#I can be a housewife too dw

[boolger]

Pls all older lesbian women, I can be your kinda controversially young girlfriend, it won’t even be that bad, I’m 27, so if you’re 50+, it’s not even that bad. Pls I’m on my hands and knees. I can bark, I can meow, I can do whatever you want

[kakashixhatakesxwhore]

sneak peek on the itachi and shisui one pls pls that sounds so intriguing 😩

k y'all i don't know how to do sneak peeks, so this is literally the start of the story, like our girl befriending itachi and meeting shisui. something's wrong w me, i'm too longwinded.

anyway, this is the original request - thank you so much to this person, whoever you are, you beautiful mind. death and angst to come, but for now, enjoy the fluff and smidge of tension, i suppose.

"Thinking about an Uchiha love triangle with Shisui and Itachi. Neither of them got to confess to the girl when they were still kids (also given how things played out for Shisui and Itachi….…) What if Shisui asked Itachi to keep her safe as one final wish? And that years after, she and Itachi ended up accidentally reconnecting. With him as an Akatsuki and her being assigned to investigate them and their whereabouts? What if after all these years, he’s always kept Shisui’s promise? That he’s always been her shadow??? That his feelings for her never faded????? HhhhhH Djdjdncn I’m definitely not a writer but I’m imagining angst. So much angst."

Masterlist💿

Loving From Afar

Pairing: Uchiha Itachi x f!Reader x Uchiha Shisui

Summary: A little brainwashed by public opinion, our reader is extremely stand-offish when faced with an Uchiha. Itachi changes that, and then had to deal with our reader being nicer to Shisui than she was to him in the beginning.

W/c: 5.3k (IM SO SORRY)

Warnings: Reader's a nervous puker, talk of throwing up but not particularly detailedly, kids flirting with kids (it's all rated G, dw), brief kids bullying kids, Itachi trying to overshadow his cousin

Ages: Itachi - 6 in the first n second bits, 7 in the third | Y/n - 7 in the first n second bits, 8 in the third | Shisui - 9 in the third

Notes: lmk if y'all fuck with this, if y'all hate this, what you would change, add, keep, throw away - just let me know!!!!

You wished you hadn't been so quick to assume the opinion of your parents, in your younger years. 

Your father, a Jonin, terribly wounded by the attack of the Nine Tails, cursed the Uchiha, whom he was certain were behind the carnage. Though a housewife, your mother steadfastly stood by his opinion, spitting on the once noble name with her husband. Like most of the village, you listened to those who seemed to know best.

They were evil, so evil that even the farmers on the countryside called the Uchiha a Family of Red Devils. Your thoughts were rightfully in accordance with the general public opinion - but it seemed you were one of the few sensible children at the Academy.

"Isn't he dreamy?" Yuna sighed, staring at Itachi over her sandwich.

"Totally," Mio agreed. She didn't even pretend to eat, like Yuna. Mio just stared at Itachi unabashedly, with her elbow propped on her knee and head in hand. "None of the boys in our year have muscles like his."

"Do you think he likes girls with-"

"Who cares what he likes?" You snapped, swallowing a mouthful of white rice. Mio and Yuna both turned their heads painfully slow, looking at you like you had just committed the highest treason. Indignant, you scoffed, quoting your parents, "He's an Uchiha - they're all reprobates, all rotten, vile people, and the more rotten and vile they are, the more powerful, and dangerous, they become. They come in two flavours only; weak or awful, and this one skipped a year, so he's not weak."

Neither Mio nor Yuna were able to come up with a quick enough reply. They just looked at you, and each other, opening and closing their mouths like stupid fish. Relishing the silence, you ate the last bite from your bento box, and threw it back into your bag.

When you looked back at your friends, their eyes were back on Itachi. You rolled your eyes, finally sparing Itachi a glance as you as you asked, "What can he be doing that is so... interesting."

Well, he was staring at you. 

Your group, at least, you figured. Staring-staring, blatantly. His dinner-plate-sized, pitch black eyes stood so starkly against the pristine whites of his eyes and the pale glow of his face. You'd never seen such large eyes before in your life.

It scared the daylight out of you.

"What a creep!" You exclaimed, pulling at your bag over your shoulder and running back into the Academy building, right into Daikoku-Sensei's classroom to hide. He was your favourite instructor, and you were, by far, his favourite student.

Surely, Daikoku would protect your peace and let you spend a little while in his classroom before class.

He greeted you quite jovially, halfway through his own lunch and grading papers. Daikoku let you pull up a chair to his desk, just listening to you yammer about the most trivial things in the world as he marked the pages before him with a red pen.

However, your peace was disturbed again, too soon after it was restored. A knock came and Daikoku called them to enter.

"What a pleasant surprise! My two most gifted students, come to visit," your sensei said warmly once the door opened. 

Intrigued, and a little jealous, you turned your head. Ugh. 

"Come, pull up a chair, we weren't talking about anything important."

"I was just leaving actually," you interjected, collecting your bag from the floor beside you.

But, of course, Daikoku knew you were lying. He chuckled, "No, you were about to tell me about making a new dye for-"

"No, I wasn't," you snipped, standing up quickly. Despite him standing behind you, you could feel Itachi's eyes on you, trying to strip you down to your bare soul.

"Where can you possibly need to go, ten- nine minutes before my class starts?"

Itachi's eyes tickled your skin, searing through. But you kept your calm, trying still to not be rude. You just stammered, "Er... the- the library. I, er, have an over-due book, that I have to, y'know, give back."

Tucking your bag close to your body, you breezed past Itachi, who let you go without a word. You tried not to look at his eyes, having heard the horror stories, but they were just so big, and they were glued to you. Wide and unmoving, as if he were restraining himself greatly, and waging an internal battle.

He freaked you out.

To your core, Itachi unnerved you. Like all of the Uchiha.

It was bad enough that he had been moved up to your year because of his accomplishments, but you never had to interact with him before. You still hadn't, not properly, and, as you scurried away from Daikoku's classroom, you noticed that you were shaking like a leaf. 

The unease travelled to your stomach, and made your mouth fill with saliva.

As quickly as your legs would carry you, you ran down the hall and out the back doors of the school.

You were just in time, kneeling into a bush and pulling your hair back, just as you began to throw up. Hot tears welled into your eyes, but you didn't make a sound as you gagged.

You could hear the doors swinging open again as you heaved into the bush, but you were far too occupied to care.

"Cor lummy - I didn't know you hated me this much."

Great. Yeah, perfect. Just what you wanted.

"Leave me al-" 

Another wave took over your body, cutting off your command and taking every bit of authority out of it.

Much to your dismay, at the time, Itachi came behind you. With fingertips as gentle as feathers, he collected the loose strands of your hair, bringing it back properly and sliding your impromptu ponytail out of your hand.

You wanted to swear at him, yell at him to stop touching your hair, but you couldn't - you just kept throwing up.

After another wave, Itachi's hand came to the center of your back. You could feel a warm tingle were his hand was, and it almost seemed to tingle at the only frequency that could stop the vibrations in your stomach.

"Are... are you okay?" He asked in a unbefittingly soft voice as he stroked small circles into your back.

"No, go away," you snapped, head still in the bush.

Itachi just stated, his hand stilling, "I'm not going to leave you... not if you're not okay."

Coming out of the bush, you sat on the pavement and looked up at Itachi as he stood from his crouch. Your hair fluttered back to your shoulders, feeling strangely warmed, and almost dirty. Your mother and father would have been incensed if they had seen what just happened, so you knew you had to be as well.

"Why?"

"Because," Itachi hummed as he sat in front of you. "I want to show you that I'm not rotten, or vile, or weak, or awful, or that one strange word you used."

"I... I didn't..." He was making it so hard to stay true to your parents' word. You felt guilty to have repeated it. "I know you're not weak."

"And I'm trying to show you I'm none of the other things either."

They said there wasn't a good Uchiha to ever touch grass, but here the good one sat before you. He may have just been trying to prove his worth, but he did, somewhat, no matter how forced his action could have been.

"Thanks," you finally said, still so unsure.

"Do you want to be friends?"

You were wildly taken aback, and your parents late-night tirades flashed through your mind. Scampering to your feet at the speed of sound, you took up your bag, not caring about the pin that fell off in your hasty movement.

In response to Itachi's kindness, you ran.

Back into the Academy you went, finding the nearest girls' washroom to camp. You stayed for fifteen minutes, making yourself late for Daikoku's class intentionally. 

When you arrived, you were woeful to find out that Itachi's wide-eyed stare had suddenly changed.

He glared at you now, and you wished for anything but. 

Itachi's sharp eyes ripped your skin off, just to examine the many layers at their own leisure. You felt as through he was piercing through your soul, cutting it like cloth, with his plain, black eyes alone. Quick as you came, you tried to leave.

"No, I have to-"

"Y/n, you just got here-"

As your sensei stood in front of the door, blocking your only exit, you dove for the trashcan beside him.

It was stupid to think that you had gotten whatever was bugging you out earlier, because it wasn't like you ate some bad clams. You had captured Uchiha Itachi's attention, and you were sick to your stomach.

Tossed in the gutter, you and your reputation became worthless. People used to like you, but once you became the Nervous Puker, people started to steer clear.

Whatever. It gave you a certain freedom you had never had before, not restricted to plans or anyone else's schedule.

The moniker was nasty in the first week of your naming, but you slowly stopped hearing it as people stopped talking to you. You assumed they probably still called you that, but you weren't bothered by it, because it was never staring you in the face.

Meandering the edge of the recess-yard, you stared out at the adults, ninja and civilians alike. They milled around, going about their business in various directions and ways. Some held cases, where others had bags strapped to their backs - the ones with the briefcases styled their hair much more nicely than the others, and you admired one blond man's perfect quaff as he walked past the Academy.

You couldn't wait to get out of the prison that was the Academy, and you forced yourself to make all the progress you could, as quickly as you could. The instructors loved you and gave you top marks, the work was simple, but that only supported your theory that the Academy was only stagnating you. Though, what use was a seven year old on the battlefield?

"Hey! NP!" One of the boys from your year called behind you, making you turn your head in acknowledgement. He laughed, "It's good to see you're used to your new name."

"It's just as good to see you're not eating," his friend commented, barely containing his laughter. "Don't want to put any fuel in the tank!"

Pursing your lips, you just nodded as they cried out with laughter, and turned your head back toward the passing people. Their taunts did little to bother you, so you weren't going to pay them any mind.

That was apparently the wrong thing to do, as a hand gripped your shoulder, throwing you around before you were pushed, back against the chain-link fence. The two boys jeered at you, both pinning your shoulders to the fence as it rattled with your attempts to move.

"Where are you trying to go? Feeling a bit nervous?" The blond boy snickered.

To add, his brunet friend sneered, "We'd better clear the splash zone."

Like a flash, your saviour appeared. You never got the chance to ask him what it was that spurred him to act, but you were always thankful for that decision of Itachi's.

"You two have nothing better to do?"

Their holds instantly relaxed as Itachi's eyes darted between them. You stared at him, confused, but undoubtedly grateful for his intervention. Anxiously, the two boys turned to Itachi. They were both taller than him, but Itachi's mere presence dwarfed them.

"We were just-"

"I don't care, stop bothering my friend."

Hey, you weren't going to poke a hole in that now. 

