#'it's my job' he says as he runs into a room that is a) on fire b) flooding c) frozen d) electric and e) has the two boss zombies in it

[hhmnya]

ㅤ 𓈒 𓈒　 WITH EASE, in which hyung line helps you with your kid.

( 형 ) fem ! r ㅤ ◦ ㅤ 1632wc fluff ㅤ──ㅤ w jake's reader has twins, sunghoon is a single dad, set kid names in jay and hoon's.

from anna. for fave @junislqve my biggest fan 💌 she gave me a lot of ideas for this ty

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ REBLOGS ´ ᯅ ` FEEDBACK.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ LEE HEESEUNG.

you walk into your apartment, dropping your keys onto the counter as you slip off your coat. your tired expression is replaced with a bright smile when you see heeseung watching tv on your couch. you sit down next to him, gaining just enough energy to ask if your son is asleep.

“yeah, he actually went to bed pretty early today,” he stands, “do you want something to eat? i saved some food for you, i just need to heat it up.”

you nod, watching him walk away before closing your eyes. the exhaustion of your job has finally caught up to you and you might’ve fallen asleep if not for heeseung’s updates about him and your son’s day.

lee heeseung is your own personal angel, you think. your neighbor turned babysitter turned weird situationship; at least in your perspective. he takes care of you almost as much as he takes care of your three year old son. he’s at your apartment more than he is his own (that’s mainly your fault) and you’ve grown used to coming home to him almost every day.

you hear him say your name and your eyes flutter open to see the sympathetic smile he has on his face and it’s so gorgeous, he might as well break your heart now before you fall for him any deeper.

“it’s okay if you sleep for a bit, you’re tired,” he says oh-so matter-of-factly, because he knows you now, “i’ll wake you up in an hour.”

it’s more than an hour later, when you feel heeseung’s hand on your cheek, rubbing under your eye. he notices you beginning to wake up and pulls his hand away, “you should go eat now, ‘kay? the food is on the counter. i’m gonna go ahead and go home."

you sit up, frowning, “sorry, but can you stay? just until i finish eating, i’m sorry.”

he stares at you, silent for what feels like hours, and it makes you regret opening your mouth. you blame it on your drowsiness—you know that if you were in your right mind you wouldn’t have asked him even if you really did want him to stay. to your surprise, however, he grins.

“yeah, i can stay.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ PARK JONGSEONG.

you send jay a text, apologizing for the fifth time this month for backing out on your date. he’s probably becoming more annoyed with you each time you cancel, but it’s really not your fault.

for the past few days you haven’t been able to find a babysitter for your daughter. her usual one, jaehyun, was out of town, and your back up sitters all had plans or ended up canceling last minute due to personal problems.

you rise from your position on your couch, deciding you should get dinner started for the two of you. before you’re able to, however, you hear a set of soft knocks on your door. you go to open it without bothering to look out the peephole, figuring it was one of your neighbors coming to ask for something.

“hello—oh. jay?” your eyes widen when you process the fact that it’s your boyfriend at the door. he was probably the last person you expected.

“hey,” he gives you that smile that never ceases to make your heart almost stop.

“why’re you here? wait, nevermind. i’m really sorry about canceling last minute, the babysitter couldn’t come,” while you’re talking, you gesture for jay to come inside, shutting the door once he slips off his shoes.

“i’m not mad, these things happen,” he places a kiss on your forehead, lifting up a bag of groceries, “i figured we could still have dinner together, just with an extra person.”

“jay, you didn’t have to. i feel bad.”

and he really didn’t, but he did.

“i was going to buy dinner anyway. a home cooked meal is better, no?” he walks further into your apartment, setting down the bag on the small counter. “where’s gen at?”

“oh, she’s in—”

genevieve cuts you off, all but squealing as she runs out of her room with a toothy grin, “mommy, jj’s here?”

you don’t have time to scold her for running in the house because she immediately throws herself into jay’s arms, the man picking her up with ease, “woah. hey, sweet girl. what are up to, huh?”

you smile as they have a conversation, acting like best friends who haven’t seen each other in months. it melts your heart—genevieve liked jay from the day that she met him all those months ago and you know that jay loves genevieve like she’s his own. he’s definitely someone you want to keep around for as long as possible, if not for you but for your daughter as well.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ SIM JAEYUN.

your two kids run up to your best friend, fighting each other for a spot in his arms. they don’t fight for long because he easily lifts the two children up. he says hi to them and asks them about their day before stepping inside your apartment and kicking the door shut. once his conversation with the kids dies out, he looks at you with a smug smile on his face.

“they like me more than you,” he says instead of a normal greeting.

“that’s because you spoil them every time they see you.”

“they like me because i’m me,” he sticks his tongue out at you, “huh, guys, you love me, don’t you? your mommy’s just jealous.”

“you’re actually annoying,” you reach up, taking advantage of his occupied hands, flicking his forehead and quickly escaping to your kitchen before he can even think to retaliate against you.

he immediately sets the twins down, telling them to go play while he goes to help you with whatever you’re doing. he waits until he hears the faint sound of them pulling out their toys to go towards your makeshift hideout.

he creeps up behind you, being as quiet as possible. you’re popping a bag of popcorn, thankfully too focused on that than him and his whereabouts. he stifles a laugh, poking your side hard enough for you to curl in on yourself.

“oh my fu—jake, what the heck?” you scold him, hitting his shoulder.

he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, “sorry! i had to get you back. i think you gave me a concussion.”

he assumes you notice the popping slowing down and you turn away from him, taking the bag out of the microwave. he can’t see your face but he knows you’re rolling your eyes when you speak, “please, i barely touched you.”

“that’s what you think.”

you don’t give him the pleasure of the response, ignoring him to instead pour the bag of popcorn into a bowl.

“thank you,” you say suddenly, turning around once more, “i was thinking and, you know, i don’t really say it enough.”

“you don’t–” he starts to say, but you interrupt him by grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together.

“i do. you’ve been really helpful lately. so, thank you.”

“um”, he hesitates, “i love them and i love you. ‘course i’m gonna help.”

you smile, dropping jake’s hand and going back to preparing for your weekly movie night. he misses the warmth of your hand almost instantly, and he has to resist the urge to pull you back against him in a hug.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ PARK SUNGHOON.

he can’t help but think that this is too crazy to be a coincidence. you, the pretty mom he gained a mini-crush on at the park a couple months ago, now at his house with your son who just so happens to be his son’s new best friend. maybe whatever divine being that’s up there finally took pity on him and decided to give his bleak love life some color.

he slides over a glass of cold water to where you’re sitting and the smile of gratitude you give him could probably cause car crashes from how dazzling it is. sunghoon can see your lips moving, but can make out no sound. he’s too dazed from being in your presence to process anything other than the fact that you’re sitting in his house.

“...live with you.”

he comes back to reality, only catching the end of your sentence and blinks, “what? sorry, i spaced out."

obviously, he’s going to need more context because logically he knows you aren’t saying what he thinks you are—you’ve only known each other for a month—but he can’t think of anything else that would make sense.

“theo said he wanted to come live with you and yejun,” you say, amusement dancing across your face.

“oh,” he takes in your words, “really?”

“yeah, he was begging me earlier. so..” you pause to take a drink and he has to look away, “if you’re okay with it, can he spend the night?”

he agrees to it with a little too much enthusiasm. of course, this is mainly for yejun and theo—strengthening their friendship, helping them gain a lasting relationship or whatever—but it gives him an excuse to see you again tomorrow.

around twenty minutes later, sunghoon walks you out, his hands in his pockets. you told the boys about the sleepover, said bye to the both of them, told theo to be good and that you love him.

“i have a spare toothbrush and he can wear some of yejun’s pajamas, so don’t worry about coming back.”

“okay, perfect. um, i’ll see you tomorrow?”

“yeah, tomorrow,” he watches you walk to your car, waving as you drive off.

sunghoon knows for a fact that he’s fucked—he already wants to hear you say that all of the time; that you’ll see him tomorrow and the next day and the next. he feels like a teenager all over again, already thinking about what he’s going to wear and say tomorrow morning.

[otakubimbo]

Sick Days

Sylus x MC!Reader

Sylus couldn't get in contact with you and he knew that being a hunter was a dangerous job but what you had wasn't an injury to your body per say. It was an injury to your immune system. AKA Sylus taking care of you when you're very very sick

OB: Hi I started writing this while i had covid back in august and I'm working on clearing out all of my old fic drafts so bear with me on any other updates

masterlist

A groan escapes your lips as you forcefully peel your eyes open. Your throat hurts, your head hurts, your body hurts, everything hurts. It took you a bit to register that the banging wasn’t in your head, but it was at your front door. Every cell in your body screaming at you to stay in your bed, but the knocking just wouldn’t stop.

As you sit up out of bed, your head immediately spins from the sudden motion.

“Fuck,” you attempt to steady yourself before fully getting out of bed, but it was hard. You tried to take a deep breath but that just caused you to have a coughing fit. The burn in your throat and chest is almost unbearable. The toll of whatever sickness you had had a harsher effect on your body than you thought. Initially, you assumed you could have just slept off whatever it was but now you were so sure.

Slowly, you struggle your way to the front door, blanket securely wrapped around you since you were freezing. Eventually, you get your door open as you glare at a well-dressed chest, your eyes racking up to see the owner of said chest. It was, of course, Sylus.

“Well, hello there, kitten. Nice to finally see you.” He smirks down at you for just a moment before noticing the state you were in, gently pushing you back to enter your space, closing the door behind him.

“What are you doing here Sylus?” You ask, your voice is scratchy and hoarse.  Sylus brow creases as he gives you a once over.

“Mephesto claims you haven’t left your house in two days, and you haven’t been answering my messages or phone calls.” He says as he raises a hand to your forehead to gauge your temperature. You swat his hand away as you realize what he was saying. Two days? You haven’t left for two days??? You were just at work yesterday when you got sent home, right? Holding your hand out, you request him to hand you his phone which he does with no complaint. Ignoring the picture of the two of you as his lock screen and notice that in fact it had been two entire days since you had been home. You shove his phone back into his hand and shuffle back to your room to look for your phone. There it sat on your nightstand, still on the charger, opening it up to see several messages and missed calls from Sylus of course but some from Luke and Kieran, a few from Jenna and Tara telling you to get well soon, along with a few from Rafayel, Xavier, and Zayne.

“I-“ you stutter as you sit down on your bed, “ I guess I’ve been in and out of sleep this whole time.” You say with a frown, attempting to rub the pain out of your head. As you go through the numerous texts, a coughing fit erupts making Sylus run over to rub your back. He tries to soothe you as your fit dies, rubbing your back gently as you calm down, taking the blanket from around you, pushing you to lay down and tucking you in. You hadn’t even realized that you were truly TUCKED in until Sylus is running a hand over your cheek and you can’t move.

“Let me out Sylus” You struggle from how tightly he tucked you in, but you didn’t have any real strength in you to get out.

“No can do, kitten. You’re sick and I’ll just have to take care of you.” He puts his hand on your forehead to truly check your temperature. You were burning up and it took everything in Sylus to keep a neutral face, he was worried about you. He had originally thought, you had just buried yourself in work again but seeing you in this state does something to his heart that he doesn’t like. You were such a strong woman and now where you were, weak and frail and not from any wanderer just from what was probably the common cold.  

“I’ll be fine, I can take care of myself.” You refute, struggling yet again but not putting up much of a fight. Theres a slight twitch in Sylus expression as he watches you.

“Please” Sylus voice comes out just above a whisper and you stop moving. It caught you off guard and you stopped fighting. “Thank you, so stubborn” he kisses the top of your head as you scoff.

You hadn’t even realized that you were falling asleep until you were being woken up by Sylus gently.

“What’s going on” you look around confused as you attempt to sit up, Sylus grabs your arm helping you as a rag falls off the top of your head.

“You have to eat something Kitten.” Sylus states as he grabs a bowl of some type of soup putting the spoon up to your mouth. You take a sip of it without complaint, it soothes but hurts your throat at the same time causing a groan to come out of your mouth. Sylus inhales a deep breath, gripping the spoon harder. You weren’t getting better, if anything it seemed like you were getting worse. Your skin was getting pale, your temperature wasn’t going down, and all you were doing was sleeping and while you were sleeping you were shaking. You were in cold sweat; he had to change the rag on your head almost every thirty minutes.

“It hurts, Sy” You grimace after you try to swallow another spoon full of soap. Your voice was so weak, you looked so frail, it was literally breaking his heart to see you like this.

Sylus puts down the bowl, “Just lay down sweetie.” He helps you get back under the covers and before he can even get back with another towel for your head, you’re asleep.

Now Sylus was a prideful man for sure, but for you, for you he would do anything, for you he would put aside his pride. He knew he couldn’t just call any sort of doctor because of the aether core in your heart, so he knew he had to call your doctor, Doctor Zayne. But oh, did he hate Dr.Zayne, YOUR Dr.Zayne. Sylus just knew that man was in love with you, your childhood friend who spent his life becoming a heart surgeon and then being your personal doctor. Tsk, he’s heard of the whole childhood friends to lover’s trope, he wasn’t a dumb man. He wasn’t dumb, but he was desperate, and he needed you to get better. It had already been a full day since he had been in your place, and you just kept getting worse. Begrudgingly he picked up your phone and did what he had to do.  

You don’t remember much in your sick haze. It was hard to even distinguish what was really going on or what was part of your fever dreams. You lucidly remember Sylus waking you up to give you soup and take medicine. You think you remember Zayne coming in which would make sense, he is your doctor, but you also remember Xavier? Maybe you weren’t particularly sure, it wouldn’t really make sense for him to be there, but you were sure you remembered seeing him.

Eventually, you gain a full sense of consciousness. Surprisingly, your body doesn’t ache like it has been and there isn’t an immense pressure in your head. You attempt to sit up when you notice a hand holding onto your arm, and attached to the hand was Sylus. A soft smile spreads on your face as you see him sitting most likely uncomfortably in a chair next to your bed. His head was laid beside you and his hand grasping onto your arm. You had no clue had long he had been there or how long he had been taking care of you. The pill bottles, half eaten soup and cups of water you don’t remember drinking or taking had to have come from somewhere and it wasn’t you.

“Ah, I see the kitten has finally stirred from her hibernation.” Sylus exhausted face meets your curious eyes.

“Yeah, I’m feeling much better.”  You say with a yawn and a stretch. The gaze he is giving you makes you feel small, causing you to turn away from him, “thank you”

His hand reaches out to grab your chin gently, “You had me worried, sweetie. You had a respiratory infection and pneumonia. What would have happened to you if I wouldn’t have come?” His jaw is set tight and you don’t think you would ever see the feared Onychinus leader looking scared. He was scared, scared he was going to lose you…...again.

“…… I’m sorry but you took care of me and I’m fine now. Yeah?” You say turning your head out of his hands in more embarrassment as you busy yourself with straightening out your night stand. As you pick up the bottle of pills, you notice you see that Zayne prescribed these. You glance between the bottle and then at Sylus.

He scoffs before taking the bottle from your hand, putting it back down “Well of course I had to reach out to your doctor. Your fever wouldn’t go down.”

“But you hate Zayne?”  You questioned as you tilt your head in a way that was way too cute for Sylus.

“I do not hate the doctor. I just don’t like how friendly he is with you on the occasion.” He scoffs at the giggle you let out, “And I’m aware that you are childhood friends, but the man should have some boundaries”

That makes you laugh even harder, not THE Sylus Quin talking about boundaries. He wouldn’t know a boundary if it shot him in the heart. It was sweet, he was being so sweet.

“Yeah, I thought seeing him was just a fever dream I was having actually. Funny enough, I thought I also saw my friend Xavier here.”

The noise that leaves Sylus had you holding back the biggest laugh that you could possibly muster. So in fact you had not imagine Xavier, he had actually been there and surprisingly Sylus let him in.

“Another one of your ‘friends’ who needs to work on their boundaries. He came over in the middle of the night questioning about your whereabouts after sending you NUMEROUS texts and phone calls. He was insistent on seeing you or he would have gotten your little hunter association involved and I didn’t think you would want that.” He groans with this cute pout on his face. “It seems you have a lot of these type of ‘friends’ who lack any type of boundaries. You should work on that sweetie.”

You reach out to grab his face making him look at you, his gaze softened when he saw your face “Thank you for taking care of me, Sy.”

He grabs your hand a places a small kiss upon the back of it, “Of course Kitten”

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Body Insecurity/Appreciation

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @roseblue373. 💜 It's a special one to me personally, being plus-sized myself and having gone through my share of insecurities. Wish I had one of these guys to make it better lol!~

Prompt/Request: Great job with the latest Dean/Beau/Ben reacts vignettes! I'd love to see one where reader has put on weight and isn't happy with their body, and how each would make her feel better!! IF the muse agrees, of course! ❤️

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to your body insecurity.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Established relationship, body insecurity (but also body appreciation), thicc thirty, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, spiciness/smuttishness.

Dean Winchester

You've started breezing past mirrors when you get out of the shower.

Because if you catch sight of your own reflection, you can't help but utter a sigh, your lips dipping into a frown.

In the privacy of the room you share with Dean in the bunker, you take a risk in unwrapping the towel from your body in front of the mirror.

You inspect yourself with growing dejection, noting all the places that are rounder, heavier, less firm than they used to be.

Looks like no amount of running down leads and killing monsters has been enough to keep you in shape.

Too much shitty fast food, too many times you indulged yourself with snacks and dessert alongside your foodie boyfriend.

"What'cha doin', sweetheart?" Dean asks. He steps into the room while wiping donut icing from the corner of his mouth.

Speak of the devil.

When Dean finally catches you frowning at yourself in the mirror, you inhale sharply and close the towel back up.

"Nothing. Just need to get dressed," you reply quickly. "Shower's open."

You try to offer him a smile, despite the pang of jealousy when you eye him.

He gave you the first chance at the shower after the latest case wrapped up, so he's still wearing most of his FBI suit, sans jacket. The white dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows, a few days of scruff neatly trimmed across his cheeks.

The man can cram an entire pizza down his gullet and wash it down with three slices of apple pie, not to mention countless beers. And still, Dean stays looking downright edible.

By comparison, you feel...fat. Like you've let yourself go.

You turn away from him to grab your well-worn sweatpants and an oversized shirt; you plan to change alone in the bathroom, but Dean grabs your arm.

"Who says you need to get dressed?" he says, popping his brows with a suggestive grin. He slips his arms around your waist, but your instinct is to shy away from his hold. You chuckle awkwardly and avoid his now curious gaze.

"Sorry, babe. Um...I'm wiped. I just want to get to bed," you say.

But Dean isn't fooled. His spidey sense is tingling, and his gut is almost never wrong.

His hand slides down your arm and grasps your hand, tugging you back into his arms. You utter a little gasp, but you ultimately smile at his familiar grin. There's a perceptive gleam in his eyes though.

"You know, seems like you've been pretty wiped lately," he says, raising a brow. "It's been a while since we, uh..."

He waggles his brows playfully, squeezing your hips. You want to smile, but you can't let yourself. You can't quite look at him either.

For Dean, it's another glaring red flag. His lips form a frown, and he dips his chin to find your eyes.

"Hey," he says. "What's goin' on? Talk to me."

His tone is so sincere, you have to blink against the sting of tears. Your lower lip wobbles, and Dean frowns in earnest. He presses a hand to your cheek and gets you to look at him with your watery eyes.

"Sweetheart, you gotta tell me what's wrong," he says, more gently, but serious.

Eventually, you're able to get it out. You can't bear the thought of him touching you, because lately, you can't even bear looking at yourself.

"I know I've been gaining weight, I just..." your voice breaks, and you gesture haphazardly at your body. "I'd get it if you're not really into this right now."

Dean's heart clenches. He's downright shocked at your confession, and more than a little disheartened. He presses a hand to your cheek and guides you to look at him.

"All right, hold up just one damn minute."

His calloused fingers gently brush away your tears, but his hands keep moving, slowly traveling down your body. They slide down your bare arms, skimming the sides of your breasts.

Your breath hitches. Your hand is still fisted over your beating heart, keeping your towel closed. His hands continue to move, molding to the curve of your waist over the fuzzy fabric.

"I'll admit, we've been pretty busy lately with everything we've got going on. But if you think that means I'm ever not into this delectable, sexy, voluptuous, goddess body you got rockin' the house?" he says, grinning that utterly Dean grin of his.

You bite your lip against a bubble of laughter. He's too fucking much sometimes.

Dean tugs you closer, until your hips fit snugly against his through his slacks. His tall, broad frame crowds you. His lips skim your cheek, then over your lips in a tease.

He squeezes the flesh of your hips, tender and sensuous.

Your heart flutters at the feeling.

"Mmm, I like you nice and soft," he murmurs against your cheek, close to your ear. "Feels that much better when I fuck you."

A small gasp gets trapped in your throat, while the gravel depths in his voice go straight to your pussy in a pulsing throb of warmth.

By the time he claims your lips in a devouring kiss, you're all too willing to let him peel your towel open, drop it to the floor, and guide you backwards onto the bed.

