’t the leak, Y/N.”

“What?”

“It was an accident. Bucky was carrying an extra signal, and no one thought to turn it off.”

“Bucky?” She looked bewildered, shaking her head at this fact.

“Yes.”

“Does he know?”

“Um…I’m not sure. I didn’t tell him. We never had a proper briefing after the chaos derailed our schedule when we got back.”

“I have to go find him.” Her shock turned to a quiet determination of which Steve decided not to push her on.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you still want your hoodie off?”

“Yes please.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

“Buck, wait up!”

Bucky slowed his jog around the track to a stop when he heard her voice.

“Y/N?”

“Hey.” She gave him a sweet smile once she caught up, one he felt undeserving of.

“Is there something you need?”

“No. I just had to tell you something.”

“I’m listening.” He nodded, crossing his arms. He didn’t mean it in a defensive way, it just happened.

“First of all, you should know it’s not your fault.”

“What?”

“I just found out how we got ambushed, and I figured I should tell you.”

“Oh.” He fought the urge to look away.

“Sam gave you his signal, right? But it was never turned off. It was just an accident. But I needed to tell you, because I know you’re going to blame yourself when they tell everyone at the briefing.” Her concerned tone and eyes met him for the briefest second before he wiped his hands down his face.

“I feel like an asshole.”

“No, please don’t.” She softly touched his elbow.

“I’m going to be honest Y/N, I thought you were going to take it a lot worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you found out that it was me. I was worried you were going to get really mad.”

“Wait, you already knew?”

“Yeah? Sam told me right when he found us…I thought you knew I knew, isn’t that why you just told me all that?”

“I thought you didn’t know. I wanted to be the one to tell you before the briefing, to tell you not to worry about it, because I knew you’d take it hard. But–but you already knew?”

Bucky just stared, jaw dropped at a loss for words.

“And–” She scoffed, “—and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Y/N, I-”

“Don’t ‘Y/N’, me! You—you, jerk! I can’t believe you knew all this time that you were the leak, and after belittling me and convincing me it was my fault, you didn’t tell me the truth!” She laughed in disbelief. “You selfish, cold-hearted, dickhead!”

He wasn’t sure what to say, but it didn’t matter, because she kept going.

“I’m stuck off missions for the next two months with a broken wrist, and you let me think it was my own doing! You made me feel like an idiot!”

“I was going to tell you—”

“When? After I was already told at the meeting? I can’t believe you!” She turned around briefly as if she couldn’t even face him, but quickly turned back. “To think I felt bad for you when I found out it was you who got us ambushed!”

With each insult she managed to get a little closer to him. So close, in fact, that Bucky was struggling to even comprehend what she was saying anymore. All he could think of was how close he was to her, how his hands were just itching to grab her waist. His head was nearly empty when he finally did carefully grab her and pull her closer to him. She paused her rampage to look up into his adoring eyes at his sudden movement.

“Bucky?” She whispered, a swirl of confusion and intrigue.

He replied by placing his lips gently on hers, feeling the warmth of her touch. She reciprocated, kissing him back for a couple seconds before bringing her hands to his chest to furiously push him away, followed by a swift slap to the face.

“Jeez-” The sudden change from bliss to reality was shocking.

“I can’t believe you James!” She yelled, her flustered look from both the kiss and her rage. “I can’t believe you just kissed me! I have a right to be angry, fuck you for thinking you can shut me up by locking my lips!”

‘Shit, I messed up,” he starts to think, about to spew apologies, when he gets cut off by her grasping his hoodie in her hand and pulling him back in for another kiss. The moment his shock subsides and he sinks back into the waves of her kiss, he’s just as abruptly taken from it, head dizzy as she parts from him just to slap him across the cheek again.

“Ow! What was that for?” He brings his hand to the sting. He’s so dazed and confused, a hurricane of thoughts and emotions all fighting for his attention.

“You make me so mad! I’m fuming right now! You are so selfish—”

She cuts herself off, pulling him in for another kiss, one that he’s still not prepared for. His frustration rising at her antics, he brings both hands to either side of her face and holds her steadily against him, resulting in their first kiss that lasted longer than five seconds. When he finally feels her about to let go for breath, he lets his lips leave hers, and continues to cradle her head, their foreheads resting against each other as they both gasp for breath.

“You’re not going to slap me again, are you?” He carefully asks, looking into her eyes.

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“No.”

He laughs and slowly lets go of her.

“You okay?”

After a few seconds of silence, she responds with hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’ve already given you enough reason to hate me, I was sure that if you found out I was the leak, you’d finally hate me for good.”

“I don’t hate you Bucky. I always figured you kind of hated me. Lately you’ve been acting kind of like-”

“A dick, I know,” he nods. “And I’m sorry for that. Really, I am. It’s just-” Bucky’s voice seizes as she sees him look intensely at her mouth.

“It’s what?”

“Can I please kiss you again?”

She slowly nods, and allows Bucky to kiss her for the fourth time. It was fucking heaven to him. Regardless, he abruptly pulls back when a thought crosses his mind.

“Shit, what about Steve?”

“What about Steve?”

“Don’t you like each other?”

She couldn’t help but think his concern was cute, the way he acted like he was talking about middle school crushes.

“Bucky, no,” she laughs, “Steve and I have just always been really good friends. You know, when people are nice to each other, and they like to hang around each other?”

“I just always thought that-”

“Never. He’s my friend. And I can guarantee you he feels the same as me.”

She lets him process the information, watching him nod to himself as if taking it in.

“Oh.”

“Are you jealous?” She smirks, giving him a flirty shove.

His cheeks go pink as he starts to stutter.

“Jea- jealous? No, not jealous. Just-”

Was he jealous? Was it emasculating to admit it? It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care, he’s sick of lying.

“Okay, maybe I was a little bit jealous.” He mumbled, drawing his attention to a pebble on the ground that he was toeing. “So, you do like me, right?”

She lifts his chin upwards and gives him the softest, sweetest, slowest peck.

“Does that answer your question?” She flutters.

“I think so. But the slapping earlier was a bit confusing.” He teased.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright, it was well deserved.”

“No, I still shouldn’t have hit you.” She said with certainty. “But I am still a little bit upset that you didn’t tell me.”

“Doll, I know I should’ve told you that you weren’t the leak. I wish–”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I’m upset you never told me how you felt about me. Instead you acted-”

“Like a dick, I know–”

“No, I was going to say like a child. But yeah, a dick, too.”

They just stood together for that moment, appreciating the start of something new. New, and beautiful, with a lot less animosity, and a lot more kisses.

A/N: If you’ve made it this far, thank you, thank you, thank you! I hope you liked it. If you feel like it, please lemme know your thoughts! I hope you have a peaceful day/night 💕

#bucky x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky angst #bucky barnes fanfiction

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