Itachi was saving you, scooping you up like the hand of a god, being the only person who could realistically stop the teasing, other than Father Time. 

When the wave swelled, you knew you had to ride it as far as it could take you. No gift-horses' mouths were getting looked into by you.

"Dude, you can't be serious," the brunet almost chuckled. "You, friends with the Nervy Puker? Puh-lease."

In an instant, Itachi's eyes swirled, turning from the, regularly unnerving, inky black to a bloody, Ruby red. The sickness came to your stomach immediately, and you looked away from the scene as best you could, scared in every respect.

"Call her that again at your own personal risk."

Yeah, you were going to throw up again. His voice... good, gracious Creator. You'd never heard such a sternness. Such authority. Especially not out of some six year old.

Because he wasn't some six year old. He was an Uchiha.

Just like it had a little over two weeks ago, your mouth began to fill with saliva. You swallowed it furiously, but the more you swallowed, the more came up. Heat travelled through your body, carried by the deep vibrations that pained you dully. In your attempt to stop the feeling, you hadn't even noticed the two boys running off, nor Itachi's eyes returning to their normal hue.

"Look at me."

You swallowed again and looked up. Itachi looked at you like he had a few weeks before, wide-eyed, as something you couldn't name flickered behind his pupils.

"We should go around back again, if you're feeling... unwell," he offered, voice restrained but still kind. Swallowing and clearing your throat, you shook your head, finding it hard to speak. To your surprise, Itachi came forward, stuttering, "I- er, the other day, when you... ran, I-I picked this up, for you. Y'know, so I could, like, give it back."

"Where did all your confidence go?" You teased, feeling greatly eased by his sudden nerves. You sank to the ground while leaning against the fence, arms wrapped around your stomach.

After looking at you strangely for a second, rifling through his pockets, Itachi let a small, straight-faced chuckle pass through him as he replied, "It seems to leave me when I speak to you."

"That's a real troublesome problem between friends."

Itachi's eyes lit up. "You... friends?"

"Isn't that what you said to Jiyuna?"

"Yeah," Itachi grinned, sitting next to you on the fence as he pulled your pin out of his pocket finally. "But... I thought... why'd you run, then?"

Without any good answer yet, you just shrugged and admitted, "You scare me."

As Itachi extended the pin to you, you held out your hand, and he pressed it right into the center, letting his touch linger. His eyes twinkled in a way that somewhat invited you, and his smile wasn't obnoxious or arrogant. Your parents were wrong, you realized then. You also realized you had never seen Itachi smile before, not even a little.

"So, friend, comrade, associate," Itachi started happily, moving his hand to point at the pin in yours. "Tell me about The Ballads of the Green Cloth, and convince me to get a matching pin."

From that day, onward, you and Itachi were as thick as thieves. The people who stopped talking to you tried to start again, attempting to get into Itachi's Good Books through you. It didn't work. Itachi hated them to an extreme, and the people who had actively teased you, even more. He steered you away from all of them, offering you some of the best company in the world; himself, alone.

After every school day, Itachi began to invite you places. He would take you to the library, to his favourite spot on the creek, to the confectionary just off the main road. With your parents under the impression that you were attending extracurricular classes, you had two or three hours every day to spend with Itachi, completely unadulterated.

Gradually, over a year of spending the afternoons together, you and Itachi had built a steady rotation of places to go. The cycle started at the confectionary, with another nine places on the roster regularly (ten in the Summer). It wasn't set in stone, but you quickly came to find out that Itachi only ran on schedules.

"It's pissing down rain right now, Itachi," you pointed out, motioning to the massive window beside you, that the two of you sat on the ledge of. "Let's just stay in the library today, the creek will be flooded."

"It's creek day, though," Itachi countered.

You groaned, pressing your forehead to the cold glass, "I know, but it's not the day to go to the creek."

"What are you talking about? Yes, it is, we went to the stationary store yesterday."

"I've been meaning to ask you about that; why do we keep going there if you never buy anything? My pen purchases can only support us for so long - they're going to stop being to happy to see us."

"Why would I need to buy something, if you buy a pen every time?"

"My man! I buy the pens because you don't buy anything!"

Laughing lowly, Itachi took the honeysuckle juice that you had made in your kunoichi class that day from your hand and sipped it greedily. You grumbled something about how absolutely gluttonous he was, which only made Itachi laugh louder. The sound of his laughter hit your ear very kindly, cracking your resolve, and making you smile almost instantly. You bit it back, snatching the half-full container from him.

"You are so rich, and yet, you never pay for your own stuff."

"Well, duh, how else do you think I stay rich?" Itachi joked, laughter calming, developing a blush. You giggled, but his face got a bit serious, and he captured your eyes. Gently, a tad regretfully, Itachi asked, "Should I... should I be... paying for you? Like, your stuff?"

For some reason, his tone spoke to your heart, setting it ablaze. Your breath caught in your throat, feeling a tight pinch in the center of your chest. Goosebumps rose on your skin, cascading down your spine, and back, up, all the way up to the top of your head. A chill settled just underneath your skin, destined to never be warmed, save by one thing.

Perhaps it was the cold glass beside you, withstanding a particularly strong sheet of rain.

"No," you whispered. 

Blinking a few times, the tension was cut, and you repeated, shaking your head and looking out the window, 

"No, no. You shouldn't." Swallowing thickly, you chuckled, "You're younger than me anyway, I have more birthday money saved."

"Pretty girls like you shouldn't ever pay for themselves - Itachi, you idiot."

If it weren't for the slight shred to the other's voice, you would have thought Itachi had spoken.

But the voice was inherently not Itachi's, the melody was missing; the colloquialism replaced by a certain type of suave charm.

Your suspicions were confirmed as you looked at the window's glass and saw the reflection of someone on the ground. He was looking up, between you and Itachi, as your friend motioned to him, trying to be discreet. Making you feel even more confident in your deduction, the standing boy looked extremely similar to Itachi. His nose, and general facial shape, seemed a bit rounder, more soft than Itachi, with much shorter hair. And he definitely looked older.

It dawned on you that you were in the presence of another Uchiha, and the fear bloomed within you - it was quickly squashed by a heavy-set guilt for feeling that fear at all.

The guilt just made your stomach feel even worse.

It was as if your mind was on open display to Itachi as he immediately uncrossed his legs, coming closer and putting a hand on your knee as he hissed at the other boy, "Shisui, go away, now. I'll see you later."

"Why? What's wrong?" He, Shisui, asked, sounding so genuinely concerned that it just made you feel guiltier.

"Nothing. Bye. Go away."

"No, not if she's not okay."

Through the window, you watched the reflection of Itachi carrying out a silent fight with Shisui.

You just closed your eyes.

You were mortified. Itachi was so kind, and, here you were, getting all frightened over one of his family members, and then being the cause of his rudeness. If it was his father, you might have been justified in your fear, but another kid? Get serious.

"Look at me."

You did, remarking Itachi's eyes gleaming in the honey-shaded light of the library. A warm comfort overpowered all of your other emotions, wrapping you up tightly. It brought air to your lungs, in a deeper breath that you maintain to have ever been your deepest.

Itachi smiled gently, taking your hand into his and finding the perfect middle of your wrist. He rubbed small firm circles onto the pressure point.

"Do you want to go get an ice-pop, or something?"

"Popsicle," you corrected with a breath.

Chuckling lowly, Itachi nodded, "Whatever. Let's get one."

"Sounds tasty, can I come?" Shisui interrupted.

You froze at the other boy's voice and took a deep breath as Itachi gauged your reaction briefly. Immediately, he geared up to send Shisui on a long walk of a short pier. But, when you looked at Shisui, the words seemed to die on Itachi's tongue.

Nodding slowly, you found you couldn't speak. Well, you probably could have, but it would have sounded like a croak, and you didn't want that.

To your surprise, Shisui smiled broadly. Extending his hand to you, like Itachi always did to help you off of the ledge, Shisui beamed, "Great. I know a lovely, little place to get some really good fruit ice-po-psicles."

"We have our own designated spot, thank you very much," Itachi replied for you, smacking away Shisui's hand just before you were ready to take it.

He jumped off the ledge and extended his hand to you, providing a much more usual sight. You smiled as you took Itachi's hand, jumping close to him as he put his hand around your back as a precaution. Leaning close to Itachi's ear, you brushed his long hair back with your index finger as you whispered, "Maybe we should go to his place, so we don't disrupt the sanctitude of ours."

Gritting his teeth, Itachi leaned into your ear and whispered back, "I don't want him to come at all."

"Why?" You asked in a hush, lips brushing Itachi's ear again.

Dramatically sighing, Itachi bent his knees back and looked at you with narrowed eyes before leaning back into your ear to whisper, "You're going to like him more than me."

"Not very likely, but let's see," you giggled, not bothering to lower your voice. You looked to Shisui behind Itachi's shoulder, and he grinned at you, obviously feeling left out. Gathering up your courage, on Itachi's good word, you finally said to Shisui, "Itachi never mentioned an older brother."

"Ugh, are you calling me ugly, Ms. Nervy?" Shisui joked.

The nickname made your eye twitch, but that was nothing compared to the force Itachi turned around with, turning you with him.

"Don't you dare-"

"Shhh," you hushed, hoping to put Itachi off being even ruder to his uninformed family member.

"We're in the back of the library, and it's a Tuesday," Itachi snapped at you, before setting his fiery gaze back on Shisui who you couldn't see. Resuming a threatening tone, though even lower, thus quieter, Itachi hissed, "If you call her anything like that again, you and I are going to have a bigger issue than you can even fathom."

Sounding taken aback, Shisui said to you, as sweetly as his raspy voice would allow, "My deepest apologies, I should have known your guard dog can't take a joke."

"You know what-"

"Hey," you said gently, letting go of Itachi's hand. His hand on your back lingered a moment longer, but dropped as you approached Shisui. You smiled up at the older boy, remarking how sweetly his eyes shone, giggling lightly as you said, "You're a lot taller than I thought you were, up on the ledge."

"I suppose it's all about perspective, darling," he hummed, that suave voice from before returning. Flickering his eyes to Itachi behind you, Shisui chortled, "Is that one okay, or are you going to threaten me?"

You thought it was more than okay. No one had ever called you darling, except for your mother. Especially not so... lovingly? Of course, Itachi felt a different way. Coming from behind, Itachi tugged at your waist to get to you move around Shisui. You did and Itachi followed you, Shisui folding in behind him.

Once your group made it outside, you were left to your own umbrella, while the boys shared Itachi's. Apparently, Shisui wasn't much for planning.

As the two debated between where to go to get a popsicle, you let yourself get used to Shisui's voice. You quickly discovered they were cousins, but were much closer than any set you had ever seen. Shisui was a year older than you, and two years older than Itachi, which made you wonder if Itachi's voice would soon turn to be like Shisui's on day. Truly, his cadence lacked all the melody that Itachi's had a surplus of. Shisui spoke more loosely, and never went very long without a joke or a little quip. Even their scents were markedly different, as Itachi smelled like herbs and spices, whereas Shisui smelled of harsh soap. You came to know Itachi to be a member of the main family, while Shisui was a part of the branch family.

"Together, or separate?" The shopkeeper of Shisui's spot asked as the three of you put your chosen popsicles on the counter.

"Together," Shisui said quickly, getting out his wallet. 