There he'll take his time, forging yet another mental map of every plush square inch of you.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a busy man. You understand that.

As Sheriff, his job demands a lot from him. He's also a father and has an ex-wife to contend with. (You knew that going in, and you've come to love Emily too.)

However, you can't help but start to take it personally when your sex life begins to suffer. He's often claimed being tired...but there's another suspicion that's been taking root in your mind, feeding your doubts and insecurities about how your boyfriend sees you, and about how you see yourself.

When you slip into bed at night, a kiss goodnight is all he gives you lately, before he's sighing deeply and closing his eyes, his soft snores soon filling the room.

One night, you try touching his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his bearded cheek. He hums at the pleasant feeling.

"You wanna...?" You trail the question in his ear, pressing more sweet kisses down his neck.

"Aw, sweetheart," he groans. "I'd like to, but I think I'd just smother you. I'm about to pass out."

You huff a laugh. You teasingly walk two fingers across his chest. "What if I make it easy for you?"

You shift onto your side. Resting a hand on his chest, you lean down to kiss him. He hums at the softness of it, but the more passion you try to imbue into each new kiss, Beau isn't as responsive as you would like. Eventually, you stop all together.

You frown, becoming disheartened. "You're not into this, I guess."

He opens his tired eyes, gazes up at you in apology. He opens his mouth to reply, but you beat him to it.

"You know it's been a month since we've had sex," you say.

Beau frowns, sliding a hand up your back. Only now does he notice, with appreciation, the familiar silky négligée you're wearing.

"Nah, that doesn't sound right," he says.

"Well, it is," you say. "I know you say you're tired, but I mean, you've had this job for as long as I've known you, Beau." Your eyes fall away from him. "So is the job, or...is it me?"

Beau's brows furrow. "Now wait a minute."

The mere thought dredges up what's been plaguing your mind recently, and it has your throat tightening. Tears of embarrassment and upset well up in your eyes, no matter how much you try to push it down.

You push away from him and turn away, crossing your arms. You try not to look at yourself in what used to be your favorite lingerie.

You can't stand the extra weight you've put on, mostly in your hips and ass, but in your middle and arms too.

You've gone through your own stress at work this year, with less and less time to try and take care of yourself, along with making sure Emily gets to and from school, cooking for the three of you, going to PTA meetings when Carla can't make it (since Beau often can't), and every other proverbial hat you wear.

Beau follows you, sitting up and laying a hand on your back. "Sweetheart--"

"I know I've put on a few. Hell, more than a few," you admit, hastily wiping under your eyes. "God, I can't even look at myself right now, let alone have you--"

"Hey. You stop right there," Beau says, more firmly. He gets you to turn around with his hand on your shoulder. He doesn't like the way you're curled in on yourself, as if hiding your body from his gaze.

That, and the sight of your tears damn well break his heart.

He cups the side of your face gently and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, followed closely by your lips.

You don't want to melt, but you just can't help it. You cling to the front of his shirt and lean into his kiss, like you've been lost in the desert, and his lips hold the breath of life.

You almost don't realize it when his arms slip around your waist. He earns a surprised yelp from you when he gathers you close against his chest and rolls you underneath him.

You land against the pillows in a huff. You stare up at his playful smile, his green eyes glinting with amusement, with fondness, and also with desire as they roam over your breasts, barely contained by dark green satin and lace.

"I've been neglecting you, haven't I?" he says. His voice is a low, earthy drawl as his gaze rakes over you. His big hand runs down your side and over your hip, then down your bare thigh, squeezing soft, tender flesh. He slips that hand under the satin night gown.

His hand can't span your entire thigh, but it's not for lack of trying. Your heart beats a staccato rhythm at the way he looks at you, your breath hitching when his thumb dips between your legs, brushing against the damp, silky fabric of your panties.

"It's not because I don't find you sexy as hell. Believe me, darlin', I do," he says. "You're so fuckin' beautiful, especially when you're all laid out for me here."

And he means what he says. You know it by the hardness you feel pressing against your hip. You slip your fingers into his hair with a sigh.

He bows his head to press kisses along your neck; down and down, he noses at the thin strap of your night gown. His path of kisses continue, and he indulges himself by dipping his tongue between the valley of your breasts.

"Filling out this lacy little thing so nice," he murmurs into your skin.

Your upset has turned to abject relief, but you still have to blink away the remaining urge to cry.

You let out a slightly tremulous breath.

"Oh, yeah?" you ask.

Beau pauses. He pulls away, just so he can look up and meet your eyes. He still finds insecurity in yours, so he meets you with a kiss filled with heat and intent.

He's now wide awake. He plans to take his sweet time taking you apart, inch by inch.

In fact, in the back of his mind, he also plans to do better about letting his deputies help him out more at the precint so he can have a better work-life balance.

(Because going a whole damn month without the taste of you is "no bueno," in his words.)

Soldier Boy (Ben)

The man may not be very patient, or particularly perceptive, but he's not an idiot.

At least, not about sex.

He knows that you've been feigning tiredness, and generally avoiding his touch.

What's strange is that you haven't been avoiding him. You still cook for him, still share conversation with him, still insist on having him spoon you on the couch while catching him up on the past four decades of TV shows and movies.

But when he begins to sneak a hand under your oversized shirt (an old one of Ben's), caressing your hip, then dipping down to your softer stomach on the way to your panties, breaking your concentration from the movie as unease laces down your spine.

You grab his wrist on reflex, instead lacing your fingers together.

"What's the matter now?" he asks.

You look over your shoulder at him and find him frowning at you, a divot between his brows. You don't manage to hold his gaze for long.

"Sorry," you say quietly. "I'm just, um, tired."

Ben doesn't believe you, and he's direct when he calls you out on it.

Reluctant to put what you've been feeling into words, you pause the movie and leave the couch (and him) behind.

Ben is annoyed enough to follow you (and underneath, he hides an edge of concern). The conflict leads into the bedroom, where you're still unwilling to open up.

He finally stops you from walking away from him, pinning you against the dresser by your hips. He practically looms over you as he demands an answer. He knows you're hiding something — something that's had you reluctant to let him touch you.

"Is there something you wanna tell me?" he says, a raw edge of warning in his tone. "What, are you fucking somebody else?"

Shock flashes in your eyes, making you angry. "What? No!"

"Well, you seem to be getting your fill somewhere, and it hasn't been from me--"

"Are you fucking serious? I'm not..." Your lips purse. You're actually hurt that he would hurl that accusation your way--and it couldn't be farther from the truth.

You tug your long shirt downwards and cross your arms, but it's more like you're hugging yourself, shielding your body away.

Ben's brows furrow a little bit more.

Eventually you get it out; you haven't been feeling up to being intimate because you're having a hard time even looking at yourself lately.

"I know I need to, um, get back in shape," you say, taking in a shaky breath to try and steady yourself. Your throat constricts, the beginnings of tears stinging your eyes. You want to look at anywhere but at Ben. "I just haven't had much time, with everything going on. But Annie gave me this guide on some different diets, like intermittent fasting, Keto--"

"Fasting," Ben intones. "What, you wanna fucking starve yourself? What the fuck is Keto?"

You sigh, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"No, not starve myself. And Keto's just..." The idea of trying to explain the new diet craze to your boyfriend is too daunting a task to consider. "Never mind. The point is, I have a plan. My hips, my thighs, my ass--"

Ben squeezes your hips at the mention of them. He happens to like the softness.

"Yeah, you've got a little extra. So fucking what?" he says, his voice deep and exacting as his gaze roams over your body. "Just gives me more to hold onto when I'm fucking you."

You utter a shocked laugh. "Ben!"

He grins lazily, and he turns you this way and that, admiring you from all angles. In his eyes, he doesn't find a side he doesn't like. You can't help but blush hotly under his gaze.

"Sweetheart, do whatever you want if it makes you feel good. But you don't need to starve yourself." His hands move to your ass, squeezing a bit harder on the plush flesh.

A yelp escapes you; he's pressing into you from the front as well, and you feel him heavy and already half-hard against you. You grab onto his arms for stability as your breaths quicken.

His attitude kind of surprises you, even though it soothes the frayed, insecure part of your soul that wants to be as beautiful and attractive in his eyes as he is in yours.

Ben is literally a super soldier. You're actually kind of jealous. The man can drug and booze hard and eat whatever the hell he wants, but his super metabolism just seems to absorb it into his washboard abs.

(The more you think about it, the more you want to smack him.)

Nothing about him isn't hard and lean, muscle and strength.

Only his hands have a measure of gentleless when they're holding you like this.

"I've just got so many stretch marks now," you begin to complain, in an emotional whisper.

He snorts. "And? You think it's anything I haven't seen? I'm not afraid of a little cellulite either."

At that, your head tilts in consideration. Butcher's Granny Fucker remark comes to mind. You bite your lip against a smirk.

Ben crooks a curled finger under your chin. He guides you to meet his eyes, before he lures you into a lusty kiss.

It's somewhat rough because of his beard, but you still smile afterwards, leaning against him now.

"Ain't nothing about you that I can't handle," he adds, all smirking and cocky. To prove his point, he hooks those strong hands behind your thighs and lifts you onto the dresser.

You gasp and cling to his shoulders. From there, he makes quick work of ridding the oversized shirt from your body, revealing you to the cool air and his hot gaze.

You take his face in your hands and bring him in for an even steamier kiss, your heart lighter and trembling with anticipation.

You've held yourself from him long enough, Ben thinks, and he has every intention of devouring you right on your old dresser -- before you two even get to the bed.

AN: 😮‍💨 I feel like each of these could've been even longer with their own one-shot loll. I wrote the Midnight Espresso-verse for Dean, partially to explore what his relationship would be like with a plus-sized reader. 💖💖

Let me know which one you liked most this time!

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[moonlitwitchdaisy]

bodyguard!toji was a man who stood out wherever he went.

there were plenty of reasons for this. first of all, he was a genuinely big guy. with a build like that, it wasn’t surprising that heads turned the moment he stepped into any place. he was basically made for the job. the other reason? well, he was just ridiculously handsome.

after the latest scandal, your father had to take control of the family’s image. naturally, the most logical solution was to find a bodyguard who could actually keep you in check. you’d had bodyguards before, but none of them could handle your recklessness and carefree attitude.

but this mysterious man, so much older than you, was honestly a nightmare.

wherever you went, he was there. shopping? he’d be by your side even if you walked around for five hours. heading to a club? he’d show up to snatch your drink out of your hand if you drank too much. you’d tried to escape a few times, but it usually ended with him showing up in front of you by the tenth second, saying, “running away won’t work, ma’am,” and sticking to you like glue again.

in short, there was no escaping this man.

worse yet, he never said a word to you beyond the usual “good morning, ma’am,” “good evening, ma’am,” or “where are you headed, ma’am?” you weren’t in a position to be friends. for one, he was your bodyguard. and he was much, much older than you. the kind of age gap where having anything in common seemed impossible. not that you wanted friendship anyway. all you wanted was to feel like you weren’t completely alone.

“do you have friends, fushiguro?” you asked him as you sat in the car on the way home from meeting up with your friends.

“i can’t disclose any information about my personal life, ma’am,” he replied, short and to the point.

you laughed and teased, “it was just a simple question.”

your bodyguard turned his expressionless, intimidating face toward you. “please focus on deciding what you’ll wear for tonight’s gala, ma’am. your father requested you wear a navy-blue dress.”

“that old man controls everything about my life. what century does he think we’re living in? and why are you telling me this now?” the fact that your father had informed your bodyguard instead of you about what you should wear annoyed you.

“i mentioned it yesterday morning, ma’am.”

shit, did he? you didn’t remember a thing. “you can call me by my name, fushiguro. you’re older than me, after all.”

his face remained unreadable. “noted, ma’am.”

you frowned at his stubbornness. “didn’t you just hear what i said?”

in his usual stern tone, he responded, “i heard you, ma’am.”

“gosh…” you leaned back against the leather seat, looking out the window. “you’re never going to stop calling me ‘ma’am,’ are you, fushiguro?”

“never, ma’am.”

once again, you were reminded that having anything close to a normal conversation with this man was hopeless.

that evening, as you applied your makeup for the gala, your eyes wandered to the navy-blue dress hanging in your dressing room closet. it was just as your father wanted. the velvet, sleeveless gown was elegant and definitely gave off the impression of being “the daughter of one of the most important families in the world.” you actually loved the dress. what you didn’t love was your father dictating even the color of your outfit.

after one last look in the mirror, you headed to your dressing room to get dressed. shrugging off the satin robe, you slipped into the gown that lightly tickled your skin. your hand reached for the zipper at the back, trying to pull it up.

but that’s as far as you got.

no matter how much you tried, the zipper refused to move. it must’ve gotten caught in the fabric. grumbling to yourself about having to take the dress off to fix it, a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. that familiar stern, respectful voice called out.

“ma’am, are you ready?”

you would be. if the zipper would cooperate, you’d definitely be ready.

“uhh, just a second! i’m having a minor fashion emergency.”

“is everything all right, ma’am?” this time, his voice sounded concerned.

“yeah, yeah, i just… my zipper’s stuck, but i’ll handle it. please wait a moment, fushiguro.”

there was a brief silence. while still trying to fix the zipper without taking the dress off, you heard him again. “ma’am, if you wish, i can assist you.”

honestly, help sounded really good right now.

“a little help would be great!” you called out in relief, and the door slowly opened.

toji stepped in, wearing his perfectly tailored black suit. of course, he was always in a suit. come to think of it, you’d never seen him in casual clothes.

his sharp eyes scanned the room before landing on you, standing by the mirror in your dressing area, holding up the gown to keep it from slipping. without wasting a second, he walked over, stepping behind you. his hands hovered over your loose hair, silently asking for permission before gently moving it to the front.

you regretted asking for help immediately because now your heart was racing.

you couldn’t understand why. sure, he was handsome, muscular, and incredibly mature, but you’d never been this flustered around him before.

toji’s large hands quickly fixed the stuck zipper, but he didn’t pull it up right away. you weren’t sure why he hesitated. he should’ve just zipped it and ended this. stealing a glance in the mirror, you saw your handsome bodyguard swallowing hard, as if he was battling some inner turmoil, like he thought he was doing something wrong.

his thick fingers finally gripped the zipper, pulling it up slowly. you dropped your gaze to the floor, feeling every slight touch of his fingers against your skin. the slow movements only made things worse, as if he was deliberately savoring the contact.

this was definitely wrong. you shouldn’t have felt butterflies in your stomach. your heart shouldn’t have raced faster with every light graze of his fingers against your back. in fact, he shouldn’t have been the one helping you at all.

when he finally zipped the dress up to the top, his fingers lingered on the zipper. you kept your eyes down, but you could feel his intense gaze through the mirror.

“you look beautiful, ma’am. your father will be pleased with your choice,” he said in his usual deep, stern tone, though it was softer than usual.

“thank you.” your eyes flickered to the mirror, locking onto his green ones. for the first time, his usually stoic and unreadable eyes seemed to hold something unsaid.

“you’re welcome, ma’am.” his hand moved away from the zipper, but not before his fingers brushed against the bare skin of your arm. his movements were deliberate, as if he wanted to savor the warmth of your skin for just a second longer.

you kept staring at him through the mirror. when his fingers reached your wrist, they paused. his calloused fingertips traced small circles there, and without breaking eye contact, he leaned slightly toward the side of your exposed neck.

“every color you wear suits you, princess, but this one… this one’s the best yet.”

you forgot how to breathe. how to speak. all you could do was stand there, frozen, feeling his calloused fingers brush against your wrist and the weight of his words settle into your chest.

then, just like that, he stepped back, severing all contact. “please put on your shoes. i’ll be waiting downstairs, ma’am.”

even after he left the room, you stood there in front of the mirror, completely still. whatever had just happened, you couldn’t make sense of it. was it the way he touched your skin, or was it the compliment? you didn’t know. all you knew was that you stood there like an idiot, reliving the moment.

but the thing that stuck with you the most? it wasn’t the touch, the compliment, or the lingering gazes.

it was the way he’d called you “princess.”

so many people had called you that before, but hearing it from bodyguard!toji felt entirely different. it was like indulging in something you weren’t supposed to have. a sinful kind of pleasure.

for the first time in your life, in a world where you despised being controlled, you found yourself wishing to be held back by someone.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[filmnings]

firstly,, THIS WAS SO GOOD. like i’m blow away. the fact that she was so against him, fought against him and every urge she had for him tooth and nail but relented in the end and made her feel sick… i love the characterization so bad. like damn i felt like i was getting gaslighted reading it, couldn’t even imagine how she felt. like he literally showed up at her door after she was hiding from him!!! talk about crazy. and that friend who gave out where she lives WILL be dealt with.

your writing is so pretty and i still can’t get over that ending line. it’s like,,, he’s so perfect and does all these things for her and says all these sweet words and is the perfect image of perfection yet she knows what the truth is when the gilded mirror shatters and she get a look at his blooded and bruised body. top tier writing and characterization!!!!!

hehe now into the live reading reactions! (◕ᴥ◕)

“There’s only one person who would ever show up at your door this late at night, and you’ve done everything you possibly could to avoid him for the past four months.” immediately i’m calling the cops.

“You hadn’t told him your new address, hadn’t spoken to him since the day you packed up your daughter and what little you had and left him, never looking back.” STALKER???? omg how did he even find her

“The knocking only gets louder and more aggressive to the point that you begin to worry that he’ll wake the baby.” if he wakes the baby i’m pulling out my bazooka and showing him a real bang

“blood drips into his bruised, swollen eye from a large cut on his forehead, just barely visible behind his wet hair sticking to his skin.” giggles and kicks feet—WAIT NO. sighs i love when they’re bruised and bloodied and miserable it makes them 10x hotter

“Don’t fucking call me that, Christopher. Answer my question.” OOOOOOOOOO NOT CHRISTOPHER

“You had a sneaking suspicion of just exactly where he had gotten that money from” MONEY TALKS~~~ DIRTY CASH I WANT YOUU DIRTY CASH I NEED YOU~~~~

“Who told you where I live.” “…A friend. Please, just take it.” that friend has 5 seconds to show themself before i light up the whole world

“You slide submissively to the side, open the creaking door open further for him to step into your living room.” i fear id let him in too

“I just want to see my baby girl.” excuse me you heathen????? you troglodyte??????????

“Something warm and heady swirls in your gut, unwelcome but in no way unpleasant.” she’s thinking about having his kid again LMAOOO me too

“I’ve been looking for you two for months. How am I supposed to keep you safe, my baby safe? I had to track my family down like dogs. What kind of mother keeps a father away from their child?” oh bitch please gtfo.

“She’s not your fucking baby, Chris! That’s my baby. Mine. You made that call before she was even born. You’re not her family, you’re hardly even her father— you’re nothing to her.” EXACTLYY!!! tell him!!!!

“You scoff. “If you really care that much about “our future”, you would have stopped this. Fighting for these clubs. The racing, the gangs. You would have listened to me and left it all behind, gotten a real job. Show me that you actually give a shit and aren’t just blowing smoke up my ass. You’re addicted to this, all of it. It’s sick.”” TELL HIMMMMM!!!!!!

“”Get out.” Surprisingly, he does. He takes one last long look at your fussing daughter before slowly turning and shuffling out of the nursery.” AND DONT COME BACK!!!!!!! (please do)

“All the muddy shoeprints and puddles of rainwater.” THE ASSHOLE DIDNT EVEN TAKE HIS SHOES OFF??????

“I know you still love me.” Chan professes boldly, a wild spark in his eye. “I know you do, baby— you know I love you too. More than anything. Why won’t you let this— us—work? Why are you trying to run away from me?” hehehehehe id fold like a fucking lawn chair LIKE…. “i know you do, baby” FOLDED.

“I’ve missed you so bad… please, baby, don’t ever leave me like that again.” GODDDDD keep begging

“Your eyes flutter closed as you bask in Chan’s affection, preen under his loving gaze and delight in the way he cradles you as if you were made of glass— you feel so precious yet so fragile, yielding to a man strong enough to shatter you completely, leave you nothing but a pile of dust and broken shards.” this paragraph. woah.

“All you can think of is how passionately Chan devoured you, the force of his kiss almost punishing, like a soldering heat that bonds metal. Yet it felt like anything but a punishment, doused in a honeyed sweetness that called to you like a drug, dragged you under the waves of dreamy tenderness, filled your head with thoughts of how good it would feel to let yourself drown.” YEAHHHHHHH, also, this last sentence oh my god

“Come on, say it. Say you want me.” AHHHHHH

“C’mon, tell Daddy how badly you missed this.” i was just found dead. DADDY KINK LOVERS!!!!!!!!!

““Tell me you love me.” Chan grunts abruptly” OH????

“You feel weightless, floating, satisfied… and that makes you feel sick.” THIS ENDING LINEEEEEEE.

THIS WAS SO FUCKING GOOD HELLO??!??!!!

𝓑US𝓣 𝓨𝓞UR 𝓚N𝓔𝓔 𝓒A𝓟S 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 방찬

you can't seem to get away from your ex husband, no matter how hard you try.

