#She's a stray i took in about a year and a half ago

[pikkish]

Sometimes, I do actually use reference photos to draw things. Not often, but. Y’know. Sometimes.

[gghostwriter]

If You Love Me Right

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 1 || Part 2 Summary: Emily asks an all important question regarding the next step of your relationship with Spencer Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.2k a/n: Back at it again with something Short n' Sweet. Unsure if this will be the last of this album inspired fics but so far the album is still on repeat. I think out of all the fluff I've written, this is the one where I could just feel how much of a green flag Spencer would be as a partner, if only he wasn't fictional. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“Have you thought about it?” Emily asked, wine glass on hand as she slid into the seat next to you.

The sun was just starting to set, covering the lush backyard in multitude of pink & orange hues. It was a Sunday and Rossi had invited the team and their extended families for an early Italian dinner feast. When Spencer inquired about your availability, it warmed your heart to hear who you are to him.

“Are you sure you want me there, Spence?” your voice coming out soft and muffled as you burrowed yourself further into the warmth of his slender neck. His invitation was a big step in further solidifying the relationship and having been in questionable situation-ships, you had to be sure where you stood.

He pulled back, doe eyes inquisitively staring into yours. His gaze had this way of making you feel known and at home. It was as if his soul has recognized yours from eons ago and needed no further introduction.

“Of course,” his calloused fingers softly pushing stray locks behind your ears. “You’re my person now and it feels right to have you there with me.”

Emily cleared her throat binging you back to the present. “Well?”

“Thought about what?”

She nodded her head in Spencer’s direction. “Having genius babies with our boy genius?”

You softly smiled, watching your boyfriend of one year perform magic tricks for Henry and Michael. It wasn’t like it never crossed your mind. If you were being honest, by the sixth date and the first time he stayed over for the night, the idea of growing old and starting a family with Spencer by your side had started to solidify. 

“Maybe,” you drawled out. A half truth that the seasoned profiler caught on right away.

“And has this—” she lifted her hands to form quotation marks in the air. “‘maybe’ been discussed with the potential baby daddy?” 

You brought the wine glass up to your lips, the outer corner of your lips tugging upwards your face as you took a sip. Dating a man of Spencer’s caliber had given you the comfort and stability to discuss any little insecurity, adoration, and realization without the unease of thinking he’d judge you for it. Gone were those nights of second guessing and reading too much in between the lines and in its place were honest discussions between two consenting adults. 

It was a real breath of fresh air.

“Do you think we should have a baby?” you casually asked, laying on his lap as he was propped up against the headboard with a book on hand. “I mean, not this second but—yeah, do you?”

There was a rustle of pages before a soft thud. “Sweetheart, don’t take this the wrong way but are you by any chance ovulating?”

“Uh—maybe?”

He smiled, looking down at your slowly reddening cheeks. I—uh, have actually been keeping track—” he bit his lip before rushing out to explain himself. “—not to use the information for nefarious reasons but my brain just started to notice the patterns and it feels like an invasion of your privacy and—are you angry?”

“Oh Spence, no. Not at all,” your hand twining with his to stop its nervous movements. “It might be weird but I know you meant well. Now, will you tell me some facts about why you thought I was ovulating?”

“Well, studies had shown that women feel more flirty, sociable, and more physically attractive right before and during ovulation. Some studies also support the idea of increased libido which makes sense since that is the peak window for propagation of the human species.”

You giggled, always welcoming his rambles even if it had to do with your own reproductive system. “Right, but you know what else got me thinking about it?”

A slight scrunch in between his eyebrows appeared as his mind no doubt rewound the day for any trigger. His eyes brightening when it clicked. “Was it the picture of me holding Henry and Michael?”

“Definitely,” you breathed out, starting to feel warm just thinking about how secure his hold was to the newborn babies and that smile on his face that reached his molten hazel eyes and radiated from his whole face.

He pressed feather-like kisses all over cheeks and forehead. “There’s actually also a study on why that affected you so much. It all comes down to women seeing their partners acting as providers—” he cut himself off to land a kiss on your lips. “—I’m not saying no—I’d actually really like that but maybe we can revisit the idea again in two weeks? I want to make sure this is something you really want and not something your biology has dictated on you.”

“Okay, that sounds fair. I love you, Spence.”

“I love you too.”

Spencer’s laughter floating through the air brought you out of your reverie. A slight shiver passed through you—either from the wind or the imagery of him carrying Michael and holding hands with Henry on the other as they slowly made their way back to their mother.

You turned to face Emily, no doubt that the blush on your cheeks giving you away. “Maybe.”

“Huh,” she tilted her head slightly to the left—a subtle tick you’ve grown to read into.

“What?”

Shaking her head, she leaned in to clink her glass with yours and a teasing smile forming on her face. “Nothing. Well—you’re welcome, by the way. And as a thank you, what do you think about naming the maybe baby after me?” 

You laughed. The trio had taken full credit for bringing the couple together—something that they had always brought up like it was their greatest contribution to earth.