Itachi noticed, and got out his wallet as well, readying himself to beat Shisui to the money dish. Within your pocket, you collected 70 yen from your own wallet.

"That'll come up to..." The shopkeeper started, typing on his dated machine as it clicked and zipped. "68 yen."

You were first.

Smiling, oh, so very smugly, you looked at the boys as the shopkeeper took your bills from the dish with a soft chuckle.

"You two," he said, pointing at Shisui and Itachi as he gave you your change. "Ought to be paying for this sweetheart."

"Yeah," Shisui said pointedly, capturing your eyes before his smile returned. "If this sweetheart would let us pay for her, that is."

"I hear you, brother," the shopkeeper grinned, pushing the popsicles at you. The three of you took them up as the shopkeeper continued, "I've got a feisty one, too, back at home. They make the most wonderful wives, if either of you ever prove so lucky."

"They won't!" You exclaimed with a bubbly laugh, feeling embarrassed.

Maybe the shopkeeper would cause Itachi to recognize the signs of infatuation you displayed, and then he wouldn't want to be your friend anymore, and nothing scared you more. Not even your previous conceptions about the Uchiha.

"Oh, yeah?" The shopkeeper challenged you.

"Mhm."

The boys were strangely quiet, just staring at you. Maybe that was them seeing through your lie, so you decided to add,

"Honest! I like blonds."

"Blonds, hm?" He asked. You nodded with a soft smile on your face, praying that Itachi couldn't see through it. As if a test, the shopkeeper told you, "My son's a blond. Golden blond."

"Get me in contact with him," you laughed.

Before you could continue to dig yourself into the hole of your creation, Itachi put his hand on your shoulder, squeezing, though not strongly enough to hurt. You looked to him, and were met with that god-forsaken, wide-eyed stare.

Itachi needed to only look at you for a second before he kissed his teeth and relaxed his eyes, throwing his arm over you as he guided you out of the shop. Shisui gave the shopkeeper his thanks for the sale, and darted in front of you and Itachi, holding the door open for the two of you to squeeze through.

"Thank you," you and Itachi chorused in mumbles at the same time, before looking at each other and dissolving into a short laugh.

As you undid your umbrella, Itachi gave his umbrella to Shisui, staying by your side. The three of you began to walk slowly, down one of the back roads, Shisui with his own umbrella, you and Itachi sharing. You held it steadily for the two of you, only flopping a bit with the bounce of footsteps.

"I would dye my hair, if you would like it more," he asserted once at a comfortable pace, holding his popsicle to his chest to pop it out of the wrapping. Itachi moved to hold the stick as you took the end of his wrapping, holding it as he pulled it out. He looked at the cherry popsicle and gestured, asking, "Does it need to be blond, or can I do something cool, like red?"

Blushing, and leaning into his arm, you ducked your head down and laughed, "Platinum blond."

"I would look terrible, but if it's what you like..." Itachi replied, helping you with the wrapping of your popsicle before opening his palm for his wrapper in your hand. You gave it to him, and he shoved the wrappers in his pocket, giving you a smile as they crinkled.

Sighing contently, you and Itachi began to eat the popsicles. Your steps synchronized, and soon the bounces of your shoulders did as well.

"You two are cute," Shisui murmured behind you.  Itachi's head swiveled sharply and the elder cousin snickered, "I rescind that; one of you."

"Oh, you're such a charmer, Shisui," Itachi derided. He was, you thought. But leave it to Itachi to know what you were thinking. Shaking your shoulder a bit, Itachi leaned into your ear and whispered, "Don't fall victim, I'm your friend."

"You're my best friend, Itachi," you said loudly, grinning ear to ear as you swapped your popsicle for his. You licked his and he licked yours, and you both hummed,

"I like yours better."

Laughing again, you both shrugged and continued eating the other's popsicle. Shisui, no doubt feeling a bit left out again, came up beside you on the street and you angled yourself toward him, though Itachi's arm remained on your shoulders. You looked at Shisui as he gave Itachi a very playfully taunting look.

"This is what you two do?" He asked, making Itachi quirk his brow. Shisui motioned at his own popsicle, then the rainy day. "Get treats, and flirt, while walking around?"

Caught, your face screwed up. You didn't know where the line of obvious flirting was, and Shisui could tell you were interested in Itachi... so why couldn't Itachi?

"We're not flirting!" Itachi exclaimed, defended himself, his honour, his family's honour- "Yuck, don't say stuff like that, Shisui, that's so gross."

Oh. Okay. 

You distinctly remembered that pain for the rest of your life. It was like a knife, impossibly sharp, and quite unforgiving. 

For a year and change, you'd been using your small crush on Itachi to help with that overwhelming fear - you convinced yourself that he could have a crush on you too, and if that were true, then he really wouldn't hurt you. You would be safe.

But he didn't. Obviously, he didn't. Why would he?

Cripes, you didn't even feel like throwing up. Just crying.

"Hey," you mumbled, drawing Itachi's attention like a magnet. You looked at him, biting your tongue, as he looked at you with a tentative smile, worry in his eyes. Worry about what? Shaking your head, you got a grip, and half-smiled as you said, "I have to go."

"What?" He asked, smile dropping.

"Mum's making a nice dinner, so I have to go help," you explained, not exactly lying. Itachi nodded, opening his mouth to say something, but closed it just as soon. He moved to join Shisui's umbrella, and you grinned to the older cousin, "It was lovely to meet you, Shisui."

"And you, as well," he hummed. Shisui's smile was broad as he winked, "I hope we meet again, maybe do some flirting of our own."

In response to Shisui's kindness, you nodded, and ran away.

[hyperpregmacy]

Do you do anything in particular with the belly on? Like chores or anything, to simulate the pregnant housewife life? Or do you just vibe? I'll put on a fake belly sometimes and some cross-wired part of my brain is excited for my roommates to go in their trip so i have the place alone, so I can do housework around a big tummy. Work gets done, and it's kinda sexy, because my pleasure centers are stupid tied up in tummy shit lol.

For me, in particular, I would do just about anything I would normally do without the belly on! That is besides going to work, as OSHA might consider it a hazard, haha. I've been unable to drive my way too small Honda where even when the seat is pushed alllllll the way back and I'm sitting with perfect posture on top of "sucking it in" I can't get it through the door frame! Though I'm sure if I ever COULD manage to wedge it in, I don't think I'd be able to turn my steering wheel at all. Around the house, everything I do has to be more carefully approached as I can't see anything in a 4 foot cone past my belly. Dishes I have to do one-handed, taking the stairs has to be done backward, even sitting down is a 5 minute ordeal so I don't get the wind knocked out of me or worse~ (for reference, my largest belly has weighed roughly 70lbs at 80~ inches around circumference-wise and a good 4 feet in fundal height) and don't get me started on getting up from wherever I'm sitting lmao, it takes me so much time to scooch towards the edge and slowly raise my self I legitimately feel out of breath haha. Even going from room to room, I have to enter dead-straight-on as my belly would still graze the edges of the door frame.

In terms of chores, I can only say this: They take over 3x as long dutle to my hindered maneuverability, and I love it. Even eating a meal feels super realistic as my belly actually compresses my organs (within a safe range dw) to the point that I actually eat less per meal but more meals a day? Idk if that makes sense, but that's how it goes if I'm wearing it for a day. Oh oh oh, and bending over is nonexistent, btw. I lean down 20ish degrees, and I'm already about to tip forward and fall on my hyper preg tummy <3

It's super fun, would recommend 12/10

[seriousbrat]

I think I know what you mean about Effie being "handsome", I can see her as someone like Diane Keaton or Laura Dern - or even Fiona Shaw, tbh. Olivia Coleman as well, although I wouldn't describe someone with such big doe eyes as "handsome".

I love what you came up with Hope! I also imagine her as someone full of imagination. I'll give her a pass on being a housewife because it kinda tracks that Remus needs company and attention kinda 24/7, since he can't go to school, play with neighbours, or stay with extended family.

I just want to make it clear that this is not me shitting on the stay-at-home-mum lifestyle, just expressing my frustration that:

That's the only kind of mum we see in the Harry Potter series. Except for maybe the small forgettable detail that Cho's mum works in the Ministry?

While Lyall is given a detailed career, the complexities of guilt, regret, and overcoming old prejudices for love - and even a glimpse of a post-war broken relationship with Remus, Hope's characterisation is basically "she loved her son and married a talented wizard :^)"

Yeah Hope, publish that Victorian ghost smut.

No, no, I absolutely agree with you about that! (and I know you weren't shitting on stay at home mums dw) It is very annoying to me also that we only see housewife-type mums in HP. The exception arguably would have been Tonks, who had a successful career while Remus didn't, but lmao, RIP that. (and yes also Cho's and Marietta's mothers, but obv they're not rly characters.)

Anyway that's why I love my hc that Hope was an accomplished anonymous writer of Victorian ghost smut! It fits with her housewife lifestyle and taking care of Remus, while giving her personal realisation too.

If people haven't seen Rivals I do recommend it, I strongly dislike the main relationship/character tbh it's all a bit dodgy (also he reminds me very unpleasantly of a narcissistic ex of mine. like they have the SAME face it's uncanny, and a similar enough personality so ig it was good casting.) But it's set in the UK in the 80s, a good portrait of the British aristocracy/upper middle class and the blurring between them. And Danny Dyer and Katherine Parkinson's characters and their relationship COMPLETELY made up for it. I was so invested!!! Lizzie Vereker's dickhead husband rot in hell!!!

LOL anyway, my beloved Katherine Parkinson plays a very Hope-ish character, a housewife who secretly writes smut haha. (Though I see Lyall as more of a Danny Dyer's character than her dickhead husband who should, again, rot in hell.)

Also yes I absolutely see what you mean about Diane Keaton (who is honestly a pretty perfect fancast for how i picture Euphemia) and Laura Dern. Completely agree!! Also I agree Olivia Coleman isn't quite right, she has more of a timid/frazzled air to her too, though that might just be my association with her Peep Show role haha.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

OH MY GODDD okokok so first off. That gojo post. fucking DELICIOUS !! Ughhhh gojo comforting u with cuddles n him being all soft and sweet and ohhh I’m weak <333 that was so good I’m literally twirling around in circles giggling kicking my feet screaming BUT ALSO !! The post u reblogged about lipstick kisses jesus what are you DOING TO MEEEEE !! You’ve put domestic poly!stsg thoughts in my brain. Sitting on suguru’s lap with his arms wrapped around ur waist and his head buried into ur neck from behind + satorus head on your lap while u do ur makeup… Satoru being cheeky n leaning up to kiss u all over ur face even if you’re busy putting on ur makeup because he just thinks ur so gorgeous :)) or suguru being the housewife he is and washing dishes/cooking while u latch onto him from behind <333 going grocery shopping with them and satoru whining about wanting sweets the whole time (n sugu pretends to be annoyed but folds and lets the both of you get as many snacks or diff ice cream flavours to try as u want) or doing ur nighttime routines together. One of u in the shower one of u brushing ur teeth/doing skincare and one of u just sitting on the bathroom floor talking away about ur day…. going clothes shopping together while u put on a fashion show for both of them except you don’t get any real help with what looks good and what doesn’t because they think you look amazing in anything and everything. Sitting outside together in your backgarden with a picnic blanket and homemade snacks looking at the stars just holding eachother n talking about whatever comes to mind AUGHHHHHH 😭😭😭 I LOVE THEMMM SO BAD IT HURTSSSS. Alsoalso I almost forgot to say this but if u r busy with writing or don’t have time to answer pls don’t feel bad about responding later !! There’s no rush at all dw shdjsjdj <33 — stsg anon !!!