⧼ 🩹 ⧽ 一 𝓹a𝓲r𝓲n𝓰 ⸝⸝⸝ ex husband!bang chan 𝓍 fem!reader 𝓲nc𝓵u𝓭e𝓼 ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ unnamed oc daughter

𝓰e𝓷𝓻e ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ non-idol au, smut, angst, porn with plot

𝔀arn𝓲n𝓰𝓼 ⸝⸝⸝ dubcon, street fighter and underground boxer!chan, criminal!chan, mentions of jail and gangs, graphic descriptions of blood and injury, toxic and possessive behavior, toxic ex!chan, manipulation, explicit language and sexual content, soft dom!chan, degredation and praise kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampies, dirty talk, breeding kink, impregnation mentions, clit slapping, daddy kink, squirting 𝔀𝓸r𝓭 c𝓸un𝓽. 6. 2 k | ⧼ 🥊 ⧽ 一 𝓽𝓸 𝓵i𝓫rar𝔂.

♫ 𝓫u𝓼𝓽 𝔂𝓸ur 𝓴nee ca𝓹𝓼 ❪ 𝓳o𝓱nn𝔂 𝓭on'𝓽 𝓵eave 𝓶e ❫ 一 𝓹𝓸m𝓹𝓵am𝓸𝓸𝓼e

[n𝓸𝓽e𝓼.] my first fic on my new blog! something shorter to start out with <3 this took me a little too long to write i'm afraid since it's my first go at angst themes but i'm pretty proud of how this turned out! this isn't proofread, so please lmk if there are any mistakes! feedback is greatly appreciated <3

THE KNOCK ON THE door makes your heart fall to the pit of your stomach, cutting through the peaceful quiet of your kitchen like a knife. You drop the pot you were scrubbing in shock, clanging loudly as you grip the edges of the sink in a futile attempt to calm the pounding of your heart. At first you think— hope— that you were simply just hearing things, your little skyline apartment falling back into an uncertain silence sprinkled with the pouring rain outside, an atmosphere that no longer felt comfortable. But the knocking starts again, loud enough to be mistaken as thunder, ringing in your ears like alarm bells. You nearly jump out of your skin, your hands shaking as they reach out to turn off the water faucet. There’s only one person who would ever show up at your door this late at night, and you’ve done everything you possibly could to avoid him for the past four months.

It couldn’t possibly be him. It had to be someone else, your landlord or a neighbor or a maintenance man or anyone. You hadn’t told him your new address, hadn’t spoken to him since the day you packed up your daughter and what little you had and left him, never looking back. But you hadn’t called for maintenance, and you hadn’t heard from your landlord, and the way that his fist beat on the door as if it had somehow offended him was unmistakable.

You consider, for a split, mindless moment, that you could simply ignore him. He’s just a man, after all— a weak, spineless one at that, underneath that intimidating façade he loves to hide behind. He’ll give up and leave eventually, you try to convince yourself, but you know him far too well to fall into that blind hope. The knocking only gets louder and more aggressive to the point that you begin to worry that he’ll wake the baby.

The thought alone is enough to get your blood boiling, a red-hot anger overtaking any amount of fear or trepidation that kept you back. You refused to let this coward affect your daughter, wake her up without a single thought or care when you had just spent hours gently rocking her to sleep. Not after everything you’ve went through to keep him away from her.

You hurl the sponge into the sink with a scowl before spinning around and storming to the door. You wrench it open mid-knock, leaving the man on the other side of it standing there with his fist outstretched and blinking at you owlishly.

The sight of him shocks you to your core, despite how much you had tried to prepare yourself— blood drips into his bruised, swollen eye from a large cut on his forehead, just barely visible behind his wet hair sticking to his skin. The rain washes it away, down his chin to drip onto your welcome mat, staining it a faded red in the outline of his scuffed sneakers. He’s drenched down to the bone, the sharp ridges of his pecs and abs visible through his white tee shirt, the thin dark jacket he had draped across his shoulders doing little to protect him from the ever-worsening downpour. His dominant hand he curls protectively against his bloody abdomen; the knuckles are busted, and his pinky finger is twisted unnaturally to the side.

You look back up to his face just in time for him to flash you a weak, wobbly smile, a wounded ghost of the ones that used to send your heart soaring and fill your stomach with butterflies. His plump bottom lip is split down the middle, a jagged crater that threatens to open even further with every movement he made.

“Hey.” he croons, dropping his fist to his side, pained little smile dropping into more of a wince.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” you hiss venomously, praying to any god that would listen that he couldn’t tell how badly you were shaking. “How the fuck did you get my address? Go away before I call the cops. I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

“Come on, baby, wait—” you try to slam the door shut, but he catches it with ease, and even one-handed he’s stronger than you could ever hope to be.

“Don’t fucking call me that, Christopher. Answer my question.” You sneer, biting back hot, painful tears.

If any of your words hurt him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he extends his wounded hand, prying open his fingers with some effort to present you a bloody, crumpled wad of bills.

“For her.” He says simply.

Your eyes rake over the bills as if they were alien, hardly able to muster up the breath needed to scoff at him incredulously. “I don’t want your dirty money.”

You had a sneaking suspicion of just exactly where he had gotten that money from, it was written all over his busted, bleeding face— under no circumstances would you line your pockets with the bettings from street fights, feed and clothe your daughter with money that people had shed blood for. You had told him this when you had left him, given him the choice to leave it all behind or lose everything.

He chose the streets, and you kept your promise.

Yet you don’t have the strength to slam the door in his face, no matter how much you ached with the desire. Chan keeps the bills outstretched, the blood-smeared faces printed on them winking up at you, taunting you.

“Who told you where I live.”

“…A friend. Please, just take it.” He whispers, just short of begging. “I know how badly you need it. He told me you were struggling.”

“You don’t know anything.” you spit, but there’s no fire behind your words anymore. The rain has put it out, left you defeated, feeling betrayed, admiring how the streaks of lightning illuminate Chan’s hunched over silhouette. Your mind wracks itself for whichever one of his goons could have possibly caught sight of you, but you come up empty. You fear he may have found you through an inside source.

 Thunder booms in the distance, much like your heart. The helpless, desperate look in Chan’s big brown eyes sends the rest of your defenses crumbling to dust.

he tries to shuffle his way inside, and you let him— everything inside of you yells at you to stop him, shove him away and close the door, never to look at him again. But you don’t. You slide submissively to the side, open the creaking door open further for him to step into your living room. No matter how hard you try to convince your muscles to move or your mouth to open and retort, all you can do is stand frozen by the door, watching with wide eyes as he drips blood onto the carpet.

He tosses the stack of cash onto the coffee table, the bills unfurling and flying everywhere. You count sixty, maybe seventy thousand won, all those zeroes staring up at you as your mouth goes agape.

You had been losing sleep for days over having to tell your landlord that you would be late on rent for the third time this year. Somehow, you feel like Chris knows that, though it was impossible to tell how— it brought you back to all the times before where you swore that he could read your mind.

It seems that he still could, even out in those dark alleyways, on the other side of the city. Tethered to him. Just what you were afraid of.

“You’re getting blood everywhere,” you finally manage to say, your usually strong voice timid and weak. “at least let me clean you up.”

Mindlessly, you scamper back to your kitchen, bending down to rummage through the cabinet beneath the sink. your first aid kit was still in there somewhere, hidden behind a mountain of cleaning supplies and spare bottles, something from your old life that you had held on to just in case. It was as if you were moving in a trance, just sheer muscle memory, the situation all too familiar; you couldn’t count the amount of times Chan had come home just like this before, back when you were still together, beaten and staggering but grinning victoriously as you carefully clean and bandage him up. It used to excite you, even, in some sick, dark way. He never lost a fight.

But that was before you had gotten pregnant. Before the danger that lurked beneath the surface of your husband’s lifestyle creeped up on you and became all too real.

“I’m fine.” Chan replies gruffly, though the pain in his voice suggests otherwise. “I just want to see my baby girl.”

Your fingers freeze around the first aid kit, all the heat and color draining from your face. “You’re not seeing her.”

“You can’t keep me from her.” Chan replies coldly. “She’s my daughter, too.”

You jump to your feet so fast that your vision goes fuzzy, spinning around to watch with wild eyes as he balances his good hand on the wall and limps his way to the nursery. You hate how he still remembers where it is.

He smears a trail of blood across your tattered wallpaper. The sight of it shocks you into action.

“You get away from her!” You snarl, nearly leaping across the dining table to grab onto the sleeve of Chan’s jacket. “Don’t you dare go anywhere near her!”

He shoves you off effortlessly, his sheer strength nearly sending you flying back against the wall. “Stop acting like I’m going to hurt her.” He growls, making it to the nursery door in the time it takes for you to regain your senses. “You know I’d never let anyone lay a single fucking finger on her.”

He quietly cracks the door open and steps inside, leaving you to follow him biting your tongue— you can’t bear the thought of her waking up, especially now with Chan in the room. She hasn’t seen her father since she was born, and that was only because he had forced his way inside of the delivery room. He was essentially a stranger to her.

And, quite frankly, how she might react if she lays eyes on him again scares the shit out of you.

Chan staggers to the crib, quiet as a mouse, his large frame bending over the railings to look down into it. Your daughter lay on the mattress peacefully asleep, her little chest rising and falling with her soft, steady breaths. You’ve stared at her for hours before, studying every freckle, every wispy eyelash that brushed against her rosy, round cheeks. The way her nose is already starting to look like her father’s, his dimples forming around the upturned corners of her dainty little lips, always giving the impression that she was enjoying her dreams. Whatever they were, you took some comfort in knowing that they were, they’re better than what waits for her when she opens her eyes.  

Chan is nothing short of entranced, grabbing ahold of the crib’s railings with both hands, so tightly that his cracked knuckles were threatening to split back open. He gazes at her sleeping little form with a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before— a fire burning, but not one that hurt or destroyed. Not anything like the fire in his eyes you were used to. It was one that warmed and protected, the watchful, dutiful stare of a weathered knight in armor.

Something warm and heady swirls in your gut, unwelcome but in no way unpleasant. You fixate on his face, unable to look away, and watch awe-stricken as your ex-husband refamiliarizes himself with his daughter’s face.

“She’s grown.” He whispers, undoubtedly able to feel you breathing over his shoulder. His voice is flat and lifeless, but it starts to break at the end— he blinks hard, and you swear for a second that you saw his eyes shiny with tears.

“Oh, she’s a monster.” You reply easily, the rampant emotions swirling around in your head calming down at the sight of your baby peacefully sleeping. Talking about her is soothing, almost therapeutic. “Always hungry. The doctor says she’ll be nearly nine kilograms by the time she’s six months.”

“My little girl… she was so tiny in my arms…” Chan laments, lowering his eyes to look down at his hands. It was like he was looking at someone else’s, shocked by the dirty, bloodied state of them. He suddenly wrenches them from the railings and shoves them in his soaked jacket pockets, the act causing him to grimace with pain. In the peripherals of your vision, you see faint bloody fingerprints smeared across the white wood.

You struggle to keep your voice calm. “She’s gotten so big so fast… it feels like that day was just yesterday.”

Chan’s gaze hardens and grows cold again, his head spinning to stare you down with an ironclad sharpness. “Not to me!” he spits, gritting his jaw. “Not when you wouldn’t let me ever fucking see her, wouldn’t tell me where you were, how you were doing. I’ve been looking for you two for months. How am I supposed to keep you safe, my baby safe? I had to track my family down like dogs. What kind of mother keeps a father away from their child?”

Your shoddy mask of calmness cracks, red hot anger flaring back up again and rising to the surface. Your voice trembles terribly, but the disgust in your words is palpable. “She’s not your fucking baby, Chris! That’s my baby. Mine. You made that call before she was even born. You’re not her family, you’re hardly even her father— you’re nothing to her.”

The last comment strikes a chord within him. He stalks towards you, his dark eyes boring into yours, all that stormy emotion churning in them focusing directly onto you. Chan isn’t exceptionally tall, but you feel so incredibly small underneath him; he looms over you like some kind of predator, his lip curling back into a nasty snarl. “I’m nothing to her because you made it that way.” He seethes, his deep voice growing louder and louder. “Don’t you ever try to put it in my baby’s head that I don’t love her. Stop trying to convince yourself, for fuck’s sake— you both are absolutely everything to me, you know that. Everything that I do is for our future.”

You scoff. “If you really care that much about “our future”, you would have stopped this. Fighting for these clubs. The racing, the gangs. You would have listened to me and left it all behind, gotten a real job. Show me that you actually give a shit and aren’t just blowing smoke up my ass. You’re addicted to this, all of it. It’s sick.”

“You don’t fucking get it, do you?” Chan sneers, shoving his face up against yours. “You just can’t get it into your dumb, pretty little head. What kind of “real job” is gonna take an ex-con? Even if they do, I wouldn’t make nearly as much money as I can out on the streets. All I want to do is provide for you and our daughter; can’t you see that? I’m doing what I have to do to survive. My own future is fucking ruined. You two are all I have left.”

“And you’ll ruin ours too!” you laugh incredulously, directly in his face. “With all your blood money and all the enemies you make. You’re going to get arrested and locked up again, destroy mine and my daughter’s lives— fuck, you’ll get us all fucking killed! What if someone you beat wants revenge?! These are dangerous people, Chris!”

“That’s what I’m trying to protect you from!!” Chan roars, slamming his fist against the crib’s guardrail. His voice and the loud thump startles you, all three of you— you and Chan both peer down into the crib to see your daughter’s peaceful sleeping face screw up, her mouth opening to let out a shrill wail as she kicks out her little chubby legs.

Chan’s face falls, all the bitterness and anger leaving his body in a rush, like he had a bucket of cold water poured over the head. He looks the part, anyway, still dripping wet from the rain, tearing his eyes away from your own to stare down at your daughter as if she were a ghost. Your rage overtakes you to the point it can no longer contain it, your entire body shaking as you manage to grit out two icy words;

“Get out.”

Surprisingly, he does. He takes one last long look at your fussing daughter before slowly turning and shuffling out of the nursery.  Your eyes bore holes into his back as he retreats, expecting him to turn around at any moment with some more nasty words to sling your way… but he never does. He stays completely silent as he shoulders open the door, doesn’t even turn to look back at you as it clicks shut behind him.

Part of you wants to follow him, chase him out snarling and snapping like some guard dog, but your daughter’s frightened little cries tug painfully at your heart strings. Tears of your own pool in your eyes as you carefully lift her out of her cot and snuggle her against your chest, soothing your hand down her quivering back as she hiccups into your sweater. “Shhh, it’s okay… you’re safe, Mommy’s got you…”

You rock her until she falls asleep again, fighting the entire time not to break out into sobs yourself, and when you finally place her back down into her crib and slip out of the nursery, you’re not at all surprised to see Chan still in your apartment, hunched over on the couch with his head in his hands.

Your apartment looks like a fucking crime scene. For the first time tonight you’re able to take everything in, all the blood dripped on the floor and smeared on the walls. All the muddy shoeprints and puddles of rainwater. The cabinets under the sink are still swung open, your first aid kit left forgotten on the kitchen floor.

You don’t have the energy to be mad at Chan anymore, your gaze lingering back on his weathered frame. You don’t have the energy to feel anything except empty. Depleted.

Wordlessly, you pick the first aid kit off the floor and make your way to Chan. He lets you cup his face without a fight, raise it out of his hands so you can dab an alcohol pad against the cut on his forehead. The sting makes him wince, but he doesn’t try to move away, looking up at you with eyes full of stars as you wipe away the dried blood from his skin. The dim lamp by the couch cast dark shadows across his handsome face, bathing him in a sensual, intimate light. You can’t bear to look back into them, the way they make your heart twist painfully in your chest, deep chocolate brown so effortless to get lost in. You busy yourself with bandaging up his forehead, and then his lip, and then his busted hand.

“Why are you doing this?” Chan whispers softly, the question making you stop in your tracks.

“I… don’t know.” You admit after a long pause. You do it without thinking, just like when he first stepped inside. Your natural response after seeing him hurt so many times before, playing nurse while he boasts to you about his triumphs, fills you with empty promises and proclamations of love. Your hero, swearing to you that you were his savior. Everything in you still aches to soothe him, heal his wounds and numb his pain, be his guardian angel like you used to be before his suffering became your own.

If he were addicted to the fighting, you would be addicted to what came after.

“I know you still love me.” Chan professes boldly, a wild spark in his eye. “I know you do, baby— you know I love you too. More than anything. Why won’t you let this— us—work? Why are you trying to run away from me?”

Your fingers pause in the middle of wrapping up his knuckles in gauze, quivering slightly as you let out an agonized sigh. “It’s not about whenever or not I love you, Chris. I have to put our daughter first. I have to make sure she’ll be safe and happy.”

You barely manage to finish bandaging up his hand, your knotting work far from the best. The minute you let go of him he pulls you right back, his big hands enveloping yours and squeezing tightly. “She will be, I promise. I’ll keep both of you safe, never let anything happen to either of you— I’ve got the means to keep you protected no matter what happens. You’re my everything… I’m so lost without you.”

His bandaged hand slides up to caress your cheek, his skin so bitterly cold. “Channie…” you warn, but you’re the weakest you’ve been all night. Chan can see it in your eyes.

“I was so fucking worried about you.” He continues softly, hushed like he was kneeling for confession. “I’ve missed you so bad… please, baby, don’t ever leave me like that again.”

Breaking feels a lot like letting go. Dropping all your fear and worry, any semblance of rational thought to finally allow yourself to nuzzle into Chan’s touch. He knows you too well, always knows exactly what to say to get your walls to come crashing down, what to do to when the smoke clears and you’re left defenseless amongst the rubble. Because, underneath all the piling resentment and hatred, the divorce, the distance you’ve been fighting for, you truly do still love him. You fear you always will.

Your eyes flutter closed as you bask in Chan’s affection, preen under his loving gaze and delight in the way he cradles you as if you were made of glass— you feel so precious yet so fragile, yielding to a man strong enough to shatter you completely, leave you nothing but a pile of dust and broken shards.

You’ve never felt safer.

“God, you’re so pretty…” he whispers awestruck, under his breath almost as if he were talking to himself. His thumb maps out the curve of your cheekbone, down, down, down to your pliant, pouting lips. The pad of it is hardened and calloused, rough against the soft skin of your bottom lip, but the sensation leaves you aching for more; you open your eyes to bat your eyelashes up at him, open your mouth to invite his thumb to creep inside.

The flash of carnal, animalistic lust in his eyes sends a wave of liquid fire coursing through you, down your spine to where it pools heavy in your belly. You purse your lips around his thumb and suck it in deeper, hollowing your cheeks as if you were sucking on something else entirely. Chan groans deep in his chest, his other fingers curling tight around your chin to pull you towards him. “Fuck. Come here, babygirl.”

You surge forward to capture your lips with his, and he meets you halfway; the pillow softness of his lips are hauntingly familiar against yours, yet somehow they feel completely brand new, like uncharted territory in a land you’ve ventured in countless times before. Any chastity is quickly tossed to the side with the heady sensation of his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, the warmth in your belly heightening into a wild swirl. You’re shocked by your own eager response, opening up immediately to let him ravish your mouth with a forceful domination that left you weak. He pulls you effortlessly onto his lap, your legs spreading to wrap instinctively around his waist, the closeness of your bodies maddening. Your blood pounded in your ears, leapt from your heart with a scalding fire, and made your body tremble, senses reeling as if you had short-circuited. Clashing emotions whirled around in your head, but your consciousness had left you the minute your lips made contact with his. All you can think of is how passionately Chan devoured you, the force of his kiss almost punishing, like a soldering heat that bonds metal. Yet it felt like anything but a punishment, doused in a honeyed sweetness that called to you like a drug, dragged you under the waves of dreamy tenderness, filled your head with thoughts of how good it would feel to let yourself drown.

You kiss him back with reckless abandon, hands reaching out to hold him, anywhere you possibly can— the wispy hairs at the base of his neck, the worn leather of his jacket, the grooves of his defined muscles through the fabric of his wet tee shirt. He crushes you against him, swallows you within his big beefy arms, one of his hands running down the small of your waist to grab a fat handful of your ass. You gasp against his mouth as his touches grow bolder, massaging the globes of your ass and guiding your hips to glide against his. The outline of his half-hard cock pokes at you through his jeans, growing thicker and stiffer with every passing second, pressed perfectly against the curve of your cunt. Your sleep pants are thin enough to where it feels like you’re wearing nothing at all, and when Chan cants his hips up his bulge grinds right against your clit. He does it again, and again, until you’re squirming helplessly against him, panting and moaning into his mouth.

“Chan, we can’t do this…” you manage to stutter out between kisses, the reality of the situation finally beginning to dawn on you again. But Chan ignores your plea, his lips leaving yours to sear a path down your neck and shoulders. He nibbles at your skin, kisses the pulsing hollow at the base of your throat, distracting you enough to slide one of his hands to cup your pussy.