STSG ANON STSG ANONNN <333333333

OHHHH U R KILLING ME W UR LOVELY THOUGHTS ALWAYS ……. any variation of stsg/lipstick drives me a lil crazy tbh ALL OF THESE ARE SO GOOODDDD i cherish ur takes on them sooo dearly u dont even know!!!

first of all SITTING ON SUGU’S LAP >>>>>>> LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE uve found my weakness stsg anon…. AND GOJO IN UR LAPPPP WAHHH they’re so clingy and precious 😭😭😭 kissing u!! bc he just can’t help himself!!! i love them soo much :<

ANDANDAND HOUSEWIFE SUGU ….. my greatest weakness AGAIN u get me HE’S SOOO……. hugging him from behind while he chuckles and pats ur arm 🥺🥺🥺 he’s a softie a little cutie pie etc etc i need him in my kitchen rn !!!!!

GROCERY SHOPPING & CLOTHES SHOPPING ohhh it’d be sooo chaotic and fun…… ur so right stsg anon it’d literally just be u and gojo whining for sweets while sugu (ur budgeting king <33) tries to be responsible but ofc he could never resist the combined power of u and gojo’s puppydog eyes…. also them not being any help w picking out clothes bc they think u look perfect in Literally Anything is SOO canon to me they’re just swooning while u want actual advice LMAOO

AAA and the quiet moments….. stsg anon u are making me feel soso soft. doing ur nighttime routines + having a midnight picnic im melting wahhhh they’re just sooo…….. so soft and pretty 😔😔😔 i can imagine the comfortable silence so vividly!!! owowowowww theyre perfect

OKOK BUT IMAGINE …. while we’re on the topic of makeup ….. the boys wearing it too 😵‍💫😵‍💫 i think sugu would look so effortlessly good w any kind of beauty products he just has that androgyny abt him yk… maybe u would have to coax him into letting u put makeup on him but he always ends up indulging u <333 he’s just too smitten to say no!!!

meanwhile gojo will put on ridiculous amounts of lipstick JUST to kiss u all over … he looks very good in it tho. like imagine gojo w his plump red lips hhhh he’s just so gorgeous…..

[venusandsaturnsrings]

Its me the your savior who wrote Doberman childe.... anyway this isn't about childe its about

YOU VENUS WOOO

Ill admit I'm a virgin to, venus dw being having a bunch of disabilities and being plus sized in America is not fun tbh</3 But I was thinking about getting you the cutest pink lingerie<33 then making you weak it under ur clothes just so I can touch touch in a bathroom stall somewhere :(( all I wanna hear is ur cute little moans as I lick cold strawberry frosting off your nipples <33 or I saw ur posts about wanting to be someone's little fucktoy/house wife I wanna come home everyday to the house clean and you all dressed up pretty with your cunny ready for me to admire and toy with (ofc you can't cum till I say so) you calling me mommy then whole time :(( I'll prasie you for being such a good little house wife maybe I'll even let you cum more then once <33but if you've misbehaved I'll stuff ur mouth with my used panties and hold a toy to your clit because only good girls deserve my mouth :(( making you dress up as a stupid little lamb girl with the ears and a but plug tail <33 making you recite different things and each time you get something wrong you get either 5x slaps to ur ass or pussy </33 dressing you up as a pretty little cow girl so I can milk you of ur cum and pull all your nipples till ur sobbing:(( also breeding you!! Ofc since I don't have a cock I can't rlly but I'd get one of those dildo that squirt things out <33 I just wanna mark up ur pretty little thighs :(( making sure everyone knows ur mine </3

OH I have a question if I send u a message on my main can you send me pics so I can gush and compliment you :(( cause I think I saw one of ur older posts saying that u can't show some pics on tumbler itself-chubby darling anon duh <333

UUUWWEEEEUEUEUEUE!! ME ME ME ME ME!! hehe you’ve got me blushing i luvv attention!! my dearest anon, i luv u too!!

ahem… i’m feeling very very Normal right now and definitely not hot and bothered nope nope!! i’m a virgin by my own standards but i’m a bigger gal and not american so it’s a bit different for me!! i’m more a victim of ppls fetishes than anything which is fine as long as i’m into it and them!! ^u^

but ah… i must admit to my pussy throbbing every time i reread this hehe you’ve nailed me down in many different ways!! i desire being only a lil housewife and piece of fuck meat :3 head empty nothing up there besides being pat on the head and cunny!! i promise i’m a very very well behaved lamb girl!! most of the time!! when i want to be!! i live for praise so even the slightest of such has me drooling and brain dead…

hehe ur more than welcome to message me!! i’d love that!! my dms r always open for everyone!! we’ll have to see about those pics tho i don’t send that to just anyone!! :3

[euphoricmood]

thank you @krimprim!!! I do love you and talking about myself

: tag nine people you want to get to know better!

Favourite colour: dark forest green, no hesitation. it's vibrant! it's green, like my eyes. it's nature! leaves! trees! bushes! clovers!

Currently reading: I'm in between books rn. I finished this week end the Bluest eye by Toni Morrison and holy shh it was disturbing but in such a smart way, after reading the song of Solomon I feared all her books would be too heavy for me. It was, but the narrating made it accessible.

Last song: Leave my room by DBFC, my father is pestering me about work so it does seem fitting. also I'm ready to go berserk at any time , real soon.

Last series: I watched the first episode of Physical, a apple original, about a woman in the 80's suffering from an eating disorder and generally dissatisfied of her life as a housewife. the synopsis sound unimpressive but I liked this episode. she is relatable, I love this actress, and her self loathed inner voice almost monotonous feels very real to me. the whole eating disorder thing can be triggering.

Last movie: The Suicide Squad haha, so much violence. a nice movie overall, I love ratcatcher and harley quinn outfits. Pete Davidson's character die very quickly.

Sweet/savoury/spicy: usually I would say sweet but lately I keep eating jalapeño. but I do add too much sugar in everything and can't go a day without chocolate..

Currently working on: the start of school is coming soon, so I'm updating the program of what I'll teach my students. little babies who don't know yet how dictatorial a drama teacher I am. bouhaha. jokes aside they love me dw

tagging :

@martyrdom9 , @occasional-owl , @sweetlittleoreo , @whimperandabang , @kishi-no-kaze , @sketchywave , @maryshelleygf , @schrodys-cat , @securemoon

[moonknightyws]

HEAR ME OUT: Light misogyny, kinda sexist Steven that thinks women are fragile and sweet should bake cookies and be bred to make pretty babies for him.🥞🍰🍪

Definitely shouldn’t be mercenaries.

So as his enemy he fucks that out of you and keeps you as his housewife after a mission✨ Marc and Jake make sure you stay in line and behave accordingly.🥰

Every time you express any sort of want to go back to your old independent and successful criminal lifestyle… Steven helps you!❤️

He edges you and overstimulates to make you dumb and pliant and a good little housewife again.😊🥰

“No need for those dangerous scary thoughts, there you go lovey, aren’t you happier when you’e ridding my thigh?🥺💖What’s your job again?

That’s right ! Looking all pretty for me and sitting on my cock🥰

Why do you think about anything else? That’s my job!

Kinda hurt daddies feelings with all that talk about your old life… I think you should keep humping your cunny on my leg for a while longer so you learn your lesson.

And you better not cum without permission!🥺💖

Or Daddy Marc might have to spank you about it!Awww it’s ok pretty baby! It’s just till you can be my good girl again.

Maybe next time you’ll bake those cookies like I asked you too and without back talk hmm? 😊✨

Remember this hurts me much more then it hurts you.❤️”

IM SORRY, IM FERAL 100 FOR HIM AKSJJDBDBBDBD

Dw, I'm feral for him too. This is hot and Steven, Marc and Jake are the only men that are allowed to treat me like that.

[riversofmars]

Interrupting my usual broadcast of DW fic to bring you another British gay mess: Please enjoy my first attempt at Caroline/Gillian! And as if I haven't got enough WIPs on, this is gonna be four parts, as it turns out! I don't know why I'm like this :D Anyway here we are due to popular demand!

Gillian takes Caroline up on her offer of moving in together and pooling their resources. A month has gone by and Caroline is surprised at how easy and comfortable life on the farm has become. The arrangement works for both of them: Gillian's financial struggles are a thing of the past and while it isn’t exactly the traditional family set-up Caroline would have wanted, Gillian turned out to be exactly what she needed in a partner to help raise her daughter. Adding romance to the otherwise perfect set-up is a pipe-dream on the headteacher's part, but the more time she spends with the sheep farmer, the more drawn she is to her. Rating: M (language & sexual themes)

Home Is Not A Place - Part 1: The Dinner

“For goodness sake,“ Caroline groaned, as she stepped out of her SUV and right into a puddle. Resigned to her changed situation, she decided from now on she would have to switch shoes after work, from her favourite heels, to a lesser loved pair. There was no two ways about it. But at least then there would be absolutely no danger of ruining a two-hundred pound pair of Jimmy Choos, upon her arrival at Greenwood farm. Of course she wouldn’t mention this to Gillian, God no, otherwise her Christmas present to her might end up a new pair of wellingtons.

In the open court yard of the farm, the wind was biting cold and encouraged the headteacher to hurry up the stairs to the relative safety and comfort of the house. Caroline cursed under her breath as the wind wreaked havoc with her hair, and the cold crept up her legs, underneath her woefully-inappropriate-for-farm-life pencil skirt. The British weather was really giving its all this year to live up to its reputation. Well in the grip of Winter already, it only took Caroline to stay late at work by an hour - like today - and night had already fallen. Preparations for this year’s Nativity were gathering steam and - being the hands-on headmistress she was - there was no way Caroline would allow the theatre department to shoulder the burden all on their own. Working late would usually have required a lot of planning for a single parent such as herself, but things had gotten a lot easier, recently.

“Hiya Caz,“ Gillian called from the lounge, when Caroline closed the front door of the farm house behind her and smiled at the chipper greeting.

“Hiya!“ She called back and pushed her soaked shoes into a corner. With any luck, Gillian wouldn’t spot them and she could deal with them later. The sheep farmer would only get suspicious if she lingered in the hallway for too long. “Evening,“ Caroline smiled as she stepped into the living room. Flora and Calamity were sitting on the sofa in front of the tv, dressed in pyjamas. She walked over to them, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head and then, for good measure, repeated the gesture on Calamity. The girls were the closest of friends and since Caroline and Flora had moved in at the farm, they had become closer still - almost like real siblings - and Caroline had found herself treating them as such with increasing frequency.

“Wet out, is it?“ Gillian smirked, observing Caroline’s dishevelled head of hair, drawing her attention. The sheep farmer was leaning against the kitchen counter, mug in hand, assessing her over the rim of it.

“What’s this?“ Caroline raised her eyebrows, as she spotted two - and only two! - places set at the kitchen table, complete with wine glasses.

“Girls have eaten. Just having a bit of telly before bed,“ Gillian explained, nodding towards the pre-schoolers that were engrossed in their cartoons. “Lasagne is in oven, thought you might be hungry, with your long day n’all.“

“You made lasagne?“ Caroline asked, though it sounded more bewildered than she had intended. It wasn’t uncommon that Gillian would cook for all of them. She was the one at home, her work was here, it made sense. Caroline was a woman of science, of hard facts, so she liked things to make sense. But for some reason, coming home to Gillian Greenwood - who had cooked for her and looked after her daughter - was still something of curiosity, despite empirical evidence to the contrary. Caroline was still not quite used to it, no matter how much sense it made.

Caroline had managed to convince Gillian of the sense behind them pooling their resources not long after she had floated the idea for the first time. Her and Flora moved in at the farm a month ago, and much to everyone’s surprise - and her mother’s dismay - it worked surprisingly well. This was not the first time she had come home to a cooked meal, it was becoming a regular occurrence, so Caroline was at a loss as to why this time, it felt different. Perhaps it was the absence of Raff and Ellie who - as Caroline now remembered - had been invited to Ellie’s mother’s to parade around the little one. Perhaps it was because there were only two places set at the table. Or perhaps it was the warmth of Gillian’s chuckled as she replied:

“Well, had to make something.“

“You really didn’t have to, I don’t… expect to come home to a home cooked meal every day,“ Caroline felt obliged to state, just for the record, though she knew that Gillian would do whatever the bloody hell she wanted anyway. It wasn’t like Caroline - or anyone else for that matter - had any bearing on what this infuriatingly independent and bull-headed woman did or didn’t do.

“Nice though, innit,“ the sheep farmer shot back with surprising enthusiasm. “Guess that was part of the deal. Least I can do, mind the kids and cook you some tea.“ She gave a shrug like it was nothing; when to Caroline, it was a huge deal. This wasn’t something she would have admitted to, of course; just as she wouldn’t have admitted that there was something very appealing about coming home to Gillian.

“I’m not expecting you to pretend to be my stay-at-home housewife or something, Gillian,“ Caroline tried to brush it off with a joke.

“You better not. Cause that’s not me,“ Gillian retorted with good-natured humour, and it struck Caroline that she was a far cry from the tense, short-fused woman she’d met seven years ago. It was moments such as these, that the headteacher realised how much she had changed. Healing would be too strong a word for it; Caroline couldn’t imagine how anyone could possibly heal from what Gillian had been through, but she seemed to be doing, better. She seemed more comfortable in her own skin, and more comfortable with her life. Secretly, Caroline hoped she had contributed to her wellbeing in some small way; even if it was just by giving her the security that she wouldn’t have to give up the farm.

“Don’t I know it,“ Caroline chuckled. “Wine, too, is it?“ She picked up the bottle on the table and checked the label. It was one of her favourites and for a moment, she wasn’t sure whether Gillian had remembered, or if they’d still had that bottle lying round somewhere. “Is there a special occasion? One month since we moved in?“ It wasn’t like she had been counting…well, she had. But only to be able to lord it over her mother about how long they had managed to stay under the same roof, without tearing each other’s heads off…or each other’s clothes…she added as an after thought. But only for her own amusement, not for public consumption.

“I guess I just…wanted to say thank you…for agreeing to this,“ Gillian huffed, suddenly appearing self-conscious, as if she wondered whether she had made a mistake. Caroline felt guilty immediately. For someone with self-esteem as fragile as Gillian, doubts came quickly, and cut deep.

“It was my idea! It’s to both of our advantage. I couldn’t have carried on the way it was, particularly now that our parents aren’t…able…to help as much as before…“ Caroline was quick to assure her. It had made a lot of sense, and she was glad she had managed to persuade Gillian of the proposal’s merit. Even once their parents had volunteered the money to pay for the work on the roof, it didn’t change the fact that Gillian was barely breaking even financially. Certainly not with the sheep that had escaped a few months ago, and once Raff and Ellie moved out - which was only a matter of time - they wouldn’t be contributing anymore, either. Gillian needed someone with her, and Caroline was more than happy to be that person, for numerous reasons. Some of them she cared to discuss, like the practicalities of it, some she would keep to herself, thank you very much.

“Just wanted to say, I do appreciate it, Caz,“ Gillian interrupted and held her hands up, as if she just had to get that out there - and would shut up now that it was said. “And I hope you’re not gonna regret it.“

“Gillian, we’ve known each other seven years now,“ Caroline couldn’t help but point out, as she set the bottle of wine back down on the table. “Yes, we’ve had our ups and downs, but all things considered, I think we’re about as steady as our parents, don’t you think?“ She gave her a soft smile. They really had come an incredibly far way since they first laid eyes on each other. To this day, Caroline was still embarrassed about her behaviour on the day they’s met, and was beyond relieved that with time, Gillian had come to see the funny side of the whole thing.

“Suppose so. Just without the sex,“ Gillian snickered and took a sip of her tea, hiding her grin in her mug as she seemed to relax again.

“I don’t want to think about our parents having sex, thank you very much!“ Caroline exclaimed, mortified, and quickly turned to check the girls hadn’t accidentally overheard. To her relief, she found them still very much engrossed in their tv show.

“God no. I don’t know if they still can, I mean, at their age…“ Gillian huffed, matter-of-factly. “And with his heart too, better mind his blood pressure hadn’t he… Mind you, probably wouldn’t be worst way t’go. Right in throes of…“

“Yes, right. That’s it, change of subject please!“ Caroline shook her head vehemently and Gillian laughed.

“Go and get changed, didn’t mean to ambush you, it’ll keep.“ She gestured to the oven. “I’ll get little ones in bed.“

“If you’re sure.“ Caroline glanced at the clock. She hadn’t realised how late it was. “How about bath time?“

“All this fun stuff you miss out on when you work late. It’s done and dusted. Go on. You don’t wanna be throwing lasagne down that fancy blouse o’ yours,“ Gillian observed, nodding towards her cream blouse.

“Right.“ Caroline gave a soft smile and watched the sheep farmer gulp down the rest of her tea, before sitting it down in the sink.

“You want me to make you a cuppa first?“ Gillian asked, seemingly confused as to why Caroline hadn’t taken her up on the offer yet, instead lingering in the kitchen.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll have wine if that’s going,“ Caroline answered quickly, snapping out of her moment of marvelling at how bloody perfect life was right about now to retrieve the corkscrew.

“Well, you know where everything is by now, don’t you. It’s your home too,“ Gillian observed, with an ease that astounded Caroline, that Gillian didn’t seem to think anything of. She just headed to the sofa where she put an arm around each of the girls from behind. “Right you two monsters, show’s over, off to bed wi’ you,“ she announced, leaving Caroline to forget all about the wine. She just watched the display of perfect family life in awe.

——

“Is it bad that I’m sort of looking forward to Raff and Ellie moving out?“ Caroline mused, watching Gillian’s reaction over the rim of her wine glass. “With the baby and everything, the walls aren’t exactly thick.“

“You knew that before moving in,“ Gillian pointed out. She wasn’t unkind about it, she was amused if nothing else.

“Yes, and I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think I’d be doing this still, at gone fifty, I mean…I’m just glad Flora is through the worst of it now.“ Even now, there were still times where Caroline wondered whether she was too old for all this. She had two grown up sons, starting again with Flora and doing it all on her own had been tough. Thankfully, finally, she wasn’t alone anymore. It wasn’t exactly the traditional family set-up she would have longed for, but she knew Gillian would be everything Flora needed in a second parent. She could also be everything Caroline needed in a partner, but that was just wishful thinking on the headteacher’s part. She would content herself with the way things were, as it was shaping up to be everything she wanted, just sadly minus the romance.

“Nowt saying William or Lawrence couldn’t have started early,“ Gillian retorted and Caroline laughed:

“William? Please!“ They were on their third glass of red and Caroline was feeling warm and relaxed. Her reactions had lost the restraint and reservedness she usually maintained with people, even the ones closest to her. “And Lawrence needs to seriously work out whatever he is doing with his life. And with Angus!“ She had often wondered about his relationship with his best friend. At this point, things could go either way.

“Fair. Not much of a chance of getting knocked up there,“ Gillian chuckled.

“Raff’s done alright though, hasn’t he. Becoming a dad so young and still seeing through his education and getting a good job at the end of it, it’s quite the accomplishment,“ Caroline smiled and delighted in the way Gillian’s face brightened with pride.

“He’s a good boy, our Raff,“ she commented, and Caroline was determined to push the matter over the finish line:

“That’s a credit to you. He couldn’t have done it without your support,“ she added kindly, as she put her cutlery down. Dinner had been a delight, but then by this point, Gillian could have probably fed her anything and she would have thanked her with a dreamy eyed smile. Caroline felt the warmth radiating from her cheeks; a combination of wine, the fire going in the adjoining room, and her own conflicted feelings towards her step sister. For the sake of her own sanity, she refused to refer to her as that whenever possible, particularly in her own head.

“More like in spite of me,“ Gillian huffed, her mood swinging like a pendulum. She had been much more steady in recent years, but that wasn’t to say she was free of the crippling self-doubt that always chose the most inopportune moments to rear its ugly head. “Never would’ve happened wi’ someone else. Not like your boys went and knocked up their girlfriend, is it.“

“Don’t be ridiculous,“ Caroline cut in quickly, but Gillian just downed the rest of her wine and carried on:

“You know it’s true, ‘as bad as his mother’ is what they were saying, and if they weren’t, they were thinking it.“ She gave a bitter laugh that stood in stark contrast to the carefree atmosphere they had enjoyed.

“You have many flaws, Gillian, it’s part of your charm, but being a bad mother? That’s certainly not one of them.“ Caroline was quick and decisive, in intervening. There had been times where she had been quite happy to shoot a snide comment her way herself, but not anymore.

“Hm.“ Gillian’s response was minimal, which indicated to Caroline that she hadn’t listened or taken in what she’d said.

“It’s not!“ She insisted firmly.

“Alright!“ Gillian exclaimed, exasperated.

“Do you think I’d have come here, to live with you, having you help look after my daughter, if I didn’t think you were a good mother and a good person?“ Caroline leaned forward onto her elbows, regarding the farmer with a stern look that she had perfected in many years of teaching.

“’suppose not.“ Gillian folded, just as one of Caroline’s six-formers would have done.

“Well then.“ The headteacher straightened herself up again and proceeded to divide the rest of the bottle in between their two glasses.

“Their faces. When you told them.“ Gillian suddenly burst out laughing and Caroline grinned, recalling the conversation in vivid detail. The pendulum that was Gillian’s emotional well-being, had swung back around.

“Of all the stupid, stupid videos Lawrence has done… that would have been the moment to capture,“ she shook her head to herself, remembering how comical and surreal the whole thing had been.

“It was your Mum more than me Dad, that face she pulled!“ Gillian couldn’t stop laughing; it was infectious and prompted Caroline to launch into a scarily accurate imitation of her mother:

“Caroline, you can’t really be considering moving to a farm, and HER farm of all places. Is that any way for Flora to grow up? What if she…catches something or…“ Caroline could hardly breathe for laughing. “Honestly Mum, what is she gonna catch? Fresh air?“

“Touch of the common farmer, more like,“ Gillian grimaced, but she didn’t seem to care, not really.

“Like she’s never stayed here herself.“ Caroline rolled her eyes at the hypocrisy.

“I think she was more concerned with me, than the farm,“ Gillian pointed out, taking a deep breath to calm herself down - but her face continued cracking up and gave her away.