“Yes we can.” He croons against your heated skin, hot tongue escaping between his lips to lick a tantalizing stripe up your neck. “I can feel how wet this pussy is, baby, how needy you are for me. Just let me in, princess, let me take care of you…”

He slides his fingers down your covered slit, your clothes sticking to your mound with your sopping juices, drenched to the point you can’t possibly hide your arousal. Your engorged clit aches, empty hole clenches around nothing… you whimper pathetically in defeat.

“Come on, say it. Say you want me.”

You really were nothing but an addict. Addicted to the power he holds over you.

“fuck, oh f-fuck— right there!”

Chan knows every single spot inside of you to make you scream, his thick cock hitting each one expertly with each of his powerful thrusts. The angle he has you bent in makes you see stars, his big rough hands clasped tight around your ankles to push your legs up against your chest and spread you wide open— he’s never fucked you this roughly before, his feet planted on the mattress to pound into you animalistically, but even then there’s still a bitter tenderness to the way he holds you up against him, gazes down at you in rapture as you fall apart beneath him.

“Yeah? Right there?” He coos, deep Aussie accent dripping with poisoned honey, “Feel me all the way in your tummy, baby? Feel this fat cock splitting you open? Fuck, you’re so tight, sucking me in. Greedy little cunt.” He lets go of one of your ankles to press down on the bulge he’s made in your belly, your trembling leg curling over his shoulder in ecstasy as the pressure in your core increases.

“So deep!” you hiccup stupidly in reply, fisting the sheets as your world explodes and shatters behind your eyelids. His bulbous cockhead slams repeatedly against your cervix in a punishing rhythm, so deep inside of you that you mindlessly fear that he’s pushed through and was fucking your womb. “Deep! S-so fucking big!”

Chan growls like a beast, his efforts doubling in speed and intensity, “Missed this cock, didn’t you, princess? God, listen to how fucking wet you are. Hear how badly this cunt needed me?”

He emphasizes his claim with a particularly harsh thrust, your pussy squelching obscenely around him and filling your dark, quiet bedroom with loud, filthy noises. “C’mon, tell Daddy how badly you missed this.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you worry that you’ll wake up the baby again. Chan fucks you loudly and shamelessly, like he doesn’t care that your daughter sleeps in the room just across the hall... the thought reignites your anger.  You want to accost him, defy him, tell him that you didn’t miss him at all. That you weren’t desperate for him to make you cum and finally leave you satisfied after months of frustration. That you didn’t think of him at night when you played with yourself, or when you took another man to your bed, because as much as it agonizes you no other man has ever made you feel as good as he does. But you couldn’t string the words together, could hardly even think with how pleasure coursed through every fiber of your being. Besides, Chan knows when you’re lying.

“M-missed your c-cock,” you admit between whimpers and moans, your face burning with shame and arousal. “M-missed Daddy’s cock so fucking much, needed it so bad— oh, fuck, Chris, Daddy, please—!”

Chan snatches your hips and tugs you roughly towards him, lifting your bottom half up off the bed to fuck into you impossibly deeper. Your mouth falls open in a gasp of sweet agony, arching your back and tossing your head against the pillows. The show of sheer strength gets you impossibly wetter, your juices coating his heavy balls as they clap wetly against your ass. “Good pussy.” He grunts, his fingers digging bruising indents into the flesh of your waist. “Love this pretty little pussy— gonna fuck it ‘til it’s molded to my cock. Gonna ruin you for anyone except for me. This cunt belongs to me, doesn’t it, baby? God, look at you… taking it like such a good girl.”

His words make your head spin, a searing need building in your core, molten lava beneath your skin heating your thighs and groin. It feels divine, better than you ever remember… but it’s not enough to send you over the edge, give you that release you crave so desperately. “Need more,” you keen, “More, Daddy, please!”

“Greedy girl.” Chan chuckles darkly, the sound going straight to your cunt. “Tell me what you need, baby, and I’ll give it to you.”

You can’t respond, fucked so stupid you don’t know what you’re begging for— Chan tsks like he’s disappointed, letting go of your hips with one hand to grab a rough fistful of your hair. He tugs your head up to look at him, dark eyes dripping with lust and delicious dominance; you struggle to keep your eyes open, your vision swimming and your eyelids drooping from the onslaught of pleasure Chan continues to pound into you. “Too dumb on cock to speak? C’mon, pretty girl, tell Daddy what you want him to do to you.”

He tugs on your hair again, pain erupting across your scalp. It blends with your pleasure to create a heady, dizzying cocktail of ecstasy. You cry out in delight, letting go of the bedsheets to scramble for something sturdier to hold on to, ground you— your hands find purchase on your own tits, bouncing with Chan’s thrusts, and you knead the plump flesh with a wanton sob, your fingers twisting and pinching at your nipples hard enough to make you shake.

“My clit!” you finally manage to whimper out, broken and pathetic. “My clit, my clit— touch me, touch my clit, please!”

He does as he promised, leaning back to spit messily on your clit before letting go of your hair to circle the bud with his thumb. Your head falls back limply onto the pillows, hazy eyes rolling back in your head as you sob and hiccup in uncontrollable pleasure.

“Gettin’ close, babygirl? I can feel it, pussy squeezing me so tight— I’m close too, fuck, gonna cum so fucking deep inside of you!” Chan’s thrusts grow sloppy, his chest heaving as he pants open-mouthed like a dog. “How about that, hm? Want me to put another baby inside of you? So everyone knows not to touch what’s mine? I’ll breed this pussy so fucking full you’ll be dripping my cum for days…”

His words should scare you, should break whatever spell he’s put you under and have you begging him to pull out. But you’ve slipped away from reality, floating mindlessly in an erotic fantasy you’ve convinced yourself is too good to be true. You don’t want to wake up, don’t want to think about what lies ahead of you once Chan leaves your bed once again. You babble and beg for his cum, for him to bring you to your own climax, scratching deep red marks into his chest. They look at home amongst all the bruises.

“Tell me you love me.” Chan grunts abruptly, the rhythm of his thrusts slowing down to barely moving, his cock dragging along your gummy walls deliciously buy far too slowly.

You blink up at him in shock and confusion. “H-huh?”

“Tell me you love me and I’ll make you cum.” He repeats, his eyes boring into yours, a knowing look in his eyes like he can see into your soul. “I love you so much, and I’m gonna show it with all this cum I’m gonna pump into this sweet cunt… don’t you love me too? Just say it and I’ll give you what you want, what you need…”

You’re just on the precipice of orgasm, teetering on the edge but unable to push yourself over, and your poor heart feels so exposed and raw… you can’t help but relent to him, succumb to his desires like you always do.

“I love you! I-I love you, Channie, Daddy, love you s-so much— ah!!”

His hips pick up to a speed that seems nearly superhuman, rutting into you wildly like an animal in heat as he grunts and groans, pinches your clit hard between his thumb and forefinger to make you scream. It feels so good, too good, and big watery tears roll down your cheeks as your body begins to vibrate with your orgasm. You’ve never cried during sex before.

“Let go, my love.” Chan croons, slapping your clit lightly. “Let it all out…”

Your orgasm hits you like a tsunami, a tidal wave of explosive hysteria— with a shriek you squirt everywhere, all over Chan’s hand, belly, thighs, creamy droplets flying with every nasty wet thrust. Your gummy walls spasm around his cock, sucking him in deeper as if to ensure you milk him dry. “That’s it, babygirl, cum for daddy!” Chan howls, intent on talking you through it even as he creeps closer and closer to climax himself. “Fuck yes, such a good girl, making a mess for me— gonna cum now, too, gonna breed this pussy! Ready for it? Gonna take it all, right princess?”

“Yes! Yesyesyes, please, please! Give it to me, daddy!”

He shoots his load deep inside of you with an animalistic growl, hot and thick painting your walls creamy white. It feels never ending, fat cock twitching with every spurt of seed he dumps into your womb, filling you up so much that thick globs of it spills out around him and drips down his balls to mix with the puddle forming on the soaked bedsheets. His legs give out and he collapses against you, gasping for breath with his face buried in your chest; you wrap your weak, trembling arms around his neck, and the two of you dissolve into breathless giggles as you slowly grind against each other ride out your highs. When Chan finally pulls out you see a foamy white ring around the base of his softening cock, sticking in his pubes.

You can feel your spent cunt leak his seed, dripping down your ass— Chan stares at in in awe, his fingers sliding up your sensitive folds to collect it and push it back inside.

“So beautiful…” he whispers, grinning as he admires your creamy bred pussy. His fingers at your hole makes you whimper in overstimulation, and you try to close your legs and squirm away, making him laugh. His eyes crinkle in that adorable way you hate to love so much. “You’re so beautiful.”

You don’t have the heart to make him leave, not when he runs you a warm bath and cleans you up so nicely. Not when he strips the bed and changes the sheets for you so you can lay comfortably, holding you close and whispering sweet nothings into your hair. Not as he promises to you that he’ll change, that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you in his arms, that white picket fences are just over the horizon. You feel weightless, floating, satisfied… and that makes you feel sick.

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[quarterlifekitty]

Okay listen all I’m saying is hiring the boys as a bodyguard. Not because you actually need guarding, but because you have the money and you’re lonely, damn it!

Besides, if you happen to admire them while they do their jobs, no harm, no foul, right? And maybe you cook them extra food. Maybe you put on music they like while you drive. Maybe you treat them with a little more affection than strictly necessary.

It’s okay though! They work hard, they deserve to relax! And maybe relaxing includes staring a little too long when you dress more scandalously than usual. Maybe, just maybe, they relax by stroking themselves to thoughts of you alone in their rooms.

I’m so sorry I just need big meaty men who are so pathetic for the soft little thing that hired them.

Okay you can ignore this part but I just came across your blog and I’m fucking feral for your writing, especially depraved Simon and pathetic König. I’m biting your thighs and kissing your shoulders.

Honestly. This is a few shade darker than what you said. So. Sorry. Also biting my thighs and kissing my shoulders you say?????? 😳

But I can see Ghost in a sort of Mike Ehrmantraut type of role. Discharged from special forces for a sustained injury, but he can still fight and kill with the best. In fact, his blood itches inside of his veins when he doesn’t. So he takes up private security jobs. Not with any company or so called respected association, just on his own, completely freelance.

You hire him for security on something not entirely legal. You hire a couple other guys, but Ghost is pretty sure they’re all bark and no bite. He’s able to disarm and knock them on their backs in record time. “Still think this is gonna be a three-man job, birdie?”

So it’s just him and you. And you’re paranoid, he can tell. Whatever business you’re engaged in right now is something you fell into and are utterly terrified to leave. He sees the men you meet with looking at you with such predatory eyes, like prison guards waiting for you to make a break for it so they have an excuse to take you down. There was clearly someone in this position before him. Maybe they left, or maybe they’re the ones that paid the price for you trying to run out.

It’s clear to Simon that your relationship with whoever used to occupy this seat next to you in the car was more than professional. You don’t cook meals and bake treats for hired muscle. You don’t ask them to tell you what music they like for the car rides. And normally, the hired muscle doesn’t stick around so much. Doesn’t stay in your house unpaid. Doesn’t worry so much about the frayed nerves of his client. Doesn’t insist on standing by the door when you’re changing. Doesn’t spend his night turning over your predicament in his head and trying to untangle it.

If the last guy left, he can see why. You’re a bad investment. You don’t ask for more, but you’re the type that makes a man like him want to give and give until there’s nothing left. Truly, the most dangerous thing in the world is a bird that makes a man feel powerful through no intention of her own.

If the last guy died for you, he can see why.

Sometimes Simon sits on your bed until you fall asleep. It takes a while. You spend so many hours feeling vulnerable, like you’re going to be shoved into a bottomless pit if you don’t keep your eyes wide open and your skin prickled.

He takes his glove off to stroke your cheek. And that’s when he realizes that he’s never been one for untangling messes like these.

He’s the type of man who grabs the scissors.

[revelboo]

That trailcutter and hound one is going to be the funniest one, I just know it! I love both of those guys! I just gotta say that your writing is something I look forward to every day. It's like a reward for going to my boring job.

Hound taking full advantage of the fact that he can coerce his buddy into pretty much anything with enough high grade

Heavy Boots

Hound x Reader

• There’ll be guilt later and he knows it, but as he cages you in his servos, it’s hard to focus on anything beyond the hope that this isn’t a mistake. Because he’s been watching Bluestreak with his little human. Tries so hard not to stare at the way the young sniper’s human is constantly touching his servos, smiling up at him and relaxed. How Wheeljack’s human curls up against the engineer’s arm, draping themself against him in the break room. Convincing Trailbreaker that they’re saving humans, when really, he just wants that sort of companionship. Wants a soft, little mate that’s happy to see him. Waiting for him to return.

• Screaming as you’re caught and picked up, you can hear your friend also screaming, the sound cutting off suddenly to your horror. And you struggle as the giant monster that has you grins down at you. “Alright then,” he says. Pulling you close to his chassis before he comes apart and reforms around you, feeling like your heart is going to beat right through your ribs from the fear. And you find yourself inside a green Jeep. These monsters hiding in plain sight. Yanking on the door handle in a panic, you can’t get the door open. “Easy there, sweet spark,” rumbles a deep, soothing voice from all around you and you shudder. “Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

• “Let me go,” you gasp, voice small and shaky and his spark constricts. Had expected this, but your fear still bothers him. How had Blue and Jack won over their little humans? Pulling out alongside Trailbreaker, they head back to the Ark. “What do you want with us? Are-are you going to eat us?” What? Primus, you think he’s a monster, don’t you? It’s not funny at all, but it still startles a laugh from him.

• “I’m saving you, sweet spark.” That deep voice is coaxing and you shiver unable to tell where it’s coming from or where to focus your attention. Saving you from what? Watching the steering wheel turn as the alien monster pretending to be a Jeep drives itself, you cringe. “Our enemies are kidnapping you lot. Doing awful things to you. You’re safe with us.” He kidnapped you to keep you from being… kidnapped. And what awful things? What is he going to do to you?

• You’ll come around sooner or later. Come to trust him. Running through the things he’ll need for you as he cuts his wheels to give Trailbreaker more space when he lists into his lane. He’s been watching the other bots with humans, learning from them how they handle their humans. What you need and he’s certain he’ll be able to take good care of you. He’s already been collecting things for the human he’d been wanting, sneaking off on patrol to steal things you’ll need or like. You’ll be happy with him once he wins you over.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

THE OTHER WOMAN.

pairing. single dad tangerine x fem reader — angst word count. 1954 summary. you feel like the other woman in your relationship with tangerine, questioning whether he’ll ever see you in the same light as his past love. his daughters big feeling about the topic make the situation all the more challenging

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Unwanted. That’s the only feeling you could really identify around Tangerine’s daughter, Mandy. Her harsh, hateful eyes like that of a warning, a silent message to you and you only that you weren’t welcome. The expressions she wears are a spitting image of her father’s, stares and glares always seeming to scope you out of every room — making sure you know your place. Everything about Tangerine miniaturised into a ten-year-old girl.

The near eleven months of being in her and Tangerine’s life never seemed to get any easier. And with as much time as you’ve spent with her, you’d have thought she’d take to you by now. But still, she hasn’t.

You wanted to prove yourself to her without being fearful of the response, show her your fun and whimsy. Show the parts you hide around her. So today, you offered to pick her up from school — to save Tangerine another job between his forever extensive list of errands. 

And so you stood near the school gate, a mini bag of her favourite animal chocolate biscuits in your hand to surprise her — the fingers of your other hand fidgeting anxiously, waiting for the flood kids to exit their six-hour-imprisonment. And then you spot her, her smile bright and bold as he skips with her friends, their book bags swinging with their jumps. All personality dissipating the moment she locks eyes with you through the metal fencing.

She parts from her friends, her features straightening as she walks towards you. 

“Where’s my dad?” she asks, looking around.

“He got caught up with the food shop so I offered to get you,” you smile down to her, trying to ease her. “Hope that’s okay.”

She sighs, the sound disappointed. 

“I brought these for you,” you extend your hand, offering her the small purple packet. 

But she declines, her face like that of disgust as she stares at it. “I want my dad.”

“Of course,” you nod and shove the packet into your bag. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” you offer a weak smile, nodding her along to the car park.

The drive home is quiet, your questions going unanswered and ignored as she stares out the window – trying to pretend you weren’t there. Your attempts of offering friendship turned away like all your others over the last several months. You wanted to feel accepted, feel welcome. But the looks she’d give you were often similar to disappointment. Disappointment that you’re ‘the replacement.’

You pull onto the pebble drive of Tangerine’s house and park beside his car. As soon as it stills, Mandy is getting out, slamming the door behind her and running off towards the house. You give yourself a brief moment to collect yourself, trying to calm your breathing as not to cry. And so you follow after her, getting closer to shouting and screaming inside the house. 

The last you caught of the spat being from the very angry, very sad little girl. “I hate you. I hate her.” The sound of heavy footsteps following as they storm up the stairs. 

You poke your head into the front door, spotting Tangerine at the bottom of the stairs raking through his hair — trying to calm himself as he looks at a family photo frame on the wall. One with his wife and infant baby daughter. He swears under his breath and kicks at the pair of shoes in front of him, knocking them against the wall. 

“Hi,” you say quietly, watching him as you close the door behind you.

He turns to face you, startled. “God,” he utters, holding his heart.

“You okay?” you ask.

He inhales deeply and nods, the act like he’s trying to calm himself.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, features sympathetic as you gesture upstairs. 

“Ain’t your fault,” he shakes his head, trying to reassure you. “It’s just a lot for her, that’s all.”

“I don’t think she’ll ever like me,” you laugh weakly, the sound like that of discomfort rather than humour. “I’ve been around nearly a year,” you prompt, avoiding his eyes. 

He paces towards you and lays a hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you through the very obvious hurt you’re both feeling. “To her, it just happened, you know?” he says, words soft as he presses a kiss to your temple. “I lost my mum young, too. It’s gonna take her a while to come around… and when she’s ready, we’ll be there,” he pauses to look at you. “Both of us.”

You lean into him, nuzzling your head against his briefly. “I know,” you exhale unsteadily, trying to ease yourself. “It’s just hard,” you murmur, eyes focused on a wedding photo portrait on the side table. “I feel like I’m inserting myself.”

“You’re not,” he reassures, hand reaching for yours. “You’re not. I promise you’re not.”

You feel the cold brush of metal from his left hand and you glance down to your hand enveloped in his — looking at the wedding band he still wears even two years later. The ring an act of promise from his old love.

You shake your hand from his hold, retracting it from him. It all begins to feel like too much and you want to back up, but you’re already against the door as it is. 

“I think I should go home.”

“No,” Tangerine says softly, head shaking sternly as if to enforce his words.

“She doesn’t want me here,” your eyebrows sadly furrow, curving in the middle. “And I—”

“I do,” he interrupts, a downcast expression mirroring yours. “I want you here. I do,” he reaches for your hand again, and this time you don’t pull away. “She’s struggling, yeah, but so am I.”

“I know,” you whisper, pulsing him with a squeeze. “I know you are,” you release his hand and wrap your arms around him, pulling him for a hug. The embrace warm and safe, the act a physical testament of your support.

He rests his forehead in the crook of your neck, burying his face into your comfort. You hear a soft sniffle and you hold a hand over the back of his head, trying to protect him from his grief. You simultaneously run a line down his back, soothing and smoothing him — keeping him aware of your presence. 

The tender moment is cut short when the pair of you hear a loud clatter from upstairs, the sound coming from Mandy’s room. He parts from you and rushes up the steps and you follow closely behind. 

“Mand!” Tangerine shouts out, barging into his daughter's room. She’s on the floor, a bunch of books and toys scattered around her. “Fuckin’ hell,” he pants, making his way closer to his little girl. “What have I told you about climbing?” he shakes his head, clearly pissed by her rebelion. “Could’ve really hurt yourself. What are you playing at?”

“I was trying to get something,” she looks at the bookshelf ahead, gesturing to a box.

You follow her eyeline from your spot in the doorframe, noticing a tiny pink floral box. You step into her room cautiously and reach for the trinket, holding it carefully as you get closer to Mandy and Tangerine — kneeling beside them. 

“It’s so pretty,” you say quietly, marvelling at its detail.

“It’s mums,” she responds and takes the box from your hold, her far smaller hands brushing over yours. “It’s her favourite.”

You turn to look at Tangerine as he watches his daughter, his eyes glued to the box Mandy’s holding.

“It plays music,” she states, her face lighting up.

“It does?” you ask, features mirroring hers. “What does it sound like?”

Excitement. A newfound feeling you felt around Tangerine’s daughter.

“Am I allowed to play it, daddy?” Mandy asks, looking up at him.

“Of course, poppet,” he nods, smoothing over her curls that match his. “You can play it.”

She opens the little wooden box and twists the handle at the side, letting the gentle classical tune play. With Mandy’s attention captivated, you reach a hand to Tangerine behind her back, comforting him — the sound sure to flood his brain with past memories. He looks over to you, eyes soft and slightly red as he acknowledges you, trying to show his appreciation.

The music lowers to a quiet lull until it stops completely.

“I can see why it’s her favourite,” you say, looking down at her — watching her smile grow wider. “It’s beautiful.”

“She gave it to me, didn’t she, dad?”

He chuckles weakly as he leans forward to kiss her forehead, skimming her hair line. “She did, darlin’.”

“Daddy said it was hers when she was little like me,” she speaks to you, maintaining eye contact like she's never done before. 

“That’s right,” Tangerine smiles at his daughter. “She told you to keep it safe, didn’t she?” he rhetorically asks, giving your hand a squeeze.

“Yeah,” she smiles, the expression spreading across her sweet, little face.

“Want me to pop it somewhere safe?” he asks, gesturing to the small keepsake.

Mandy nods and passes Tangerine the trinket, her hold gentle as she transfers it into her dad’s far larger hold. He lets go of your hand as he stands, getting up from his crouched position with a groan. Tangerine walks towards the bookshelf and turns around, like an idea suddenly arose in his mind. 

“Say,” he starts, meeting both of your gazes. “What would you say about having company for dinner, Mands?”

“It depends what we have,” she jokes, voice mischievous like that of a younger Tangerine — she really is her father’s daughter.

“How about,” you draw out as you twist to face her, tapping your chin like you were pretending to think. 

“Waffles,” she interrupts.

“Waffles?” you repeat, tone dramatised. “I was thinking more worms and ear wax.”

She laughs as she repeats your suggestion, shaking her head as she does so.

“Wanna know what I had in mind?” Tangerine chimes in, joining the pair of you on the floor. He waits a beat before continuing. “Toenail soup.”

Mandy turns to look at you and laughs. The noise genuine and sincere as she finds amusement in your company.

“Are you staying?” she questions, looking between you and her dad.

“Not if we’re having toenail soup,” you joke and shake your head. “Only if you want me here.”

She keeps her eyes on her father, nodding subtly at him as if she’s suddenly grown shy.

“She does,” Tangerine speaks for his girl, his arms opening up for her as she bashfully knocks her head into his chest. “I think she also wants to say something else, ain’t that right, Mands?” he prompts, patting her on the back. “Something beginning with ‘s’?”

She mumbles and groans faintly. “Sorry I was mean,” she mutters, hiding. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you say softly, laying a gentle hand on her back below Tan’s. “Change isn’t easy— I struggle with it too. And what you’re going through is such a big thing— such a big change. But me and your dad are both here, okay? And I… and I love you both and I want to be there for each of you.”

Tangerine reaches for your hand with his spare, left one, giving it a squeeze as if to show his gratitude — his appreciation for your patience and support. You return the act with one of your own, pulsing his hand and interlocking with his fingers. You look down to your hand, noticing the absence of a gold band on his ring finger. 

He’s always been good at stashing things in his pockets.

There will still be space in his heart for his lost love, but now, he’s just making more room for you.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[milkb0nny]

Don't Leave...

... kissing as an act of desperation

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader

Summary: You were unconscious after a demon attack, and the brothers worried terribly about you. Dean, so scared to lose you, confessed his love through a passionate kiss, hoping you'd wake up.

Note: Another kissing prompt, this one being a little darker. But my, I love this so much!

Content: reader not knowing Dean‘s love for her, Dean being anxious, comfort, angst, injuries, first kiss

Word count: ~1,4k

Unconscious and still, as if you were a corpse, you lay in the motel bed. Your limbs were close to your body, your body wrapped in the thick blanket, a heating pad close to your feet.

What had happened? Why were you in this state of emergency? Why weren’t you as lively as you usually were? All those questions remained unanswered to you, as you slept deeply, your breath slow and steady.

You had been traveling with the Winchester brothers for quite some time. Not that you actively participated in the hunts and dangerous activities; you were an excellent person with perfect social skills. You had developed into the person of the group who would speak with others to gather clues. You could read people as if they were an open book, making them spill out whatever their memories had hidden away.

Though, why were you in this state then? As your consciousness recovered, you heard voices in the background. You couldn’t focus on them at first, as your head hurt. A defeating ache circled from your forehead to your neck, making your mere presence terribly painful. You couldn’t open your eyes… everything felt like you were in a fever dream.

But then you were able to piece the mumbles into clear words, and the voices belonged to Sam and Dean. The dim light of the motel room flickered softly as Dean and Sam sat at the small table, the tension heavy in the air. The door to the bathroom was cracked open, and the faint sound of water running could be heard in the background.

Dean's eyes never left you, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the table.

Sam sat across from Dean, his voice calm but concerned, "Dean, we’ve been over this. She’s strong. She’s gonna be fine. You just need to give her time."

"Time? She could’ve died, Sam. You didn’t see the way she looked at me... like she was already slipping away." He paused, running a hand through his hair, his voice dropping lower. "I could’ve lost her. I almost did."

Why was Dean speaking so softly about you? Did he truly care so much about you?

"You’re not gonna lose her, Dean. She’s one of the toughest people I know. Sure, she can’t fight, but her mind is stronger than ours. She’ll make it."

"It’s not about being tough, Sam. She’s… she’s everything. I can’t lose her. I can’t. She means more to me than…" His voice caught, and he paused, trying to keep it together. "I don’t know what I’d do without her."

What did he say? Was this a dream?

Sam looked at his brother, his expression softer. He knew Dean’s soft spot... You. "You’re not gonna have to do that. You just need to give her time to heal. She’s not gone. She’s right there." He nodded toward the bed, where you acted as if you weren’t mentally available. You wanted to know more, but your body was too weak to move in any way.

Dean’s eyes flickered to you, his expression darkening. "I know. But what if she doesn’t wake up? What if…" He trailed off, his voice barely a whisper, raw with emotion.

He was at his lowest.

"What if I wasn’t fast enough? What if I couldn’t protect her like I should have?"

"Dean, you can’t blame yourself. You did everything you could. We all did. It’s the job. It’s dangerous. You know that. We couldn’t predict that demon breaking in somehow and doing that to her. But you also know she’s not the type to give up without a fight."

Dean nodded and softly agreed. "She fights. She always fights." His throat tightened, and he cleared it. "I don’t want to be the reason she has to keep fighting. I want to be the one who keeps her safe. I want to be the one who makes sure she doesn’t get hurt." He exhaled sharply, his voice barely audible. "I don’t know if I can live with myself if I fail her. She’s become family. More than that."

Sam sighed, looking at you, so peacefully lying there. "I know, man. But you’ve gotta stop torturing yourself. She’s gonna wake up, and when she does, you’re gonna be the first thing she needs. She’s not gonna want you beating yourself up."

There was a long silence between them, the weight of Dean’s worry thick in the air. Your heart was racing. Hearing all those words coming from Dean was like being struck, like you’d fallen victim to Cupid’s arrow. However, it felt illegal listening to them, especially since they didn’t know you heard everything.

Sam stood up, his voice gentle. "She’s not gone, Dean. She’s right here. And when she wakes up, you’ll be right here for her. Just like always. I’ll get some more painkillers and dinner for us. Call me when she wakes up."

Dean didn’t respond at first, his eyes glued to you. He was still struggling, the fear of losing you overwhelming his every thought. But Sam’s words seemed to sink in, just enough to make him take a breath. Dean stood up slowly, moving toward the bed, his gaze softening as he kneeled beside you.

Quietly, Sam disengaged from the motel room, driving off in the Impala.

Dean was so close to you, his smell embedding you in a dream. Your body felt so warm, as if you were burning from the inside.

Dean whispered, almost to himself, "Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. I need you. I need you to be okay."

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his thumb gently tracing over your skin. His voice trembled, but he kept it steady.

"I can’t do this without you."

The room fell silent once more, with only the sound of your steady breaths filling the space.

Dean looked down at you, his gaze soft but filled with a sharp kind of pain. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, and before you could register what was happening, his lips were pressed against your very own.

The kiss was brief but laden with everything he was feeling: the fear, the relief, the need to feel your warmth against him. It was a kiss that trembled with the desperation of someone who had almost lost you.

He needed you, and silently confessing to you was his sort of comfort. He needed to feel your warmth in some way, to prove you weren’t vanishing from his life.

But then, as if unable to help himself, he leaned in further, his lips brushing softly over yours, tasting the sweetness of you, desperate for a connection. You could feel the heat of his kiss, but you couldn’t respond… not yet. You were too far gone in the haze of unconsciousness, barely aware of the world around you.

Suddenly, you felt a hot tear drop onto your face, one that didn’t belong to you, but to the man who was craving your life.

"Don’t do that to me. Please don’t leave me."

His words broke through the fog in your mind, and though you were still too weak to move, there was a stirring inside you… a pull, a recognition of what was happening. Dean kissed you again, this time deeper, slower, as if trying to pour all of his emotions into the kiss.

Oh, how he missed you already. His hands slid around your neck, cupping your face as he poured his fear, his regret, his love into you.

Your eyes fluttered beneath your eyelids, the sensation of Dean’s lips lingering. You tried to open your eyes, but it was hard; everything was still a blur.

Dean pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged and uneven.

"God, I need you to wake up. Please."

You finally managed to open your eyes, the world coming into focus just enough for you to see the look of sheer desperation on his face. His green eyes were wide.

Dean froze, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at you, his lips parting in disbelief. For a moment, time seemed to stop… his expression softening, the tension melting away as he processed the fact that you were still with him.

"You’re… you’re awake."

You nodded slowly, trying to smile despite the pain in your body. But Dean didn’t smile back right away. Instead, he pressed his lips to your forehead, his breath shaky as he whispered something to himself.

"Thank god…"

Your heart clenched at his words, and you reached up, placing your hand over his. The simple touch seemed to ground him, to remind him that you were still here, still with him. Dean looked down at you, his eyes soft, yet still filled with so much emotion. And for a moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you.

Dean exhaled, a breath of relief, and this time, when he smiled at you, it was full of love, full of life, and full of the hope that you’d always be by his side.

[silverbrain]

Eepy Activities

Summary- sleepy Zayne is so tired he's basically sleeptalking

It had been a particularly trying week for Zayne. Monday and Tuesday had been flooded with sudden emergencies and the talk he had to give on Wednesday only added to the stress. Sure, Zayne loved his job. He’d never complain, but you could see how tired he was getting, in the way he’d fall asleep as soon as he lay down at night.

It was finally Friday evening, which meant Zayne had a half day. He comes home from the gym enthusiastically, entering the apartment and calling out to you immediately.

“Where are you?”, he sings, a bit dramatically. You peer out from the couch where you had been scrolling away on your phone, the screen lights nearly lulling you to sleep.

“Someone’s happy to be back”, you say, amusedly.

“Of course, I am. I get to see you”, Zayne says as he crosses the carpeted floor to envelope you in a hug. The fresh smell of his shampoo wafts up to your nose briefly.

You quickly make plans for dinner and decide to watch a movie that you had both been wanting to watch for a while. Zayne even suggests helping you cook, even though you try to tell him to sit down and rest after his week.

“I feel fine, really”, he assures.

You know he’s moving on sheer willpower and you’re kind of waiting for the crash. It always comes eventually. Once a week, whenever his odd hours let him, Zayne would sleep for hours. Sometimes 9, sometimes 12. Yet, he always refused to take rest unless his body took it for him.

You eat a dinner of pasta and chicken breast. Zayne makes sure to comment on the amazing quality of your cooking as he devours the food. Soon after, you’re settling in, in your cozy bed in your pajamas, anticipating a good movie and a cozy night.

You skitter around in the room, drinking some water and doing a few end-of-the-day tasks as Zayne sits in the bed, blanket already on his legs, glasses askew. He’s trying to multitask looking at something on his phone and the television screen, peering through the top of his glasses as he alternates between the two. A small smile appears on your face at his cuddly appearance.

“Let me just wash my face and then I’ll be there”

“Okay”, Zayne smiles at you, before going back to searching for the movie.

A few minutes pass. You’d taken a bit longer than usual, peering at yourself in the mirror, wondering if that new skincare product you had bought was working. You return to find him slumped against the headboard, remote still in hand, breathing lightly. You creep into bed slowly, carefully trying not to wake him up, as you take the remote from his hands. He hardly reacts at all, probably spiraling slowly into the depths of sleep.

You sigh as you switch the screen off. You couldn’t find it in you to wake him up, when he was looking so soft and sleepy. The movie could wait. Still feeling incredibly awake, you decide to read the novel you had been putting away for a while.

A good few minutes of reading pass. Beside you, Zayne has quietly slipped off the headboard to lie in the mattress, his body giving in to much needed sleep. He turns once, to lie on his chest, hands below the pillow. You cast him a look. He was hardly a restless sleeper, but it seemed like the tiredness was getting to him.

Then, you hear a quiet hum. Your eyebrow quirks in surprise as you look over to him, wondering if he was having a nightmare. It didn’t seem like it, because Zayne simply mumbled something that sounded like a question. “…palpitions?”

You curiously focus on his lips, as he seems to be asking about something. He furrows his brow a little, the same way he does when he’s thinking deeply.

“What’s wrong?”, you ask softly, taking care not to wake him up.

“pal…tions”, he sighs.

Huh? Is he dreaming about his patients? You reach out to press your thumb against his furrowed brow. His frown dissolves instantly and he seems to have lost track of his dream, nuzzling his face deeper into the pillow.

You run you hand through his soft hair a few times before getting back to reading your book, before you hear Zayne shuffling around to lie on his back. He pulls the blanket up to his chest as he does it, leaving his arms above the blanket. You giggle a little. He looks like the perfect stock photo of ‘sleep’.

He sleeps peacefully for a few minutes, and you focus your attention back to your book, getting lost in the fantasy world the author has weaved. You look over to him, only to find him sleeping with both his hands raised.

You nearly jolt at the strange sight.  His left hand extends high up in the air, poised as if holding a pen, while his right arm bends at the elbow, spinning little circles.

‘What is he doing?’, you wonder with fascination as he continues his little actions, slow and repetitive. You watch him with interest as he seems to move his hands in tandem, a little circle with the right hand, then a little push with the left, before it dawns on you what he’s doing.

Your mouth hangs open in realization. He’s doing surgery! In his sleep! The motions look eerily similar to the doctor shows you’d seen on Netflix, a little slower, a little stranger.

You don’t know whether to be alarmed or in awe. You’re certainly feeling both the emotions. It’s also a little bit cute, the sure and practiced motions of his hands clouded by sleep, now appearing slow and little, as if he was knitting a sweater for a cat or something. Worry floods your brain next. Was Zayne so overworked his subconscious was performing surgeries in his dreams?! Who was he even dreaming about? Would he even remember in the morning?

Your hands instantly reach for your phone charging on the bedside table, pressing record. Zayne stalls, as if can sense you’re about to record him. You nearly pause the video in frustration, but he simply huffs and continues. Little movements with his right hand, followed by an occasional movement with his left. You record him for a few seconds, before he drops his right arm, now sleeping with his left raised high up in the air.

It looks comical, really. You chuckle a little, replaying the video you just captured. Oh, he was going to hear about it in the morning for sure.

Zayne lets his arm linger in the air for a few more seconds before he brings it down to tuck it under the blanket, before rolling over. Guess the ‘surgery’ was over then.

x

The next day you wake up to find Zayne calmly nursing a cup of coffee at the kitchen island, while reading an article on his phone. You creep up on him to ambush him with a back hug.

A soft hmpf leaves his lips, as he sets the coffee mug on the table. “Don’t scare me, darling, I nearly burned myself”, he says, turning to give you a soft kiss. “Slept well?”

“Hmm, I should really ask you that question though”, you answer cheekily as you pour yourself a cup of coffee.

“What do you mean?”, Zayne asks.

You look at him over the rim of the cup as you take a long sip. “It just seems like you slept well yesterday…”

“I… guess I did?”, Zayne answers doubtfully, sensing the hint of mischief in your voice. “What?”

You silently unlock your phone to show him the video you had silently giggled over yesterday. Zayne’s eyes widen as he takes your phone in his hand, looking at his own image, asleep. His eyes widen comically as he sees himself perform the motions, hands raised in the air. His mind is drawing a blank. He did this? This is him?

“Were you working in your sleep?”, you ask, voice still mischievous, clearly hiding the worry you feel for him.

“I…”, he replays the video, eyes fixating on himself, unable to believe it. “I had no idea I did this”, he confesses, a little embarrassed.

A small laugh escapes you. He takes another sip of his coffee, trying to make it a long one, to hide away his embarrassment.

“See, you work too much...”, you say as you turn away to reach for the jam. “you’re operating even in your sleep!”

“It’s hardly operating…”

You turn around and give him a look. He looks away, knowing there was probably some truth to your words. “I’ll take more breaks…”

You were going to make sure he did.

Tagging @chryssikyu for this fun idea

[crowsofdarkness]

Mask Kink. Enough said.

Russian translations will be at the end of the blurb.

18+ CW(mask kink, Masked Bucky fingering his prisoner, Stockholm Syndrome, Bucky speaking Russian because 😮‍💨)

*originally posted on my old blog*

Soldat.

His name was muffled in your hand as you bit down on the inside of my palm, trying so hard not to say it out loud. You couldn’t let him know how much you were enjoying this. Cool metal fingers pumped in and out of you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of pure bliss.

“Takoy mokryy," Soldat praised, his voice muffled behind his mask.

Even though you spoke English, you were still fluent in Russian, along with a few other languages. It came with the territory of the job.

The room was dark, barley lit by the pale yellow light above your cot. It casted both you and Soldat in a glow, those dark eyes breaking through as they stared up at you.

It had been like this for weeks. Every night you were visited by The Winter Soldier, or as you called him Soldat. He captured you in hopes to break you down to revel who you were working for and who sent you to kill him.

Well, try to kill him anyway. No one can kill The Winter Soldier.

It only was until the other day, where your interrogations turned into something more sexual. You found yourself getting excited for his visits and both of you could feel the tension building. It all blew over when he wretched your hair back, pulling hard at the roots and you let a moan of pleasure slip that Soldat realized that these kinds of interrogations wouldn't cut it any longer.

When he showed up without his mask last night to bring you yet another trey of stale bread and oatmeal, you said fuck it and crashed your lips to his, just to see what he would do.

He kissed back with even more of a fever, nearly overpowering you to the ground.

Soldat still wouldn't let you go though.

With your wrist chained to the bed, you arched your back off the cot as best you could when he slipped another metal finger inside of your tight cunt.

"So close," you choked on a breath while looking at him between your legs.

Dark tendrils of hair covered his raven eyes as Soldat kept his masked face between your legs, almost teasing you that he wouldn't burry his tongue in your cunt with his metal fingers.

"Kto tebya poslal?" Soldat demanded to know.

You shook your head, refusing to answer but when his fingers began to slip out of you, a whine fell from your lips.

"Please," you begged him while running your free hand through his hair. "Let me cum. Please."

Now his face towered over yours and you sucked in a breath at seeing the mask up close. You wanted him to do so many things to you while he wore it. Very quickly, you cast your eyes down to his cock, which was pressing hard against the pants of his tactical uniform.

Every night you dreamed of what it felt like, what he tasted like.

"Bud' khoroshey devochkoy i skazhi mne, kto tebya poslal. Togda ya pozvolyu tebe konchit'."

With three fingers inside of you, Soldat's pace was unforgiving as he fucked your pussy without letting up. The base of your spine tingled before exploding in ecstasy, your orgasm crying out in the room.

"SHIELD sent me," your chest rose and fell as your body slumped against the bed.

Soldat made a noise behind the mask, almost a tie between a purr of satisfaction and a groan of annoyance.

"Eto moya khoroshaya devochka." Was all he said before he pulled his metal fingers from inside of you, them glistening with your arousal, and his large frame left the room.

TRANSLATIONS:

Takoy mokryy-So wet.

Kto tebya poslal?-Who sent you?

Bud' khoroshey devochkoy i skazhi mne, kto tebya poslal. Togda ya pozvolyu tebe konchit'.-Be a good girl and tell me who sent you. Then I'll let you cum.

Eto moya khoroshaya devochka-That's my good girl.

[ivhmavie]

➴ Give me all of that ultraviolence ༶

how would be being in a toxic relationship with them

characters: hwang in ho (player 001) and the salesman.

warnings: toxic relationship, sexual content, a little of size kink, kinda yandere!salesman, mention of murder and harassment (not in a romanticized way), age gap OF COURSE ‘cause I love it.

hwang in ho (player 001)

-he’s not controlling type, you can go almost every place you want to, but he wants to know your every step

-some places, which he says are not suitable for you, are prohibited, but he will manipulate you to give you the false impression that you decided for yourself that it was not a good idea to go wherever it was

-also manipulate you saying that because you are younger, you should listen to his advices. This way he would be sure that you are always on a path that he doesn't have to worry about trying to control you, especially because he has other priorities as the frontman

-so, no matter what, he would make sure that you would always have at least two guards accompanying you to places

-it’s hard to have privacy, because the guards tell him exactly what you did during the day, with who you talked to

-as the frontman, he doesn't have much time to spend with you. So he tries to make up for his absence with gifts. He gives you his black card, and when he sees the notifications of the unimaginable amounts you spent, he knows you're angry, but doesnt care at all, later he will resolve it with sex later

-whem he wants to spend time with you, he will order his guards to take you to his room to watch the games with him

-it doesnt matter if you support the games, it’s his job and allows him to have a luxurious life, which extends to you

-isn’t really affectionate, but likes to have physical contact with you to remind you that you are there, under his careful view

-would never lay a finger on you to hit you, but I don't mind being rough during sex

“so, what you want me to do, darling?” he says while disinterestedly swirling the whiskey in his glass, a bored expression on his face as he struggled to keep a simple conversation with you, watching the bloodbath that took place in the large room where the players slept. Superb and selfish animals killing themselves for money, that's what he would say.