“Well obviously.“ Caroline just waved it off. They were both used to her mother’s strong opinions, and readily chose to ignore them.

“What will you be doing with Gillian around all the time?“ Gillian tried herself at Celia’s accent which caused Caroline to launch into another laughing fit.

“I don’t know, Mum, maybe we will have a wild sapphic love affair,“ she reprised her witty response with tears of laughter in her eyes.

“You nearly gave her a heart attack an’all,“ Gillian snickered.

“Well, it’s none of her business.“ Caroline took a deep breath, regaining some small measure of self control. “And really, she only has herself to blame. If she hadn’t been on at your Dad about lending you that money, and then telling me they wouldn’t be picking up Flora anymore, none of this would have happened.“

“So really, we should be thanking her, shouldn’t we.“ Gillian grinned after brief contemplation. “To your mother.“ She raised her glass and Caroline toasted her:

“I’ll drink to that.“

The evening wore on, and just as they contemplated opening a third bottle, Raff and Ellie returned with the baby, who was sleeping soundly in his car seat. Thank God for small favours, Caroline thought. They had cleared up from dinner and were lounging on the sofa with the telly on.

“Mum. Caz. Alright?“ Raff greeted them.

“Had a good evening?“ Gillian asked, looking around.

“Yeah great thanks,“ Ellie smiled in response and made her way up the stairs with the little one.

“You watching University Challenge, Mum?“ Raff asked, bemused, as he noticed the program they were watching.

“Through no fault of my own!“ Gillian was quick to point out. She shot Caroline a look who was sitting to the other end of the sofa.

Caroline considered it a safe distance, but not as safe as the other sofa would have been. It was one small thing she allowed herself. It was innocent enough, and Gillian didn’t seem to think twice when their legs intertwined on the two-seater.

The sheep farmer carried on explaining their television agreement to her son: “We compromise, see, she gets to watch something she wants and then I get to watch something I want.“

“Trust her to chose the most obnoxious thing she can possibly find, just to wind me up,“ Caroline interjected but without averting her eyes from the screen. She mumbled the answer to yet another obscure question under her breath.

“Sounds about right,“ Raff chuckled and Gillian leaned over the back of the sofa to slap her son’s arm.

“Remember, it’s a school night,“ she pointed her finger at him.

“Bit rich coming from you.“ He eyed their empty wine glasses. “I feel like the alcohol consume in this house has sky rocketed in the past month.“

“Yeah, well, got to knock ourselves out somehow between the baby crying and you two going at it,“ Gillian quipped, and returned her attention to the television as well.

“You’re just jealous cause you haven’t go a fella right now,“ Raff teased.

“Yeah well, I’m over that for the time being,“ Gillian gave a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Think you’ve finally gone through all the eligible bachelors in West Yorkshire?“ Caroline saw an opportunity to jump in and tried her best to keep the smallest twang of jealousy from her voice.

“And some of the ineligible ones too,“ Raff added, with a smirk.

“OI!“ Gillian exclaimed, shooting him a glare and kicked Caroline’s leg for siding with him.

“I’d better see if Ellie needs some help…“ Raff was quick to make his escape.

“Yeah, you’d better,“ his mother shouted after him.

“I have to say, you have come a long way since we met. From having three blokes you’re shagging staying over in this place,“ Caroline couldn’t help but comment, recalling the fateful night their parents had gone missing and they had stayed at the farm with Gillian’s three merry men - Paul, John and Robbie - all crammed onto these sofas.

“Bet you wouldn’t have come to stay then, would’ya,“ Gillian hummed, her voice surprisingly neutral.

“Could have joined that exclusive club,“ Caroline smirked, the alcohol loosening her tongue enough to make a joke, one too close to the truth for comfort. She forced herself not to think about what else she could be doing with her tongue right about now.

“Caz!“ Gillian exclaimed, and the headteacher couldn’t quite tell whether she was offended, self-conscious or flattered.

“It really is easy to tease you,“ Caroline back-peddled to safer waters.

“Yeah well, you’re living with Yorkshire’s greatest slapper so jokes on you,“ Gillian huffed. “Watch your f-bloody University Challenge.“

“Hm, yes, what will people think,“ Caroline chuckled and did as she was told.

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

[kazuhasbunny]

I never thought I’d see a Childe related misogyny post on this blog and I’ve never been happier to see it omg… thank you it’s just so fckin good I can’t

There’s just something about being looked down upon at such a primal and biological level that’s so appealing lmao. It’s one of the things that I’m most ashamed to be into so it’s nice to know I’m not that alone lol

On that note, imagine a misogynistic Kaeya or Diluc. Kaeya would def be meaner about it snd rougher, while I think diluc would like to train you to be his sweet and gentle lil housewife ❤️

Or ofc, if darling is stronger or someone who says she doesn’t need any man in her life, they can just train/fuck that out of her and show her her true purpose and what she’s meant to do for the rest of her life

I may have went a little bit overboard LMAO sorry abt that, time to lurk once more in shame 😭

tw : misogyny

omg ?? yea childe gives me the most vibes in being a miso tbh . that’s why . also yea ??? i’m also .. not sure why but i find it appealing and </33 and im just glad im not alone lol

ok i agree on diluc being softer on you ,, he just wants the best for his little housewife u know ? while kaeya ... wow this . him . this guy . if you’re the type to disagree too all of these “serving for them” typa stuffs he’d just have to fuck your brains out so you’d change your mind on it <33

anyways dw bout it ^^ nshsnsh i .. i love it actually irksJWHSJ

[unfortunate-brat]

Thank you for being patient with this boomer 🤣 Ooh- Nomad Steve reprimanding reader for disobeying an order?

Pairing: Yandere!Nomad!Steve x Latina!Reader

Word Count: 227

Warnings: Angst, implied hostage

A/N: Nah dw !!

please send in yandere drabbles to help me prepare for tomorrow !!

DO NOT COPY MY WORK OR INTERACT IF YOU’RE A MINOR ! SUPPORT MY WORK WITH A REBLOG AND YOUR COMMENT ATTATCHED IF YOU ENJOYED IT ! NO AGE IN BIO MEANS IF YOU LIKE/INTERACT YOU’RE BLOCKED! NO POSTS? BLOCKED! IF YOU’RE A MINOR? BLOCKED!!!!

She didn't listen when he asked her to stay in the room, within the five minutes that Steve left her alone Y/N started to look for an escape route. How dare America's golden boy keep her trapped down here in this musty basement?

The woman could no longer stand it, something had to change, who knows how long it's been. Steve didn't like clocks in her room, saying there's no time wasted when he's home. That he'll always be there to make Y/N into his perfect housewife.

That would have been fine if it wasn't forced, if Steve had any bit of sanity left in him. She had to get out before it's too late. And when he left, she seized the opportunity but when finally reaching the door to the outside was greeted with a forest of trees, no main road or civilization in sight. Not even a car to use in finding a highway.

Before she could step further however, Steve tugged her arm back, pressing her body up against his. " I feed you, clothe and bath you. Give you everything, why do you want to leave me?" Although it's what he believes to be true, Y/N knew better. " And because you decided to be an ungrateful little bitch, I'll keep you locked in the basement now, say goodbye to the sunlight."

HOW CAN I CONTRIBUTE TO THESE WORKS?

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[missmonsters2]

Taste of Candy

Requester: @thatgirlwholikesgirls 💘

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader/OFC

Prompt: Kiss me again, like you mean it.

Note: You heard the girl, kiss wanda again like u fuckin mean it. God, I kind of want to do a series for this? Like in full detail of their adventures. (Also dw bby i have your other request in the queue too)

Warnings: screaming? Fangirling? Crying?

Genre: Fluff

Count: 3438

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It starts with an umbrella and sour cola candies.

If there's one thing that Wanda can say with certainty is that she hates the small town she lives in. She hates her conservative parents, who are both lawyers. She hates that they only expect her to win, and if she isn't winning, then she isn't anything.

So, she was the student council president, the cheer captain, and they're naming her prom queen right now in her senior year.

She's got the hottest and most popular guy as her boyfriend and prom king, and even though he's a kind of an annoying know-it-all, he likes her.

It's supposed to be the best night of her life. This was supposed to be everything she wanted. Her parents were proud of Wanda because, after this, she's supposed to get married to Vision and be a housewife like her mom.

That's supposed to be her happily ever after.

So, why is it that while prom is ending, she's sitting outside on the bleachers in the rain crying?

And when she feels the rain stop pelting her on the head, she looks up. It’s you.

She’s never talked to you during all the entire years of high school because you’re not popular.

You’re not unpopular, either, but she can’t be friends with people who aren’t popular. People say you’re kind of weird as you don’t conform to any social norms or expectations, but you’re nice and smart, always willing to let people copy your homework, so they don’t bully you either. 

And you’re always eating sour cola candies.

You’re standing with her on the bleachers, coincidentally close enough that she’s under your umbrella. You’re not even looking at her as you offer her a bag of those sour fucking cola candies. 

Wanda can’t help but snort because it’s prom, and you’re not even wearing a prom dress. Just there in your ripped jeans, shirt, and a leather jacket.

“Get lost,” Wanda sneers in her mean popular girl voice because she doesn’t need you here while she’s fucking having a breakdown. 

But all she gets is a yawn as you sit down next to her, making sure she’s under your umbrella as you shove the bag of candy more obnoxiously towards her. 

Unsure what else to really do, Wanda reaches in the bag and pulls out a piece of candy, putting it in her mouth. 

It’s way too sweet, Wanda thinks. The first bite makes her jaw tingle as saliva rushes to her mouth due to the sourness.

But she likes the sweet aftertaste when all the sourness is gone. 

And for the moment, she’s not crying. 

The two of you sit in silence, watching the empty field as it continues to rain. 

“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m out here and crying?” Wanda asks, not looking at you still. After all, she’s the most popular girl in high school, wouldn’t this be the most amazing news to spread.

“No,” you quietly reply, popping another candy in your mouth. Wanda thinks your voice is soft, not at all how she thought you’d sound (which is gruff for how you look). 

“Why? Aren’t you curious about why the student council president, cheer captain, and prom queen is out here crying on what’s supposed to be the best night of her life?”

You hum, “Don’t care.”

Wanda’s jaw drops a little. 

“Well--what--why are you here then?” Wanda demands as she half-sputters in disbelief. 

Wanda watches as you lull your head side-to-side and can’t help but agree with people you’re weird. 

“Well, you were crying, and you were getting wet. I have an umbrella, and I have candy. You’re under my umbrella, so you’re not getting wet anymore. You ate a piece of candy, and you stopped crying. So, your reason doesn’t really matter anymore,” you reason with her, but that doesn’t really explain to Wanda why, but she suspects that within your answer, you really meant to say there was no particular reason. You saw she was crying and getting soaked, and you had the means to stop it. So, you did.

“But,” you continue, dragging Wanda out of her thoughts, “I have other things to do that I can’t put off anymore, so...”

Wanda sighs, not expecting the slight disappointment that you had to go. She’s not even sure she understands this entire interaction. 

But suddenly, you’re shoving your umbrella in her hand, dumping the candy in her lap, before you take off your leather jacket and putting it around her shoulders. You get out into the rain, letting yourself get soaked. 

And for a moment, Wanda has a passing thought that you’re beautiful.