Your heels make noise as they hit the ground as you walk in circles, after taking a deep breath you look towards him and take two steps towards him.

“god, hwang, take this seriously, you’re not even listeng to me.” You say angrily, a hand running through your hair, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to speak with the man sitting on the couch. “I can’t keep pretending that I don't mind being alone for so long, you’re never around, always busy with your stupid guards, the miserable players or the fucking organ trafficking scheme, damn it.”You stop when you hear the sound of him scratching his throat, whem you look at him you see him calling you with a finger, making a sign to go to him.

taking heavy and quick steps, when you arrive in front of him you are surprised by a hand pulling you by the waist. As soon as you land on his lap, inho pulls your face towards his, a firm hand on your neck.

“If you wanted my attetion, good, you have it” he says as his other hand runs under your dress, passing through the lace of your panties and tracing circles.“Now, I'm going to give you enough attention so you understand your fucking place”

the salesman

-now, he’s the controlling type. Everything you do, everywhere you go, everyone you talk to, he knows everything

-doesn't bother to manipulate you, he just dictates the rules. Who you can't talk to, the guys he doesn't approve because he swears that if they had the chance, they would try every way to get you. He’s paranoid and extremist

-unlike inho, he doesn't use your youth against you, it's actually something he adores. He loves the fact that you are so vulnerable and inexperienced compared to him, for him, this gives him more power to control you

-If you were going out, he would like to accompany you himself, he would take you to the doctor, to go shopping, even to the beauty salon

-he thinks you won't be safe if you're not with him, so freedom is not an option

-while he goes out to recruit more people for the games and work, you stay at home, being able to go out rarely. He especially doesn't like it if you go out alone or with a man, even if it's a friend. Sometimes he lets you go work with him, you just accompany him and observe

-on the very rare occasions when you go out alone, he will want to keep in touch, sending you messages, receiving photos of you and calling you. He just wants to make sure nothing bad happens to you.

-he is a paranoid man when it comes to your safety, so he is afraid that you will be harassed or even killed if you go out alone

-he’s not clingy, but he's affectionate, in his own way. He treats you as if you were made of porcelain, always says how much he would blame himself if something happened to you, and wouldn't hesitate to kill someone for you if necessary

-he wouldn't be the type to hurt you, not on purpose, sometimes he can be rude in intimate moments, always wanting to be in control, leaving you at the mercy of his wishes

It had been a busy and difficult day, he was looking forward to getting home and meeting his girl. The sound of the front door opening woke you up from your nap, you see your husband entering the house and taking off the top of his perfectly pressed suit.

“You took a while today, I tried to wait for you but I was kinda tired”You get up from the sofa, heading towards him, approaching him from behind and running your hands over his broad back. The salesman sighs feeling his small hands lightly massaging his back

“did you spoke to any of your friends today?”

“you know I didnt” you say bitterly, pulling away from him a little and feeling the anger rise.

“oh, my love, don't be mad" he says turning to you and holding your waist firmly "you know it's just for your safety" you feel his breath on your neck, followed by kisses and some bites, you wrap your arms around his neck and move away so he can kiss your chest, feeling his hand reaching under your blouse and holding you tightly, it would definitely leave a mark

"Now come on, I need you to do something for me, I want to feel you around me"

[penvisions]

services requested {chapter two}

Pairing: Older! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: With the flourish of a contract that contains a section titled 'Intimacy Clause' and a quirk of your lips, you turn Joel Miller's life upside down.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is late 20's / early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, mommy vibes, reader see's joel and knows she wants to provide for him, joel is older and tired, his life beginning to slow as his body aches, power dynamics, sexual undertones, instant connection, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, angst, family drama, strained family dynamics, mention of pregnancy (not reader or joel), verbal threat, argumentative language, joel and tommy y'all good god, think that's it!

Fic Notes: please, if you have any qualms about the setting of this fic, do not reblog or comment with hate. my dms are open for discussion if you feel like you need to say anything. let's be respectful going into a new year, there are ample warnings and you are in charge of the content you consume

A/N: hi, i'm back with chapter two for y'all! ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

You can’t help but feel a bit shy around him, with a contract being looked over by one of your friends who works in the more…lucrative business of strip clubs and the party scene. She’s around the same age, working alongside the owner of one of the classier and legitimate night clubs, where she acts as a legal representative for the girls that work there as well as others who come through the doors looking for a little adult fun.

She had arrived just as Joel was leaving for the day, her eyes widening as she watched him toss a out a bag of garbage into the outside bin on his way out of the door and off the job for the day. He had nodded politely at her, though his lips didn’t lift quite as much at the corners as they did for you. Her squeal the second the front door was loud, and you immediately shushed her and clamped your hands over her mouth while peering through the blinds to see if he heard it. Thankfully he hadn’t turned at the rather alarming sound as he loaded up into his truck and took off down the street.

“That’s the Mr. Miller I keep hearing about?!”

That was days ago, and the renovation is in the last stages. New walls are up, drywall and mudding complete. All that was left was the kitchen downstairs and the tiling in the bathroom. Painting was tomorrow, once the colors were picked out too.

Today you were going to tag along with the older man to the supply store to look over tiles, none of the ones in the catalogue he had left on your desk in the study popped out at you. He’s been working hard, to get everything done on schedule. Your parent’s return is in two weeks and he’s determined to have it all polished and shining by the time you head out to get them from the airport.

Professionality and friendship seem to be a good mix for you. Calling him Mr. Miller when he reminds you to call him Joel, him lingering at the end of each day to make sure he gives you a run down of what got done and what will be on the agenda of tasks for the next one. He playfully calls you ma’am in return, though he uses your name sometimes too.

A running joke of sorts, between the two of you. But also, it’s not really a joke at all. But a way to draw an invisible line- no physical contact has happened since that day your composure cracked and fell into tiny pieces around you alongside your hot tears. But you swear you can feel his eyes trailing after you when you’re working around the house.

You’re both jokingly picking out the most garish colors and saying they would look perfect in the living room, the bathroom, the upstairs bedrooms. His own thick fingers brushing yours as you both huff laughter and reach for new swatches. The attendant behind you is smiling at the scene, younger than you and stuck at such a boring job of mixing colors for people that seem too focused to have fine like you two are. But the bubble of easy going fun is broken by a man donned in a grey sweat pants and a plain tee.

He calls your name, in question. As if he doesn’t quite want to bother you if you don’t hear him. But you do, and so does Joel. With laughter still on your tongue, you turn with a wide smile in the man’s direction.

“Micheal! Oh my gosh, it’s so good to see you.” You don’t move to shake his hand, something Joel’s stomach flips over noticing. You keep the tight curl of your fingers over the swatch of blinding yellow he had jokingly suggested for the kitchen that you had pried from his own grip. Your long nails, done up in a soft pink this time had scraped against his skin and nearly short circuited his thoughts. But they’re back now as he watches you interact with this random man.

“I just wanted to say hi and thank you again for the session. It was such a dream, honestly.” The man’s words are genuine, his expression one of open awe. It has Joel stiffening behind you, aware that this may be awkward for him.

“I’m so glad, it’s always a fun challenge when someone comes to me with an idea like that. But I’m glad we could execute it perfectly for you.” Behind you, you can feel Joel stiffen. His entire body goes rigid and you sneak a look at him over your shoulder, but he’s seemingly fascinated by the color samples in his hands…

The rest of the trip around the store is strained, Joel won’t look you in the eye and you feel like he’s avoiding brushing up against you. He assures you he can load everything up into the back of the truck so you’re stewing in the passenger seat waiting for him to finish. The ride back isn’t nearly as happy and easy-going as the ride there and you can’t get the words out to ask if everything is okay, your fight or flight triggered and flight is your go to nowadays. It didn’t used to be…

He gets to unloading as you hide yourself away in the office, sketching app open and stylus in your immobile hand as your back twinges painfully. The scar dug into the skin there feeling like it was just carved your mind replays the event on a loop. You can faintly hear the soft squelch of the paint rollers working, an easy day of work all in all.

But he doesn’t come to bid you a good afternoon, nor does he seem to stop for lunch.

Too caught up in your memories, you sit in the locked office until well after the sun goes down. Reaching out to your assistant to reschedule your consultations booked for that afternoon and evening with a quick text the second you got back from the store…

Two weeks fly by, your little spell invigorating you after wallowing.

It wasn’t productive and it hadn’t helped anything, but it was necessary. Processing and resting, giving your mind and body the chance to work through something is important. Realistically you know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Anxiety and trauma are always something you will have to struggle with, no matter how big of a name you make for yourself.

The walkthrough in the morning goes okay, almost back to the comfortable and borderline flirtatious camaraderie you and Joel had established early on. Everything was perfect, the colors, the tiling, the patterns, all of it amazing and beyond what you had expected. Even if you actively watched Joel create the cabinets with his hands, seen the sketches of what he envisioned for the space based on your words and description.

“I really appreciate all the work you put into the renovation, it came out so amazing.” You shuffle the papers in your hand, knocking them against the top of the desk to straighten them out before stapling the bunch of them together. Reaching for an envelope, you place the card you had taken out in his name- attached to your expenses account that you used for your own supplies. That was secured to the top of the stack with a binder clip. “And I was wondering if I could hire you.”

"What do you mean, you want to hire me? I'm already workin' a job for you." His confusion is clear, brows furrowed and lips slightly pursed. His hands are secure on the arms of the chair he occupies. He only needs one or two more days of cleaning and wiping everything down, ensuring no dust from the construction work lingers, no nails or screws are prominent, sand down a few edges here and there. And then of course he offered to help put away what appeared to be a whole new kitchen in the form of pots and pans, cutlery and serve wear, fancy glasses and a set of ceramic mugs that looked hand painted. Everything had come in boxes throughout his workdays, piling up in the garage that contained most of your stuff from when you moved back.  

"For your...services, Mr. Miller. To be called upon at any time." You try to keep your excitement from showing too much, not wanting to weird him out or make him feel any more awkward with what you are just about to do. You’ve never offered someone such a thing before….to be their sole provider and essentially a sugar momma. Though you did explicitly claim there was no pressure or obligation to be intimate in exchange for the funds you wanted to provide him. He’s just a handsome man whose lived a full, busy life and you wanted to offer him a much deserved break.

But as soothing as you keep your voice and even as you keep your tone, based on the way his face falls from a small grin to a frown and his demeanor shifts from friendly curiosity to irritated, you see that you’ve already failed.  

“Listen, I don’t know what kinda man you think I am but I don’t run in the same circles as you. And as flattered as I am that you think-“ He looks a little flustered, obviously upset enough for his face to contort into something you would call grumpy. Would normally tease him about if you walked into a room and saw him making the same expression as he looked down at something or over some blueprints.

“What kind of circles do you think I run in?” You cut him off, unwilling to let his mind run away and taint the professional friendship you two have been cultivating over the last month. The incident at the hardware store crops up in your mind and suddenly everything clicks into place. He most likely thinks you work in the same business as your friend.

“You uh- well, you dress kinda fancy all the time and you’re off during the daytime. Always got your hair and nails lookin’ nice….kinda figured you-“

“I’m not a stripper or dancer. Nor do I do porn or escort services.” Your brows furrow, it should be funny- the mistaken identity, but the truth is that it hurts a little.

You lean back, unable to quell the unease of even entertaining the idea of offering him a contract if he felt so strongly about what he thought you were asking of him- of his assumption of who you were.

There was nothing wrong with anyone who chose that lifestyle and employment, but you had made a name for yourself doing what you did best. The constant under the breath and snide comments about how you carry yourself is the only reason for your success still stings. The notion that you use your looks to get clients, that it’s the only reason they seek you out; it completely diminished the passion and love you pour into every single job you take on for a long while. And Joel is voicing it right alongside the countless others that have before him. “My services are in the art industry. I’m a tattoo artist.”

You know that your eyes are focused, not quite on him but on the curls that still frame his temples. Too long, as you very well know from one of your casual conversations. It’s…not a good feeling to hear the words so many have said before coming from him. He’s been a constant in your life since the beginning of the renovation and he’s seen parts of you that no one has in a long time. For him to openly share his thoughts causes a tightening in your chest. A twinge in your back along the sensitive skin of the scar that sits there as a constant reminder to be careful.

“Mr. Miller, I can assure you that I’m not trying to get you to do anything untoward, there might be a little paragraph in there but you dictate the parameters of the contract. Completely. Everything is up to you and you certainly don’t have to accept it or even entertain the thought if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” Joel feels like a fool, a damned fool for letting his mind run away from him and his tongue for blurting out probably one of the most insensitive things he could’ve said in response to a new job offer from you. He can see the way you withdraw slightly, probably offended but trying to keep your composure. You’re too good for him and this just proves it even further.

“Assumed. Yes, I can see that now. How things look, maybe this was a bad idea.”

Fuck. No, no, no- he doesn’t think it’s a bad idea to offer him another job but…his mental calendar is full for the next six weeks. One job scheduled after this one, his expenses a little tied up after that with his birthday coming up soon- he had told Sarah he would come visit with Ellie, he hasn’t seen where she’s settled with her boyfriend. It…it’s a lot to handle on his own. Keeping track of one rotating crew with him and then two others working on other jobs around the county.

“No, I- sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m old okay? I don’t know what I’m talking about but the only services I offer are contracting and repair work." He brings a hand up to run a thumb underneath his bottom lip, eyes taking in the flutter of your lashes as his apology soaks into your skin. The almost...yearning look about your soft features. Younger than he is, in full control of those should you choose to lay that look upon. He's sure the boys your age would fall over themselves to see it again, to see more. Hell, he's ready to fall over himself and he's surely twice your age. “I’m not sure how useful I’d be if-“

“I’m in the process of obtaining permits to build on an empty city block. Two buildings. Two shop fronts. I figured you would be able to help out, but I understand if it’s not something you’re interested in. Really.”

And now you’re backpedaling, he feels like such an asshole for what he said. You…you’re an artist. A tattoo artist and really, he doesn’t know how he hadn’t picked up on that. You’ve decorated your skin with beautiful pieces, the sketchbook and tablet you’re always scribbling away on. The mention of clients, long hours, charges, the constant ink stains he sees on your clothes when you get home from work…

He doesn’t want to turn you down, can’t really turn you down. You hadn’t batted an eye at the quote he had given you for the work on your parent’s house. Nor had you argued anytime something needed an extra cushion to get the better quality option of supplies. When he had offered a discount, you had waved him off but he planned to do it anyway. You were sweet, you were considerate and he knows he wouldn’t hear the end of it if his brother found out he had a soft spot for you. But honestly? With the way his brother had been pulling away, taking on less jobs- answering less calls and responding with messages at odd hours or even the summary and final check stapled to paperwork of the rare job he takes on is the only form of communication he’s been getting from the man. So, who cares what he thinks about a discount, when it was Joel’s company.

One he had been fully prepared to hand over to his brother once upon a time. To help straighten him out, give him a hand in a world that demanded so much from him as a soldier and then turned its back on him as an honorably discharged veteran.

You take it all in stride, keeping your composure as best as you can, shoving all the negative feelings down. He’s a good man, he just…he just assumed like he said. Blinking away the unease and slightly awkward tinge to the air you tell him that you understand what he’s saying. He would be perfect for the job you want to offer him, even still. Joel’s ears turn pink at the top, his throat bobbing as he sits there and takes in all the kind words you have for him- even after he basically called you an adult entertainer asking after him to partake in…. something he wasn’t even sure he had a clear idea of.

All so he could see that smile grace your lips and see a flash of teeth he can't help but stop picturing what they would look like holding tight over your own bottom lip, depraved sounds slipping between them as he pressed tight and heavy over you. As his hips slam into yours, his co-

Jesus, he needs a minute to get a handle on himself. Everything is all consuming with you, feelings bubble up, urges strike him strong enough to wear down any thought of resistance. You make him feel like he’s seen, like he’s important, like he matters. It’s no wonder his little crush on you has manifested.

He shakes his head, aware of the watching gaze you don't let up from him as you sit serenely at your desk. The top of your shirt dipped low as you lean forward to rest your chin in the cup of your hands, taunting him. What little power he feels from his larger frame, his years over you, his skills he knows you don't share- they diminish as he glances down to the new skin before meeting your eyes again. You’re too enamoring, too ingrained into his mental space to feel like he’s got any sort of control- even if the working relationship is good, not awkward and even friendly like he wanted it to be.

Small conversations, coffee some mornings as you hang around and watch him place tiles into designs that you request, take out boxes with either your name or his scribbled on them and scattered around the coffee table in the living room. The guys never stay for lunch, opting to go out and get some fresh air.

You tilt your head just a bit, and like a match catching, friction igniting it- his stomach jolts as he pictures that same look aimed up at him as you sit on your knees in front of him. Good god, his mind needs a good rinse. Especially if he’s going to consider accepting the more than generous offer on guaranteed continued work.

"I have a company to run, can't exactly turn down an offer for a job."

"This would be more of an... open-ended contract. I would reach out for any repairs your capable hands are able to work on. From mechanics of vehicles, to construction work, to repairs on established properties. New properties that waiting on permits, like I mentioned. I’m also finalizing the sale on a personal property, so I would need help with getting that up to code as well.  I would pay you a going rate of..."

Joel's mind goes blank, the amount offered per week is astronomical. As much a single job he’s taking one at a time with how he’s got to schedule everything. The same amount he would earn from weeks, if not months of working day in and day out. The way you go on about how even if you didn't have any jobs for him during a week, he would still be compensated. His meals provided and a company card with his name plastered on it in silver on a slick black is flashed at him atop a neat stack of papers with bold print.

"For you to look over, Mr. Miller. There is no rush, nor does the offer expire. Please get back to me at your convenience."

"Uh, well-" He isn't sure what to think, how to feel at the moment. The offer too good to be true, the amount of money would allow him to only work for you. His own clients are willing to pay for his work but not to wait for the time frames he's been giving lately. It's only him in command of three crews, they can only work so fast, and he's seeing them get poached by other companies with better hours, more pay.

Joel's made a name for himself with 'Miller Contracting'. But as the years go on, his hopes to pass it on to his younger brother become a more silly notion than something that could happen. A person who has begun to see his life toward a different path, one of less hours and more focus on his wife and unborn baby.  He sighs, knowing that the thoughts would circle endlessly in his mind should he let them begin. The whole reason he has the job for you now is because his brother bailed…

"There is absolutely no pressure, just wanted to extend the offer. I have found that...other men have embellished their skill sets in order to receive the same offer. Jokingly claim they don’t care but then become petulant when it’s obvious it’s not going to happen. But you have the skills, you are competent."

"I'll-I'll get back to you, ma'am."

"The number at the top of the contract, it's an all hours one. Feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns, any stipulations or changes you'd like to make. I hope you have a very good rest of the day, Mr. Miller." You smile at him, eyes bright as you watch the way his throat bobbed with a harsh swallow.

Later that evening, two drinks deep and another poured into his cup, he settles into the worn leather of his couch with the contract in his hand. He's flipping through the many pages, preparing to read through it when a certain word catches his eye, making him choke on the drink swallow he had just taken.

Intimacy Clause

His skin is suddenly hot, fueled by the liquor he's already ingested, his thoughts turning to filth as a flash of pleasure flares brightly in his belly. Oh....he's certainly in over his head. He's heard of this- what was it called? Sugar daddy dynamic, but if he's the one getting the benefits and wages in exchange that would make him- no, he doesn't want to think about it that way. It's a job offer, a working contract.

He's got half a mind to deny the contract outright, but he can't help the way his eyes devour the words in front of him, from the first page to the last. It’s the perfect opportunity to keep you in his life, a way to keep you as close as his heart begs him too. Friendship something he wants, but the appearance of what it looks like on the outside bothering him still as he realizes how much older he is. Sure, he could run into you when around your parents and at neighborhood gatherings…but if he were to be your personal contractor. Your go-to man for construction and repair work, for…anything really- now that would really make him feel like he was worth the attention you seem to want to dot on him.

His phone is in his hand, thick fingers dialing the number you had provided, no regard for the late hour of the night. He's downing the last bit of his drink, grunting around the sting of it as he hears the ringing loud in his ear.

His heart is beating heavy, slowly, anticipation making him feel like there are far too many rings for there to be an answer on the other side of the line. He's about to cancel it when there's a click and your melodic voice greets him, pleasure flaring up in his belly again.

"Been thinking about me, Mr. Miller?" The coy tone causes a shiver to run down his spine.

Oh shit, he's definitely in over his head.