“That’s my favorite candy and last bag, so stop crying,” you tell her, but then pause.

“Pretty girls shouldn’t cry in the rain,” you finally say as if to soften your command of her to stop her tears.

And then you’re gone.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Prom ends without any further incidents, and after drying herself off in the washroom, she goes back to her friends who didn’t even notice she was missing, and her boyfriend, who only had a mild concern about the leather jacket and candy she brought back.

Wanda can’t explain why she didn’t share one piece of candy with anyone who asked.

And then school starts again, and she sees you in the halls, but you don’t even look at her.

It’s like you don’t even remember being out in the bleachers with her while she cried.

And somehow, with everything else in her life, it makes her feel worse. Graduation day comes, and Wanda can’t help but feel like the end of her life is coming closer.

She’s valedictorian, and she’s giving her speech, looking in the crowd only to realize you didn’t even fucking show up to graduation. 

Wanda has her diploma in hand, her parents take two photos with her before they flitter off to network with other people. Her boyfriend is fooling around with his friends as they take pictures and throw their football around for one last time.

And Wanda...Wanda just feels like the world is closing up on her as she stands there frozen.

But then a bag of sour cola candies comes into her view. Stunned, she looks past the bag to see you again. 

Perhaps because Wanda stands there too long without doing anything, you end up taking her empty hand out, dumping a couple candies into it. Without saying anything else, you turn to leave.

“Wait--” Wanda softly calls out, and you turn back with a brow raised.

“I’m not giving you the whole bag this time,” you frown slightly.

Wanda ignores the comment, even the little sting that you won’t give her the entire bag like last time, but maybe there are rules to getting an entire candy bag from you.

“Why are you here? You didn’t show up to walk the stage,” Wanda asks instead. She’s not even sure what she wanted to ask in the first place when said asked you to wait.

“I’m not interested in walking the stage, but I want my diploma,” you say, waving the piece of paper slightly around to show Wanda in your other hand.

“Why?” Wanda emphasizes because everyone else doesn’t care about a stupid flimsy piece of paper that said they’ve graduated from high school. They just want to walk the stage in front of their peers. 

You tilt your head, holding it up better for Wanda to see.

“The font is hilariously terrible. I wanted a copy to remember.”

The reason is so stupid, Wanda thinks, but she can’t help the chortle that comes out because it’s true, the font is awful.

Wanda finds you staring at her and clears her throat from the laughter. 

“So?” Wanda asks, “Now what for you?” 

You lick your lips, an action that Wanda thinks she was entirely too fixated on, and then nod your head outside the arena. It’s a clear sign for Wanda to follow you.

At first, she hesitates because she really shouldn’t leave the arena when her parents are bound to come back soon. But then you shake your bag of candies like you’re fucking trying to lure her out with you and Wanda makes the split decision to go.

She goes outside and sees your car out in the front. A well-kept convertible Mercedes Benz that you didn’t have before. 

“Nice car, how’d you get it?” Wanda asks, inspecting the rest of the car and finds a suitcase in the back.

“I won it in a street race,” you say so offhandedly even though Wanda whips her head towards you. You don’t offer any other explanation, though.

“What--when did you even--” Wanda doesn’t even know what to ask. Should she ask why you were street racing? Where? How did you even know?

“Prom,” is all you offer, and Wanda is in disbelief you left her because you were going to go street race.

“Okay,” Wanda breathes, “So, where are you going?” 

She saw the suitcase. 

So, you’re getting out of this shitty small town, and Wanda can’t help the stab of envy that comes.

Maybe it’s a university far away that you’re going to. University that Wanda didn’t even get a chance to apply to.

Because she has to go back.

Wanda’s going to get married and then follow the footsteps of her mother.

“Anywhere,” you say, looking at Wanda seriously. 

“You don’t have a plan?” Wanda can’t help the shallow laughter. 

“Sometimes having no plan is the plan,” you say.

“That’s stupid,” Wanda says hollowly.

“It’s better than following a plan you don’t want,” You comment, and Wanda whips her head to look at you.

“Excuse me?” The mean popular girl tone comes out.

“What now for you?” You ask, ignoring Wanda. 

Wanda doesn’t answer because everyone in this stupid small town knows what her plan is. 

And she wants to scream. 

“Come with me.”

The words hit Wanda like a freight train, and she’s staring at you as if you sprouted three heads.

“What--no, why would I--”

“You know, for the 4 years I’ve known you, all you’ve ever shown was that you were the top of the hierarchy gunning for prom queen like it was the only thing that existed in the world. And then the night you were crowned, you were crying on the bleachers. Now you’re here, graduating, and you look like you’re going to vomit.”

Wanda flares because she’s well aware of that night. Like something ugly spilled over and now won’t stop spilling.

“What would you know--” 

“It’s okay to want more than what’s planned for you.”

The words make Wanda breathless. 

Because maybe that’s the deep-rooted secret Wanda has been carrying underneath the perfect girl her parents groomed her to be.

But...

“I can’t,” Wanda’s voice cracks. 

Because this is all she’s ever known is everything that’s in front of her. How could she turn back, abandoned everything she’s done so far to get here? Her parents would never speak to her again. 

And so, Wanda turns around and goes back into the stadium, leaving behind a possibility of what could’ve been.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

That night, Wanda’s family hosts a dinner with Vision and his parents. Everyone’s laughing and enjoying themselves. Her brother is joking around with Vision, and their moms are already talking about wedding plans.

It’s just so overwhelming. 

They’re talking about coral flowers, white tablecloths, and being in a church.

They talk about Vision going to Harvard and taking over his father’s company. They talk about how Wanda’s going to have the cutest children, and it’s making her stomach churn.

She feigns sickness and excuses herself for the rest of the night to go to her room. 

It’s probably hours that pass, and the house is dead silent, signaling everyone has gone to bed.

She lays in the dark, facing the ceiling with her hands folded gently together over her stomach. 

And then she hears something hit her window gently.

Tap tap

Wanda gets up, walking over to the window and looks out confused. She sees you standing there, convertible parked out in the front, and throw pebbles at her window.

She opens it and hisses, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Wanda already said no to you. Why would you come again?

“I came to get my leather jacket,” you say, blinking. 

And it occurs to Wanda she never gave back your jacket from the night in the rain. 

She huffs, stalking back in to grab the clothing before appearing again at the window and throwing it down to you.

You catch it with ease and look back up at her.

“Wanda,” you call softly, garnering her attention, “come with me.”

She frowns.

But instead of no, she asks, “Why?”

And it’s quiet, and Wanda thinks it was dumb to ask because there’s no reason she needs to go and leave the life she has now.

“Wanda, you’re always going to be more than this small town. You don’t belong here.”

And Wanda left breathless again by you. It’s like the words ring in her ear and make it to her heart because maybe that’s what she wanted someone to confirm all along.

Of course, she wants more, but is she enough for more?

And then you pull out a bag of candy from your jacket pocket and offer it to her. 

And suddenly, Wanda turns back into her room, grabbing her small suitcase and shoving in all her clothes and belongings she’ll need. She pulls all the cash she has and her passport and then sneaks out the front door. 

It’s insane, she thinks as you take her suitcase and throw it in the back. 

It’s doesn’t make any sense at all as she gets into the car with you, someone she’s never really even spoken to, and watches her house get smaller in the side mirror. 

It’s a little scary, and she’s worried that her family will absolutely lose their shit.

But she doesn’t know how to explain the absolute fucking euphoria that’s spreading through her when she sees the sign they’re leaving their small town.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Months pass. 

Her parents did immediately freak out when she was gone. All she had sent was a simple text to Pietro that was she doesn’t want to get married to Vision and become a housewife. She wants more. 

And her parents won’t even talk to her and don’t want her to come home anymore, and while it had gutted her and took her months to get over, she was still happier out here.

Wanda feels the wind in her hair, a feeling she thinks she can’t live without now and looks over to you subtly. 

You’ve got your sunglasses on and playing the same song the two of you have been listening to for weeks now, and she thinks back to everything.

You’ve taken her to so many places now. 

She’s been to Washington to California, Arizona to Texas, Florida to New York, and now they’re on their way to the airport to go live in Hawaii for a little while. 

When going state to state, the two of you always picked up jobs here and there, saving up cash for your next trip, and Wanda’s just never felt so free.

She’s never laughed like she has now, sang like does in the morning, joke around with anyone like she does with you. 

Wanda’s not sure what any of it means. 

But sometimes, she’ll put her hand on the shift stick and likes when you place your hand over hers.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

They’ve been in Hawaii for 2 weeks now, and Wanda thinks she likes Hawaii the best out of all the places they’ve traveled to.

It’s a wonderful vacation spot, and she loves living on the beach every day. 

The two of you are working at a hotel, and Wanda managed to get off earlier than you. Tonight, they’re hosting a luau and Wanda’s sitting on the beach again with a paper and pen.

She’s been working on her admission letter to Princeton with your encouragement. 

“Hey,” Wanda hears and looks up to see you in one of those ugly Hawaiian shirts that you claim will be all the rage in a few years.

You take a seat right next to Wanda, your shoulder bumping gently as you sit down, and hand her a drink in a pineapple cup.

Wanda hums happily, seeing the tiny umbrella and takes a sip from the straw. 

“How’s your admission letter going?” You ask with your sour cola candy bag. 

Wanda doesn’t understand how you can eat them so often. She really stopped having them after that night you whisked her away in your car. Wanda doesn’t like the sour part even if she likes the sweet aftertaste.

“Going,” Wanda sighs. There’s so much she can write about, but it just seems like word vomit on paper at this point.

“You’re doing wonderfully, it’ll be amazing,” you reassure her with an ease that makes Wanda’s heart flutter. She doesn’t understand how you always seem to say the words she wants to hear. 

Wanda sets the paper down, holding it down with a pile of sand on top as she resigns to just enjoy the rest of the night with you. 

The breeze feels good against her skin, and she loves hearing the sounds of the waves against the shore. 

She’s sipping her drink and leaning her head on your shoulder as she listens to the music of the luau in the background. 

Suddenly, she feels you fiddling something in her hair. Her hand comes up to feel a flower resting against her ear. She pulls out her phone to see a red and yellow hibiscus in her hair. You’re looking to the side as you chew on your candies, and Wanda smiles.

“Where’d you get it?” Wanda asks, resuming lying on your shoulder.

“I saw it in Mr. Kahale’s backyard. I thought it would look pretty on you, so I asked him for one,” You explain as you look back at her.

“And he gave you one?” Wanda asked in a surprised tone. Mr. Kahale was known for being stingy with his flowers.

“No, so then I took it when he wasn’t looking,” you grin as Wanda slaps your arm with a laugh.

“He’s going to notice, you know,” Wanda tells you, and you shrug.

“I’m sure he’ll forgive me like the last 7 times.”

And suddenly, Wanda feels a wet drop on her cheek. It starts to drizzle, not enough to cancel the luau, but she can see people in the distance, making their way back to find shelter.

She hasn’t been in the rain since the night on the bleachers. Wanda straightens herself and looks up at the rain. 

“This sure brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Wanda laughs a little, and she sees you looking up as well, the finished bag of candy forgotten. 

“You must’ve thought I was crazy crying out in the bleachers,” Wanda comments offhandedly.

“Not at all,” You say, looking over to Wanda, getting her to look at you too.

Wanda snorts. “Alright, what really made you come over to a girl crying in the rain.”

Even after all this time, Wanda still can’t believe you came over for the sake of coming over.

You sit up, brushing your hands to get the wet sand off.

“Same reason. Pretty girls shouldn’t cry in the rain,” you smile, and Wanda laughs again.

“Alright, what do pretty girls do in the rain?”

You lick your lips, and Wanda suddenly has that feeling she’s been often getting when she’s with you. 

“They get kissed,” you lean over and press your lips softly to Wanda. 

All Wanda can taste is the sour cola candies, but she’s getting the best part of it, the sweet aftertaste. It’s soft and quick. But it’s still better than any kiss she’s ever gotten from the boys she’s dated.

It makes her skin hum, and her stomach explodes with butterflies. It makes her sigh when you part from her.

Her head is swirling, and she opens her eyes to see yours staring back at her so seriously.

It’s too quick, Wanda decides. 

“Kiss me again,” she husks, “like you mean it.”

And when your lips descend on hers again, Wanda decides that she likes the candy as long as she can taste it like this.

And as long as Wanda gets her way, she’ll be the only pretty girl you’ll ever kiss again.

[goldenhypen]

alright time to become em's housewife *puts on apron* HAHAHJA FREE OF CHARGE FOR YOU 🥺 do take care of yourself, em!! take breaks when you need to and don't forget your meals 😡‼️

hehe i'm doing well too, working on my wips here and there! BUT I'M MORE EXCITED FOR YOUR WIPS TBH DHSHJDJS I AM LOOKING RESPECTFULLY 👁️ (also the keyboard is officially against em and elly agenda by not having the blanket emoji *gasp* 😔‼️)

- elly! <3

elly your asks always make me smile ahh thank you!

and yay i can finally get my chicken soup tyvm 😌🍲 haha but dw i’m taking care of myself. i hope you are too! but i’m really glad to hear you’re doing well!

thank you so much ahh i’m excited for them too! i also took a look at your wips and i- they look so interesting 👀 i can’t wait to read them! speaking of, can i pls be added to your permanent taglist? 🥺 i don’t wanna miss any of your future writing <3

[seijorhi]

asks :)

some of y’all have rlly big brains 🧠👀

What about Bokuto ignoring you when you suggest to go outside. He'll smile and hug you and changes the subject. When you try to bring it up again, he'll slowly increase his strength of his hug. A warning for you to behave 😬. I love you and your writing. 

Happy Birthday Daddy Owl.

First of all I’m sorry I was late for this bby!

Second of all YEEEEESSSS!

Bokuto is honestly so terrifying as a yandere! It’s not a punishment, it’s more like a natural response. He doesn’t want you slipping away from him, not to go outside, not to go to the kitchen, not to leave his side for a split second. And sometimes he forgets his own strength (does he though?). It’ll start to hurt, you’ll feel like you can’t breathe and your ribs are gonna crack with his muscled arms squeezing you tightly as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and coos about how much he loves you. But if you can’t breathe you can’t talk right? You can’t keep saying that you want to leave him. He won’t let you leave him. But maybe that’s better than the alternative. 

Keep pushing and you’re gonna get an emotional and upset Bo and neither of you want that.

the dynamic between akaashi/bo and reader??? you have me so interested ma’am I just love all your writing and concepts!!!

Ok ok :)

So basically the you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place here. There’s Bokuto, who drugged you at a party and delivered you neatly gift wrapped (hehe) to your completely enamoured and insane captor. He’s friendly, excitable and equally as fucked up as Kuroo (he was the one to kidnap you after all) and sees absolutely nothing wrong with the situation.

And then you have Akaashi. Akaashi who’s in some of your classes, who’s a sort of friend. Akaashi who should be more than a little concerned that his best friend has kidnapped you while his other friend is keeping you like a little housewife.

Bokuto’s all exuberance and wide sunny smiles, he treats you like you’re one of them, like you want to be there. Doesn’t question why you’re afraid of him - if anything, he seems to be more concerned with getting you to like him by forcing you into friendly cuddles and dragging you out into the longer room to come hang with him when Kuroo’s not around. He won’t listen to a word about how uncomfortable (how scared) you are. You’re perfect for Kuroo - he’s never been happier and Bokuto has no interest in upsetting this new balance.

And then there’s Akaashi. Unlike the other two you know he sees how wrong this is, how much you don’t want to be there in Kuroo’s bed every night - or there in the apartment with them at all. He knows you - knows that this is wrong, but-

But he won’t lift a finger to stop it. He’s nice to you, sweet. You think maybe he pities you, or maybe it’s his own guilt for letting this happen, but he’s the one you find yourself crawling too when you’re scared or overwhelmed (not when Kuroo can see - never when there’s that chance) but he’s also the one to watch you in the classes Kuroo doesn’t share with you. He’s a friend - was a friend - but now you don’t know how to act around him. Maybe if you push him subtly enough, he’ll feel guilty enough to help you - but be careful, because Kuroo loves his friends, but he didn’t sign up to sharing you, and he certainly doesn’t appreciate the odd occasional glance Akaashi sends your way when he thinks you aren’t watching 👀

Just read Gift Wrapped pt 3 and first: It was very good just like all your fics are and second: It made me realize just how weak i am for soft, delusional yanderes! Like a yandere that has no idea that you’re really scared of them and is also generally attempting to make you feel good 👌👌👌👌

Delusional yandere’s are so fun to write!! It’s soft but... make it creepy y’know? 👀thank you bby!

I just wanted to say

1. Outrunning fate is too good

2. I kinda freaked/flipped out knowing you’ll maybe write another part to it

3. I’m getting too distracted from doing actually college work because I’m rereading your fics

Out of all the fics I listed, this is probably the one I’m most torn about. I don’t mean to bait you guys and there’s still a possibility that I won’t write more for it, but fuck I just love the concept and dynamics between Toshi and Tendou and their poor darling soulmate. We’ll see, okay? Also that’s very valid sometimes i get distracted re-reading my own stuff instead of writing new stuff so, I getcha haha

Your content is nothing but superb and sinfully filling♨️♨️💓💓💓. I-is it okay to ask for more ushijima content? I love that brick wall so much and even had a delulu dream where i was his childhood friend who is always salty with him and when we met up as adults he caught on to my jabs and ended up getting railed by him eye-EJFJWJFA MY THIRST FOR THIS BLOCKHEAD IS DRIVING ME INSANE PLS I NEED HELP- SJXJSJCJ i love you rhi. Thnx for all your content👏👏👏

I’m writing an Ushijima breeding kink fic for a friend so there’s that to look forward to :) 

i too wish i could dream about getting railed by mr jima 😌

Gift wrapped was soooooo good! I can’t get enough of possessive and delusional Kuroo 😍. I love how you write from the pov of an unreliable narrater. You do it so well!

And now I’m also really curious about the dynamic between reader and Bokuto + Akaashi. Especially how Akaashi’s going to react to all of this 🙊 - @closetdegen

Thank you!!! I love from the yandere’s pov especially when they’re the delusional sort. It was fun trying to show the reader’s terror and fear while also having that fit within Kuroo’s perfect little idealised perception. It’s soft and romantic and fucking terrifying imo. Anyway, thank you!!!

the fics you mentioned writing extra parts to bitch askxjfhslg ALL of those are my favorites !!!! no pressure to continue any of them bc i totally understand where you’re coming from, but i need you to know that if you so choose to write another part for any of them i will literally rejoice and be so fuckin thankful 😭 anyways, love you & you’re amazing

Ahh thank you sm sweetheart!! 😭😭😭

Okay I know I'm asking a little bit too much but have you considered continuing on with the GW series? Maybe not fully fledged fics but more of drabbles or maybe short headcannons? You are a phenomenal writer that always leaves me craving for more 😭 There's just so much more I want to see from this world, like how Akaashi would react to seeing her since Kuroo seems like he would force her to move in, how their life would be now, etc. I hope you don't take this the wrong way! I don't want you to write something you don't want to. I'm just genuinely curious 🥺

Will I write another full length fic for it? Probably not. If somebody asks will I answer a bunch of questions and maybe do some drabbles/headcanons? Yeah, and that goes for pretty much any fic I’ve written. I love it when you guys react well to a fic and wanna know more. And thank you, bby!

Gift wrapped 🎁 part 3 was so insanely good that it made me want to finish acing my quizzes faster so I could reread it again 💖💖💖💖👀

asdfghjkl ily bby!!

YOO THAT KUROO WRAPPED THO- o m g I want smt where maybe this isn’t part of the fic but like a separate one where it’s a jealous Yan Kuroo 👁👄👁 u don’t have to do it it’s just a thought

Dw bby, I have some lovely jealous Kuroo fics in the works for you!! Also idk if you’ve read it already but Mr Perfect is there if you wanna see some feral Kuroo 👀

[ladyvesuvia]

🍪 — heyy!! i would love a male marauders era ship pretty please :D <33

— i seem very unaffected & unbothered by insults & stuff like that on the outside, but omfg i swear if i think someone looked at me a bit weird i AUTOMATICALLY think they hate me 🥰💔 i am sensitive okay i just don’t like to show it >:’(

— my worst fear is becoming a house wife, i’m sorry but just the thought of being one makes me shudder shdjdk (i had a nightmare about this okay, and i SWEAR- i had to make MEATLOAF for my BALDING ‘HUSBAND’ and i couldn’t make fun of his UGLY ASF SHOES or he’d start YELLING AT ME & INSULT MY COOKING 😩 i woke up at 3 am in a cold sweat bc that nightmare was just a whole new level of awful djdkdk)

— i love to draw & read! art is so fun and stress relieving lol and i just really like books <3 i could get lost in the pages of a book for literal hours and not even get up from my spot skdsk

— i am quite an observant person, i tend to notice very small details and quirks about people that others don’t usually pick up on ahaa!! i pinky promise that i’m not a stalker or anything, i just,,, notice things djkdk

i really hope i didn’t right too much love! thank you endlessly in advance, you have all my love <3 i also want to say that seeing you pop up on my dash never fails to bring a smile to my face and your blogs aesthetic is just beautiful <33 congrats on reaching this milestone btw!! you are crazy talented and it’s so amazing to be able to see your growth :’) <3

🍪 chocolate chip ships - omg this format is so pretty nonnie i wanna give u sirius black 😔

Sirius - ok you can’t tell me he won’t tease you because he definitely will. agh just imagine being frenemies with him or smth like that but then he looks at you..... ✨that✨ way like...!:3$&28292 and you think he’s mad at u but babe hE LIKES YOU 👹👹👹

and oh my god the housewife dream hHAHDBCSHAHA PLS BALDING HUSBAND 😭��🏻 ILYSM LMAO i can picture sirius joking about that and subtly flirting about like “if u become my wife blah blah” stuff like that hNAJWIOQAJHA imagine staying coming over to grimmauld place in ootp and you’d be all “guess you’re a houseband now haha jk thats mean” AGH

and sirius is fun to be with dw you two would go on brilliant adventures cos he loves those typa stuff

he’d also def like you can point out the things people don’t often see, he’d think it’s cool

hope u like this omg nonnie

BABE ILYSM THIS LITERALLY MEANS A LOOOOOT TO ME 😔 aaaa i hope you’re having a great day omfg thank you a lot lot lot lot <3

join my picnic!