He looks good, but he doesn’t feel good. You can tell by the grimace marring his plush lips into a frown and the tension he holds in his entire body. Joel is casually walking across the street to where you’re sitting on the porch with a cup of steaming coffee. The house is being cleaned by the company you hired to detail everything. Not that it was particularly dirty, the crew had helped you to dust and wipe everything down as well as possible. It was more of an extra step for your parents to know that you want them to come back from a well-deserved vacation with no worries to even think of. Groceries are stocked in the fridge and pantry, bottles smoothies and juices at the ready for them to slip back into their lives.

It would be your last morning here, fresh from a late night at work and then doing inventory of all your supplies. A huge order loaded up on your phone that you needed to place once you settled into the home you had just finalized the sale on last week. It was finally ready for you to move in, though you suspected the work you wanted to enlist Joel’s help with would take some time.

But you both had it now, in spades. To be with each other, to work alongside each other.

He’s in a pullover sweatshirt that allows for the collar and hem of his shirt underneath to peak out. A little large on him, but not slouchy. He looks like he’s trying to not put too much pressure on his joints and you quickly set a reminder on your phone to schedule a massage for him sometime in the next week. A little gift to help ease some stress. You could use one too, you think as you see the barrage of missed calls from a blocked number. The area code for the city you had just moved from…

“Hey there, rough morning?” His voice is coarse, filling in the humid morning air with a little more warmth as he approaches and stands at the bottom of the porch steps. He’s got on a pair of glasses…and you’re thoughts are swirling in the gutter as you imagine him staring down through the lenses at you as you kneel before him…

Swallowing the sip you just took, you tilt your head toward the other side of the patio lounge you’re on, legs curled up beneath you. Large cardigan keeping you comfortable over a pair of jeans and a tank top. There’s ink stained on the front, the collar dipping low as you had moved around to finish a giant custom piece for most of the evening.

“It’s been alright, can’t really call it ‘morning’ if I haven’t been to sleep yet,” You feel a thrill down your spine as he sits, his thigh brushing up against your bare knee where a hole in the denim exposes it. You don’t move and he doesn’t shy away either. He’s got the thick stack of papers in his hand, but the envelope with the check for his renovation and the card with his name on it are gone.

“We can make this quick, then, if you want to get to bed.”

“No need, I’m moving today and then work later.” You offer him your mug and he gingerly takes it from you to slurp the sweetened and creamed coffee inside. His thick moustache catches a few droplets and as your eyes linger, his tongue sneaks out to capture them. “I’ll catch a nap in the afternoon, no need to worry, Mr. Miller.”

“Sweetheart, told you to call me Joel.” He hands you back the mug. His brown eyes catch yours and you feel your entire body go still, worry igniting you that he’s about to tell you he’s thought the contract over and wants nothing to do with it…

“Especially if I’m gonna hand this back over with my signature scrawled on it.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen as you turn to face him completely.

“You seem surprised.” He’s laughing as he flips to the last page to show you and it releases all the tension in your chest. He’s got such a good laugh, hearty and full. You want to do everything you can to hear it more, to give him a reason to laugh more. More time to focus on what he wants, not worried about keeping up with big projects that take so much time to complete. Not that he minds, like he’s assured you, he loves the work and wants to do it. But it’s getting to be a lot to handle, his brother is finding himself a different path- something he mentioned when you had asked after the other Miller brother and why he hadn’t been the one to take on your job.

“I was a little worried, it’s not exactly a normal thing to be offered. But like I said, everything is up to you, the jobs are the jobs, the work is still work, everything else is completely up to you.”

“Don’t think anything can be considered normal these days, but,” He’s reaching to place his palm on your knee in a comforting gesture. “I could honestly really use the break you’re lending me. Gives me the chance to be more present in the girls’ lives. I’ve got one last job I’ve already taken a deposit on, a small trip out to see Sarah and then I’m all yours. It’s a generous offer and I’d be a fool to turn it down.”

“What’s the last job?”

“An above ground pool and deck, shouldn’t take more than two weeks. Give me until next month, then we can get everything settled. If that’s okay?”

“I don’t mind how long it takes, I was going to pay you the first month upfront, even if you didn’t want to do this. As a bonus of sorts, for the amazing job you did here.” You wave your hand behind you toward the house. The cleaning crew is already busy, their chatter and light music filling the home with life.

“You really are somethin’, you know that?” He’s tipping his head down, looking at his scuffed and paint stained boots. Pink tinging his ears as he does so, the fingers over your knee digging in and then releasing in move you aren’t sure he’s aware of.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller. And I want you to see that, you deserve the chance for a slower life, for a life you want. Now let’s go.” You gulp down the last of the coffee and set it down on the patio table to your right. The contract slides into the bag at your feet and you’re standing.

“Where we goin’?” He’s sill got those damn thick rimmed glasses on and he looks good enough to eat as he looks up at you from his spot still on the whicker couch. He hasn’t gotten up alongside you, unsure what’s going to happen now that the paperwork is officially signed and accepted- a date for the next month picked out for him to officially be on your payroll. As a sugar baby. Well, a contracted workman but the reality of the situation isn’t just that.

But you do, you’re going to take care of him. Exactly like you promised.

“To the salon. You said you’ve been putting off a trim.”

��We don’t have-“

“Joel. You said you don’t much like your hair as long as it is, it’s an easy fix.”

“I don’t…got a meeting with my brother this afternoon.” He shuffles on his feet, boots scuffing the new coat of sealant on the porch he put on with his own two hands. “Gonna tell him about the business.”

“It’s only ten, we’ll be done by then.” You go to grip his shoulder with a light hand. Your nails grazing his arm on the way up. The reassuring smile you give him melts him, you can see it. “I promise.”

A short drive later and a more than enthusiastic interaction in the industrial and modern looking salon, Joel sits with a grimace into a chair and lets the hairdresser fasten the cape securely over his throat. The place is so fancy, certainly not the master bathroom or the corner barbershop tucked into the end of a strip mall that he normally frequents. He’s tense and you feel bad so you hold up a finger to motion for the woman to pause for a moment. She smiles at you, noticing his unease as well.

“Hey,” You whisper as you come to stand behind him. He’s watching you with his dark eyes through the mirror, noticing the grays that make up most of his facial hair, steel tone that gives away how dark his hair had been once upon a time. His curls too, are the same dark gray intermixed with ash strands. Thick and erring on the side of ringlets if they should grow any longer. Your fingers gently scratch at the back of his head as you dig them into his hair, thumbs massaging up the back of his neck in a soothing gesture.

His hair is as soft as you imagined, like silk against your skin and you hum a little as you notice his eyes flutter at your ministrations. His shoulders drop and he let’s out a deep breath he must’ve been holding in.

“It’s just a trim, okay? Whatever you want, however you like it. You deserve it and you’ll feel so much better, I promise.”

And goddamn, if it’s not hard to keep promising things to one Joel Miller.

He’s so flighty, so nervous when he doesn’t know what to expect in a situation like this. Out of his depth and a little uncomfortable with the first outing as you go-to guy for all things. A paid companion of sorts. A strong contrast to the confidence he struts around with and moves through a space he’s working on, through the hardware store, as he drives his truck expertly throughout the suburban and city streets.

And when his eyes open back up, he’s returning your gentle smile with one of his own. Completely as ease. It makes your heart speed up and warmth pool in your middle.

Joel’s not nervous, but he’s not exactly thrilled to share the news of his company becoming an- contracted one he guesses would be the right term. One that has the sole purpose of fulfilling your every need, no matter now small or large a scale the project or task is. A way to provide for you and be a friend to you, to keep you close like he can’t seem to resist. He’s made peace with the decision, he’s comfortable in his decision. But his brother is…

“Why didn't you come to me, brother? I would've- I would've done anything to help, hell, I would've jumped back into working jobs everyday with you if that's what it took to save the company.” Tommy is certainly playing the part of the concerned younger sibling, professing empty words that Joel knows he wants to mean. But he doesn’t. He’s been struggling since coming back from his last tour and Joel’s done just about all he could to help in that department. Up to and including helping him with financial stuff and hiring a district attorney to help him when it had gone too far…

“Tommy, c'mon.” Joel tries to keep his tone in check, but Tommy is more than a little upset that he hadn’t known how stressed his brother was. How could Joel have told him? When could he have even told him, this is the first time to two of them have actually sat down and not just traded half conversations over the phone or even at the sad excuse of an office rented for the business. It was easier for them to work out of a trailer they would park at job sites, more secure for them to have eyes on the space that helped them to operate, well Joel to operate.

“Don't you do that, act like I don't care.” Wide brown eyes are turned toward him, the same ones that worked to get him to take the blame for too many eaten cookies before dinner, a broken lamp when they were too reckless running around the house, or when paired with a wobbling lip and tears that Joel would take make sure no one but him got into trouble. The big brother, always looking out for his younger one.

“I couldn't get you to even answer the damn phone, let alone work anymore 'n you wanted to.” A harsh scrub of his palm against his chin rustles the stubble there. Honest and reality checking words simmer in his belly, heating him up from the inside out and he realizes that there’s no stopping them from bubbling up.

He’s hurt, dammit. By the fact that after everything he’s done, his brother still decides to be selfish in a way he wished he could be proud of. Family is important, but the woman that Tommy is choosing over everything else…It just doesn’t sit well with him. “The business is good, just getting a little back logged and people aren’t willing to wait that long for certain work. It’s tough with just me and the crews, really expected to have a little more help.”

“That's not fair, I got...I got things I'm taking care of, Maria she-“

“This isn't about her, Tommy! This is about you doin' whatever the hell you wanna do, just like fucking always. your whole damn life, you've been like this.” He feels the words surge through him, spurred on by the sheer contrast of interacting with you and then his brother. One was family and yet…you treated him with more respect, you seemed to care enough to offer him a way to support himself better, to provide for him, to help him.

And the man across from him is doing nothing but making excuses as to why he hasn’t offered more.

“Joel, if I had known-“

“But you didn't! Didn’t even bother to ask how all the jobs you kept bailing on got done, how they got managed into my already full schedule. You know Ellie is thinkin’ of moving out because she thinks she’s too loud in a house that’s quiet when I’m not there and even more so when I am? She feels like a burden on me because I’m workin’ so damn hard and I pass out the second I get home.”

“Ellie’s an adult, but I’m sorry the work has you feeling like an absent father. Maybe you shouldn’t have-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Tommy. I love that girl with my whole fucking heart. I made the decision to transition to contracted work, to help out a friend with her business and personal projects. She’s supplin’ me with enough cash flow to make it worth my while and give me more down time.”

“Yeah and what, you think some pretty, successful woman is gonna be the key to keeping your company. You sold out, man, she's gonna be changing things, controlling things, you don't even know the half of it. You should've-“

“You weren't there!” Joel hollers, his patience gone and his head pounding. He realizes that the table next to them looked up from their menus at his outburst but he doesn’t care. “You weren't there, mentally, physically, you were gone off in your own little world, Tommy! She was....she saw me struggling and she treated me with kindness and respect- she was there to help! She was fucking there, Tommy!”

“You really think she gives a shit about you? Cause she don’t! She just sees an old man to buy out and take over a company because she’s bored, needs something to play with. The girls are going to flip when they find out how weak you were when a pretty little thing flashed a smile at you. All cause you think she cares about you, but she ain’t your family, Joel. Stop lookin’ for it in all the wrong places.”

“You ain’t been much of family lately, Tommy. But go ahead and judge me all you want, this is something I want to do.” He slips the envelope from his back pocket, the logo for his company branded in the top corner, your name beside his above the contact number. It was something you had mocked up for him to look over once the visit to the salon finished. He had liked it, maybe a little too much- to see your names beside each other.

Joel takes the check out from it, so the amount written out is visible. “This is for you and Maria, for my nephew, once he’s born. It’s the severance amount everyone is getting and then some. Cause I take care of my own.”

Joel is shoving up from his seat, jaw muscles twitching. Tommy’s eyes roll up from the check to his older brother looming over him. “You’re no better ‘n me, Tommy. You chased after Maria the second your case was settled.”

He’s not even in his truck for a second before he’s pulling out his new phone and hitting the call button.

All the tension leaves him from the heated interaction the second your voice filters through the line.

“Hey, hey! I’m a little tied up at the moment so you’re on speaker, I hope you don’t mind?” It’s then that he notices the background noise: soft music, the sound of something liquid being shaken up in plastic, and the tacky stretch of cling wrap being unraveled.

“Tha’s alright, sweetheart. Was thinkin’ of coming by, check out those permit applications for you and make sure they’re getting processed okay.”  

“Oh! That would be lovely. And you could check out the space I’m renting. So you know where to find me if I’m with a client. I’ll text you the address, yeah?”

“Want anything from the coffee shop?” Joel’s eyes glance across the street. His brother is gone from the table they had shared outside the café. The truck he had seen him pull up in gone as well. He should probably do the right thing and apologize to the server for taking up a table and then not ordering anything. Might as well get the coffee he had intended to as well.

“Mr. Miller, you are too sweet. I’ll text you my order. See ya in a bit!”

The line doesn’t hang up right away and he catches the soft words you speak next.

“He sounds handsome, was that your husband?”

“Oh! No, no, that was my friend. He’s my personal contractor and go to maintenance man.”

“I’m so sorry, I just assumed because I was looking back at your profile before the appointment and noticed the wedding photos on your feed.”

And then the line goes dead, the call ending as his thumb punches the red circle on the screen.

Joel’s heart thuds harshly against his ribs, his insides all twisted up. The way you sounded when you talked about him had been so warm.

My friend.

But then the person sitting in the studio with you had said the very last things he had ever anticipated.

Your husband. Wedding photos.

Were you married and neglected to tell him? Was this all some sort of game you were playing? Did you even have a need for him if you had a man who you called your own already? Where the hell did your husband fall in all of this? Was Tommy right and he was being played like a giant fool?

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[sxdisteez]

☆ — Please Sir. | 박성화

✦ summary: mafia! boss seonghwa indulges in the latest obsession he’s been wanting to taste and play with for awhile now. ✦ pairing: mafia! seonghwa x sex! worker fem! reader ✦ genre: mafia au, smut (mdni!) ✦word count: 2.6k ✦ warning - smut!, dom!seonghwa, switch!fem reader, sex! worker (insinuated), reader takes on sub role, oral (f and m receive), unprotected sex (do not follow be safe!), creampie (👎🏾), tears (reader), vaginal fingering, orgasm! denial, choking, rope play, sex toys, degradation(reader called whore/slut), praise, nicknames (slut, baby, sir), rough sex, big dick! seonghwa, impact! play (mild), a lot of cussing, bdsm! (slight) ✦ a/n: this is my very first story I've written on here. It's a story I had previously but tweaked it a lot and feel very satisfied with the results. I hope you enjoy!

this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be a realistic representation of any of the real people mentioned!

nsfw content below. 18+ - mdni

Whips.

Chains.

Gags.

Sex.

When the freaks came out at night that’s when I got up to play. My job is to please people and their sexual desires, whether they're experienced or not and I actually enjoy it. You might think I'm crazy but it gives me immense pleasure knowing my body can make someone cum for me. I have all of the control even when I submit to them.

Club Riot may not be the best in town but Allen, my boss, sure knows how to pick the best girl. In my case, I am the most requested person here. "Y/n we have a high class client coming in tonight and he's requested you." Allen says after coming into my dressing room. Normally hearing this wouldn’t pique my interest because many people request me here but, hearing the emphasis on “high class” let me know he’s bringing big money. "Okay, do you know what time so I can prepare myself?," I ask. "You know these rich people never disclose much around here but, I'll assume around 11 to be safe." He says, huffing slightly. I looked at the clock and saw that it was only 9:30 ‘Perfect! Enough time.’ I thought to myself. "Okay I won't disappoint!" I smiled at him. "You never do lovebug," he says winking before walking out. 

As I began picking out my outfit I couldn’t help but be deep in thought wondering who this mystery client was. It’s rare to get high class people at our establishment since there were better clubs operating. Shaking the thoughts off I opted for my new glittery black laced lingerie set that showed off my best features. I did my hair and make up in record time leaving me with 5 minutes to spare before this new client came. Putting on the robe that went with my set I walked towards the designated VVIP room feeling the nerves pool in my stomach, ‘here goes nothing I thought’ as I entered the room.

At 11:05, the special client arrives. I had been nervously anticipating what was to come with this mystery guest. Not even a minute later an intense aura takes over the room causing shivers to run down my spine.

The presence comes up behind me, placing their hands delicately on my shoulders. I turned slightly to see the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. His lips full and suckable, dark brown eyes that glistened even in the dimmed room, and long black hair that framed his face perfectly. "Hello there, I'm Seonghwa." He says smiling. I couldn't help the low moan that escaped passed my lips as I looked at him. I could tell he was a man with power, just by his appearance.

He smirked before gesturing for me to turn around fully. I comply still in a trance at how beautiful he was. Seonghwa studies my face before his eyes roam down to my covered body. “Take that off.” He commands, looking deeply into my eyes. I stand slowly, already feeling a slight tremble in my legs and let my robe drop to the floor. “Come here.” He says pointing a few inches in front of him. I muster as much courage as I can making my way in front of him, the smell of vanilla with a hint of coffee filling my nose when I enter his space. 

Seonghwa began circling around me, taking in every inch of my body. I felt as if I was on fire with how intense his gaze was, I could already feel my slick oozing out of my pussy. “Since I introduced myself it’s your turn now, miss…” 

“Y/n.” I say a little too quiet for my liking. 

Stopping in front of me he smiles a now wicked smile, “I have a few rules for our session today y/n.” “One you will call me sir, two I will call you whatever I want, and three the most important rule, you must ask for permission to cum. Am I clear?” He states his dark orbs watching my every move. Words stuck in my throat I could only nod. 

"My little slut lost for words huh?" He taunts, smirking down at me. Shocked at his tone I snapped out of my trance finally taking in what I could see of his figure, I just knew his dick was big. 'Fuck,' I thought my pussy throbbing even more with need. "I- no." I say, trying to remember that I was in control. “No what?," He questions with narrowed eyes. “No sir.” I correct myself quickly, ‘maybe I’m not in control after all’ I thought.

Seonghwa walks away to a black bag on the floor I hadn’t even noticed before. "Take off your clothes," he demands while searching through the bag. I hurriedly discard my clothes, leaving me bare and vulnerable. He looks up at me with lust filled eyes. "Oh baby you're so beautiful," He says walking towards me, red restraints in hand. "Now get on the bed and spread 'em," he commands. I lay down, arms and legs spread wide, as if it were routine for me. "Seems like the little slut is desperate for my touch," Seonghwa smirks. I let out a whimper watching him gaze at my body hungrily. "I've heard so much about you and how much of a little whore you are, I hope to see it soon," Seonghwa hums.

 He carefully tied the restraints on my wrists and ankles, making sure they were secured but loose enough for my comfort. It was something about his aura that made me want to get on my knee and beg him to just fuck me until I passed out.

Stepping back he goes over to his bag discarding his suit jacket unbuttoning a few buttons on his shirt. He reaches in the bag retrieving what seems to be a butt plug with lube. My eyes widened cautiously, leading him to chuckle. “Don’t worry baby, I won’t hurt you unless you ask.” Walking over Seonghwa kneeled between my spread legs taking in my state. I was soaked and desperately in need of his touch. I’ve never felt this sexually frustrated in my life. 

Seonghwa hungrily eyes y/n body holding himself from ravaging her at once. He’d had his eyes on her for a while now but with his line of work the streets kept him busy…until now.

 I make my way up towards her face taking in her beauty. At once I roughly press my lips against hers, loving the little moan she lets out from the contact. Hungrily kissing her, my hands roam down until I feel her breast. Giving them a slight squeeze, rolling her peaked nubs between my fingers. I’m immediately met with a loud moan making me smirk. Pulling away I inch down taking one nipple into my mouth, still playing with the other loving the sounds y/n made. 

“S-sir please,” she whined squirming under me.

 “Please what?” I questioned smugly, knowing exactly what she wanted. "Please fuck me sir," she begs causing me to laugh. “How pathetic! You’re already begging and we’re just getting started.”

 Kissing down her body I make my way to her soaked core loving how wet she already was for me. Without hesitation I flattened my tongue over her, moaning from how sweet she tasted ’fuck I could eat her out all day’ I thought.

The minute his tongue touched my folds I saw stars. “Oh my-“ the words caught in my throat as his tongue slipped in and out of my hole at an excruciatingly slow pace. I bucked at the sensation causing him to tighten his grip on my hips. I felt like I was lost in a trance with how his tongue worked magically on my pussy. Alternating from my clit to my hole, slurping up my juices without coming up for air. I could tell he was enjoying it just as much as I was. 

Feeling the heat rise in my belly I attempted to grind on his face but was met with a harsh slap to my thigh causing me to hiss. “I didn’t say you could move,” he mumbles looking up at me with narrowed eyes. “I’m close” I moan out feeling frustrated with his sudden change of pace. The frustration quickly subsided, feeling his fingers rub at my entrance. I look down watching him stare straight into my eyes, easing two fingers deep inside of me with an evil smirk, “remember the rules”. My jaw drops at the fullness followed by the rapid pace of his fingers curling to hit my spot. “Fuckkk!” I moan feeling my legs begin to tremble as the coils tighten more in my stomach. “I-I’m so close, fuck please sir c-can I cum?” I yell out close to my peak. With that he stops altogether leaving me empty. I whine as tears stream down my face out of frustration, my orgasm slowly fading. “Aww don’t cry you’ll have plenty of chances to cum baby,” he smiles picking up the toy he’d retrieved earlier.

Placing a ton of lube on the toy he reminds me to relax before slowly pushing the toy to my entrance. It goes in with ease giving me a slight feeling of fullness. I watch as he gets off the bed ridding himself of his clothes. With just the mere sight of him naked my orgasm was at its peak again. Seonghwa’s toned abs and muscles flexed as he took his shirt off, long legs and as I guessed a nice dick that was long with enough girth to accompany his god-like body. I was tempted to beg him to release me but he was already one step ahead. Walking up he strokes my head gently before removing the restraints.

"Get on your knees now!" he demands. I scurry on to the floor in front of him. "Suck." pulling me roughly by the hair. I immediately take his length in my mouth moaning at the sweet taste similar to honey. "Take it all in." he grunts, forcing my head down causing me to gag. "Good girl." he praises me, “I love to see you take me all the way down like a good little slut.” From Seonghwa’s words I was determined to give the best head of my life.

Peering down at her figure I groan as I watch her once again take a majority of my cock in her mouth, working the rest with her hands. I restrained myself from fucking into her mouth not wanting to cum too quickly. I allowed y/n to take control this one time just to see how far she’d go. She began teasing my cock head, swirling her tongue around it then sucking it, taking it out of her mouth with a loud pop while looking me straight in the eyes. I moaned smirking at her attitude knowing this was my pay back for teasing her. 

I played with his cock head loving each and every moan that escaped his mouth. I could tell he was holding himself back from something. “Alright that's enough,” he pulled me up, kissing me sloppily. I could still taste myself on his tongue, both groaning into each other's mouth as we mixed saliva. Breaking up the kiss he bends me over slightly in front of the full mirror, playing at my entrance with his cock before slowly sliding in. We moan in unison at the shared sensation. 

Seonghwa slowly began to thrust inside of me, gripping my hips tightly. “Fuck you’re so fucking tight,” he moans out increasing his speed. I couldn’t help the lewd noises that escaped my mouth with each stroke, I’ve never been fucked this good ever. Lost in my thoughts I suddenly feel a harsh smack on my ass followed by another on the other side. My head snaps up hissing from the pain only to see him staring deeply in my soul with a look I can’t pinpoint. “Look at me while I fuck you,” he growls out hip moving even faster. “Each time you look away there will be another smack. Do you understand?” I nod only to have my ass smacked again. “Use your words baby” he growls again. 

“Yes sir” I groaned out feeling turned on with how erotic this was.

I felt like a wild animal the minute I entered her pussy. Damn she was gonna ruin me before I even knew it. I could feel the other side of me slowly coming out the more I fucked her. From the noises she made, to the way her pussy tightened with each thrust, and how beautiful it looked watching us fuck in the mirror I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to look her in the eyes the entire time so this moment would forever be ingrained in her mind. She would be feigning for me and my cock 24/7. 

“Sir can I please cum?” she begged looking at me with pleading eyes. ‘God I wanna make her cry again’ I thought, loving the way she looked earlier. “When I say cum you better cum.” She nodded rapidly as her pussy clenched even tighter around me. After a few more deep strokes I began rubbing her clit.

 “Cum.” I commanded. 

Y/n spasmed on my cock, legs shaking as she let out the loudest scream since the session started. I'm sure everyone in the club could hear her. I continued, helping her ride out her orgasm until she was limp. “You’re such a good slut.”I praised picking her up. I wasn’t done just yet.

After cumming I could barely stand all of my limbs went numb from how much pleasure I felt. Seonghwa picked me up, laying me down in the middle of the bed. ‘This man is crazy’ I thought as I felt him place my legs on his shoulders before entering me. I weakly moaned, loving the fullness again. His hips snapped skillfully hitting my spot over and over again. The noises that filled the room were full of sin. “You hear how wet your pussy is baby?” He groaned looking down at me. “With each stroke your cum coats my cock beautifully.” At that I couldn’t help but pull him down to kiss him. I was drunk off lust and pleasure. Our tongues wrestled for dominance. I won in the end putting all of my feelings into the kiss. He continued to pound into me groaning into my mouth with each thrust. I felt him twitch inside of me as we pulled away from the kiss. “Rub your clit” he commands, repositioning my legs leaving me open and exposed. I matched my movement with the speed of his strokes. “Fuuuck!” He moaned out, feeling me squeeze as my second orgasm approached. “I’m so close.” I groan feeling overwhelmed with pleasure. Seonghwa continued pounding into me, his strokes getting sloppy and erratic. “Sir can I come pleaseee sir.” I cry out feeling the familiar heat rise in my stomach. “Cum baby.” He commands after a few strokes and we release at the same time. I moan loudly, legs trembling, eyes rolling to the back of my head as I feel his cum fill me up completely.

“Baby you did such a good job for me,” Seonghwa praises pulling out of me. He leaned over peppering kisses all over my face before kissing me deeply on my lips. I lazily kissed back feeling exhausted. I could barely keep my eyes open knowing it was time for me to go home for the day. “This won’t be the last time you see me y/n.” Was the last thing I heard him say before sleep took over. When I woke up an hour later I was cleaned up with a blanket covering me. Next to me was a little note that said, “The moment I’ve dreamed of.” and nothing else.

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[fanficgirlysmhh]

Title: At what Cost

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Warnings: fighting, swearing, emotional distress

Word count: ~3200

Summary: love isnt always easy

The silence between you and Jude is unbearable. The house in Madrid feels too big, too quiet, and far too empty, even with him in it. It’s been five years since you moved here, leaving behind everything you loved in London. Five years of loving him fiercely, but also five years of missing yourself.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, your laptop closed, untouched for the day. You’d tried to distract yourself with work, studying, or anything else, but nothing could shake the storm brewing inside you.

Jude walks in, his bag slung over his shoulder, fresh from training. His presence fills the room, but the emptiness in your chest remains.

“Hey,” he says, offering you a small smile as he sets his bag down. “Long day. You okay?”

You look up at him, your emotions barely held together. “Do you ever think about what I gave up to be here?”

The question hangs in the air. Jude freezes, caught off guard. “What?”

“I left my job, my friends, my family… my life. For you,” you say, your voice trembling. “And now I’m here, in Madrid, in this huge house, feeling like I don’t belong. Feeling like I’ve lost myself.”

Jude steps closer, his expression tightening. “What are you talking about? You’ve always known this is my career, my dream.”

“I know!” you cry, your voice cracking. “And I’ve supported you every step of the way, haven’t I? But what about me, Jude? What about my dreams? My life? I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Jude’s face hardens, his frustration evident. “You act like I’m the villain here. You knew what you were signing up for when you moved here. You knew football was my life.”

“And you’re mine!” you yell, tears spilling over now. “But it feels like I’m not even a part of yours anymore. Do you know how lonely I’ve been? How overwhelming it is to watch you live this big, glamorous life while I’m here, drowning?”

Jude runs a hand through his hair, his voice rising to match yours. “I’m doing this for us! Everything I do, it’s to build a life for us! And you don’t even try to make this work. You could get a job, make friends, do something other than sit here waiting for me!”

The words cut deep. You stare at him, hurt and disbelief swirling in your chest. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Just sitting around, waiting for you?”

“Well, isn’t it?” he snaps, but there’s regret in his eyes the moment the words leave his mouth.

You take a shaky breath, the tears now falling freely. “I don’t go out because I hate the spotlight. I hate the cameras, the questions, the way people look at me like I’m just your arm candy. And then there are the photos—photos of you with other women, Jude. Always other women.”

“They mean nothing,” he says firmly, his voice softening. “They’re just photos, and you know that.”

“But they mean something to me!” you shout, the pain in your voice raw. “Because I’m the one here, fighting to keep this together, while you’re out there living a life that feels like it doesn’t include me anymore. I moved my entire life for you, Jude, and I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Fuck”

—-

The fight leaves both of you drained. You stand there in the kitchen, the tension so thick you can barely breathe. Jude stares at you, his chest rising and falling as he processes everything you’ve just said.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shake your head, brushing past him. “I don’t want to hear anything right now.”

You leave the room and retreat upstairs, the weight of the argument pressing down on you. You cry yourself to sleep that night, unsure of what the morning will bring.

—-

When you wake up, your eyes are swollen from crying, your chest still heavy with emotion. You grab your phone, intending to scroll mindlessly in an attempt to numb the pain. But the first thing you see stops you in your tracks.

It’s an Instagram post. Jude’s Instagram post.

There’s a carousel of photos—one of you and him in London when you first started dating, one of you laughing on the couch in your Madrid home, one of you kissing his cheek after a match. The caption reads:

“Five years ago, I met the love of my life. She moved across countries for me, gave up everything to be by my side, and never stopped believing in me, even when I didn’t make it easy.

She hates the spotlight, so you won’t see her at every event. But she’s the reason I get up every morning and give everything I have. Because without her, none of this would mean anything.

I love you. More than football, more than anything. I don’t say it enough, but I couldn’t bear a life without you. Thank you for staying, even when it’s hard. I promise I’ll do better.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you scroll through the comments—fans and teammates alike praising the post, sending love and support. For the first time, it feels like the world knows who you really are, not just Jude Billingham’s girlfriend, but his partner, his anchor.

You set the phone down and head downstairs, your heart pounding.

Jude is sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in his hands. He looks up when he hears you, his expression uncertain.

“I saw your post,” you say softly, your voice thick with emotion.

He stands, setting the coffee aside. “I meant every word.”

You walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. He holds you tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “And I’m so sorry. For everything. I want to fix this—I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands resting on his chest. “I don’t want you to give up your dream, Jude. I just need to feel like I have a life too. Like I’m not losing myself for us.”

“Then let’s figure it out,” he says, his hands cupping your face. “You can split your time between London and Madrid. Take your old job back if you want. And when football’s done, we’ll move back to London for good. That’s always been the plan, hasn’t it?”

You nod, tears spilling over again. “I can wait for that. As long as we’re in this together.”

You stay there in his arms, the weight of the past few days slowly lifting. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

For now, it’s enough.

[femininefables]

⛓️🖤ℑ’𝔩𝔩 𝔎𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔚𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤🖤⛓️

Sevika x fem! Y/n: broken marriage angst

part 1

a/n : in reality, I can never see Sevika treating her S/O like this, but I’m a sucker for angst so here this is anyways.

contains: swearing, alcohol abuse, minor pushing and shoving, smoking, maybe manipulation? Idk. If you’re uncomfortable with any of this, please stay away for your own comfort! ❤️

w/c : 2.1k

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The rain comes down hard against the shaking windows of your apartment in Zaun. You’re sitting up, waiting on the return of your wife, Sevika. She was meant to be home a while ago, but you try not to worry. Despite that, the anxiety that something’s wrong this time lingers in your mind.

She’s usually late to come home since she’s now Silco’s right hand, and is a lot busier than she used to be. You can’t say you entirely agree with Silco and Sevika, but this job seems to mean a lot to her, so you let any opinions you have go.

The clock strikes again… it’s been an hour, and no Sevika. You know that something’s up for sure, but what can you do? There’s no way you’d last long alone in Zaun past midnight… You try to stay up longer, but you feel sleep pulling your eyelids shut and attempting to quiet your worried mind…

Defeated, you sleepily make your way to the bed you share with Sevika, crawling onto it before collapsing where she’d usually sleep. You can’t help but smell her on the pillows, the blankets, and the sheets. You decide you’ll head straight to Silco’s base the very next morning to find her… if she isn’t back by then…

The faint sunlight filters its way through your halfway drawn blinds. Reaching out, you search for the familiar warmth of your wife, but she still isn’t there. Sitting up immediately, you pull on some clothes, grab a pocket knife, and leave to search for her on your own.

When you finally reach Silco’s place, most of his guards and goons move out of your way. Sevika has always made it clear that you’re with her, and the consequences of your mistreatment won’t be pretty, whether she’s your coworker or not. “Sev? Are you here?” You call out nervously. There’s still no sign of her. You slowly make your way to Silco’s door, cracking it open before pushing it out of the way. Sevika is completely knocked out on the couch.

Your hand goes to your mouth in shock as your eyes wander towards the bandaged bloody stump where her arm used to be. You feel light headed. You might puke, but you steel yourself, and instead focus on her face. “Sev! Are you okay? What happened?!” You say. You don’t shake her, since you think that might hurt her. You press your ear to her chest and breath a sigh of relief when you not only hear her heart pumping, but feel the slow rise and fall of her chest that you missed the night before.

“She’ll live…” A sickeningly familiar voice says from behind you. Whirling around, startled by the intrusion, you see that it’s only Silco. He doesn’t look so good himself either… Not that he ever did to you anyways. “What happened!?” You demand, trying to hide the obvious tremor in your voice. “A plan.. I can’t tell you everything, but Vander’s girl was causing some trouble, and there was…an explosion..”

He walks around the room till he reaches his desk, sitting down in the large chair. “Your..partner, Sevika…She defended me.. probably saved my life. In exchange for well…I think you can tell.” You’re aware of what has been going on the past couple of days. The explosion in piltover, the enforcers running around looking for the suspects, but you have no idea how this is related at all. All you want is for Sevika to wake up and tell you everything’s okay like normal.

“Uggh….shit..” Wish granted. Sevika’s eyes flutter open and she looks around. It’s clear she’s not really there, but you can’t help rushing back to her side. “Sev it’s me! A-are you okay? How do you feel!?” She looks at you strangely, before muttering a curse and going back to sleep. Kind of anti-climactic.

“We had a doctor stop by. She’s on a lot of medication right now, but she should be okay, given I’m giving her two months off..” She just lost her arm.. Only two months!? You think to yourself. However; “Okay..” is how you respond. All you can do is stare down at your wife, who merely furrows her eyebrows in her sleep.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:-

It’s been some time since the accident. Sevika is back home, and has been for about a week now. Recently, she’s been less affectionate, but you’ve brushed it off as stress, or her getting used to her new disability.

Despite this, you’re trying to be the most supportive wife you can possibly be. One afternoon, you spot her struggling to eat with a spoon. Her left hand was her dominant one after all… You go over to help her, lifting the spoon to her lips and smiling. “Hey. It’s alright I can help you.” She glares at you. “I don’t need your help… I’m not a kid.” You sigh, trying to be patient with her. “I know…but just let me help you right now.” Sevika has never been good at accepting help. She always wants to do things on her own. It’s a quality you find equally endearing, and annoying at times.

“I know that-well, things are going to be different for you from now on. This is all going to take some getting used to, but please, let me help you for now.” You plead with her. Her eyes soften momentarily, before looking away from you with a grunt. She begrudgingly takes the spoon in her mouth, allowing you to help her eat.

Despite some moments of tenderness, things are still pretty rough. She’s drinking a lot more than usual, and completely brushing you off when you try to talk to her about it. One night, you wake up to the loud sound of the TV in the living room. Sevika isn’t next to you.

You get up and head out the bedroom door, finding her drinking what looks like her third beer, and watching some crap on the TV. “What’s with that look, baby~?” She asks with a drunken slur. “You’re drinking again…You’ve already had a lot today.” You say, walking over and sitting down next to her. You hold her remaining hand with your own. “Ah fuck…Just get off my back…” She groans, rolling her eyes at you. “Sev, I just-all this drinking can’t be good for you. I know loosing your arm is rough, but this isn’t the solution! Just please come to bed with me.” You beg her. For a moment her eyebrows raise, before she scowls at you. She roughly shoves you off of her. “I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion on how i’m dealing with my own shit. Not yours.” She spat. Sevika swears all the time. She has the mouth of a sailor, but this time it feels different. Like the feeling you had when waiting for her to come home that night. A sinking feeling in your stomach telling you something is wrong. Fighting back tears, you stand up and return to bed.

It’s after one a.m. Sevika still hasn’t come to bed. The TV is off now. Is she asleep? You grip your wedding ring tightly. As you twist it around your finger, you assure yourself that this will all brush over. She just needs time…she’ll come around…she still loves me…it’ll be okay…

You jolt awake at the sound of heavy footsteps and the bed bouncing as Sevika plops down. You feel her calloused hand snake around your waist, and pull your back flush against her chest. Her chin comes to rest on the top of your head, and she finally speaks. “Hey…I’m sorry…” She sounds remorseful. Drunk for sure. Sevika is usually good at holding her alcohol. Must have drank a lot tonight…

“I shouldn’t be mean to you… I love you… you know that right?” She presses a kiss to the top of your head. The first one in a while. It stings a bit that it’s not when she’s sober. “Yeah… I know.” You mutter. Sevika mumbles on “ I’m sorry baby. I don’t deserve someone as pretty and sweet as you. I don’t know why you wanted to be with an old lady like me…” She squeezes you tighter. Sevika is only thirty three, but she calls herself old all the time. The usual ramblings of a drunk Sevika. You fall asleep that night in her arms. Till you’re not. The morning leaves you alone in the bed. After getting up, you notice Sevika isn’t home. You wait all afternoon until she finally comes through the door. “Oh, hey babe.” She says. “ Sev, where were you so early?” You ask, noticing the red cape draped over where her left arm was. “ Silco’s place. He called me over and, well… I’m getting a prosthetic.” She doesn’t seem too thrilled.

“That’s great!” You rush to her side, urging her to sit down. She’s still a bit tense. “Is something wrong?” You ask. She’s averting your gaze. “Look I just…you…fuck. Never mind.” She stands up and lights a cigarillo. Something she never used to do around you.

Sevika’s new arm will definitely take some getting used to. You’re not too sure about the shimmer aspect of it, but she seems pleased with it. “I’ll be back to work with this soon.” She says one night while you’re cooking dinner. “Aww…I’ll miss having you at home, Sev.” You say it like it’s a joke, but you really will miss her. “Yeah? I don’t know why. I’ve been a total bitch recently.” She remarks. “I still will. These past weeks have been hard, so I understand.” She frowns, leaning her elbows on the counter. “You’re just gonna let me get away with that? Wonder what else you’d put up with…”

And so, Sevika is back to work. You barely see her. Leaving early in the morning, and coming back either late into the night, or the early hours of the morning. You’re not sure if all of it is work though… Sometimes, she’ll come back with loads of cash. Sevika has always been a gambler, but it may be getting out of hand now.

Other times, she’ll come home scuffed up from another one of Silco’s “errands.” She won’t let you tend to her like she used to. You were hoping your relationship would go back to how it was now that things are mostly back to normal, but you only seem to be getting more distant. It’s been one week. One whole week since you’ve seen your wife. She told you this mission would be a long one, and “don’t expect to see me around soon.” Before just leaving. You miss the goodbye hugs and soft kisses, and the sweet nothings she’d leave you with.

One night the door slams open, waking you with a little yelp. “Just me.” You hear her yell from the doorway. Getting up, you rush to greet Sevika with a big hug. She stiffens, but merely rubs your head in response. “I missed you…” You mumble into her shirt, which smells of smoke, and blood. “Isn’t that cute?” She chuckles, something you haven’t heard in the longest time.

Everything is strange now. Moments like these feel off. She’s kind to you, sweet and loving, before suddenly becoming cold and distant again. Is this good? Is it bad? No marriage is going to be perfect everyday, but these ups and downs are confusing you. Nevertheless, you savor the rare moment of tenderness.

That morning, you wake up with a smile on your face. Today is Sevika’s day off. Your mind is brimming with ideas of what you could do today. Maybe you can go to the market together, or do some baking, or possibly something else you’ve been missing from her… Shaking the lewd delusion from your head, you get up to go find Sevika. To your surprise, she’s putting on her shoes and adjusting her red poncho over her new arm. “Where are you going?” You ask meekly. Your voice betraying the slightly sad mood you’ve found yourself in. “Out.” Is all she says. She doesn’t even look over her shoulder at you. Deciding not to let this moment go to waste, you tackle her in a tight hug, feeling her warm body against yours, along with the ice cold metal of her arm.

“Get the hell off’a me!” Her voice raises slightly, pushing you away, and knocking you off of her. “I- I’ll be back soon.” She looks regretful for just a moment, before leaving without another word.

For a moment you can’t even move. Just standing there looking shocked as ever. She’s never been so secretive. So aggressive or impulsive. You feel tears sliding down your cheeks before you can even try and stop them. But there’s also a ball of anger and pain in your stomach. You can’t say anything except for a little gasp.

You desperately touch the wedding ring around your finger like it’s a lifeline. “From the fanciest place I could find.” Is what she told you that day. Her eyes trained on yours like you were the only thing in her world. You certainly were not now.

A/n : Hello! Thanks so much for reading part one. I plan to keep this as a series, and any form of critique or suggestions are welcome!

-Elena