A layer of warmth was added to your shoulders and a faint scent of books and wood wafted to your nose. Tilting your head backwards, it was Spencer sans his black coat that was now adorning your body. His garment effectively marking you as an extension of him, as if the necklace around your neck with his initials 'SR' wasn't enough already. A priceless jewelry that had a partner with your own initials that found its home around his neck. “Hi love.”

“Hi sweetheart,” leaning down to give your lips a kiss. “You looked cold.” 

You were both wrapped up in your own little bubble to notice Emily’s eyebrows arching towards her hairline. “It won’t be long now, I guess. So how many?” 

“One would be cute—” your eyes never lingering on his face as if you were tracing the all his angles and memorizing all the stubbles that had started to grow on his jaw line. 

Spencer without further explanation continued on. “—two would be better.” 

“You know, you both have to stop finishing each other’s sentences, it’s getting creepy,” Emily quipped.

You both laughed, turning to face her, and although your gazes were no longer meeting, the gentle caress of his thumb on the back of your hand was enough to communicate everything and anything in between.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[prael]

Perks

Kinktember Day 10: Mirror

Twice Mina x male reader smut

words: 4,108 Kinktember Masterlist

Do you ever look in the mirror and see someone who isn't you?

It was a simple question—if a rather loaded one.

"No," said Mina. "No, I don't think so. Not in a bad way, but maybe in disbelief of who I've become. Sometimes I expect to see the same person I was almost ten years ago. A simpler me. Maybe a more nervous and afraid version of me. That sort of thing."

"My therapist told me that was imposter syndrome," you said. "It's common, but it's pretty fucked up, the way we act like we're lying to ourselves."

"Have you thought of seeing her again?" Mina asked.

"God, that'd be awkward, don't you think?" you responded.

Mina paused, holding a glass midway to her mouth as if thinking, 'Between you and her or you and me?' Then she seemed to decide and smiled to herself, "Right."

Mina never erred into the intrusive or tactless. It's why you never have the impression that she is nosing around your life, because she gives you all the leeway to share only what you wish to share. And maybe that's why the both of you have lasted this long; in this arrangement, you found this unique level of trust, and you dare say it makes you damn good together.

"Our friend over there at the end of the bar looks like he can't take his eyes off you," you told her without looking up from your drink, not to draw attention. Mina chanced a discreet glance from the corner of her eye.

She quirked an eyebrow at you, "So? Feel threatened?"

You laughed into your drink before taking a mouthful of it, and then you told her, "I was about to get up, but you know that as soon as I do, he's going to come over."

"Of course, he will," Mina grinned into her own glass, then tipped her chin back to get at the last of it. "You go ahead to the room, I'll let him down gently." She patted at the front of your suit coat, above your breast pocket. It was a playful gesture. She had barely touched you all night until then.

"Early morning tomorrow, Mina, don't waste too much time now."

Mina smiled her "oh-shut-the-fuck-up" smile, before tucking a strand of stray hair behind her ear and running her fingers through the thick long black strands. You smiled to yourself and signalled to the bartender.

It's been a long day, and tomorrow will be longer still. Hotel bars had become a sort of ritual for you and Mina, you share a drink the day before you close a deal, half in premature celebration and half as a good luck charm.

And the thing is, Mina is a flirt. Through and through. Charm and wit. It works on clients, and it's an asset. The only problem is, it worked on you. It wasn't difficult to recognise your attraction for what it was, and she obviously took notice of it too. And you, well...

You're a professional, so you would never, ever let yourself act on it. This is why you returned to your room, alone, and why ten minutes later you heard the door open to her (conveniently joined) room. You're professionals, if you're going to fuck, at least you try to hide it.

The adjoining door opens. Oops, did you leave that unlocked? How silly of you.

"Sorry about the wait. Didn't want to seem rude, you know." She leans against the doorframe.

"How long after I left?"

"Barely a minute, he did the whole 'You-look-familiar' bit, so I humoured him..." Mina cocks a smile of arrogance. "For a minute. Before, you know... Letting him down gently."

"Did he go quietly, then?"

"He tried to ask me if I was sure I wanted to be alone." She shakes her head slowly as she saunters forward. "I was sure. Sure about coming up here and riding you senseless. Didn't tell him that, of course, just up and left. Anyway, for tomorrow, I was thinking—"

"Let's rewind to that part about riding me senseless, shall we?"

A playful smile takes to the corners of her mouth. "Let's."

You climb up from the bed, your shirt hangs loosely from your body, no tie at the neck and untucked from your trousers. "So, would you say it's going to be more of a—"

"If you are going to finish that with some terrible sex metaphor, I will kick your ass so hard." She kicks off her heels at the door. That long black dress she wore earlier is long gone, replaced by the lightest of sheer black chemises and a pair of little lacy black underwear.

"Kick my ass," you tell her, placing a hand on each of her hips. "Sure."

"Be quiet." She whispers it before she kisses you, deeply and softly. The sort of kiss that makes you forget yourself. Your arms circle her waist, and her arms rest on your shoulders. You savour it, the smell of her perfume, the taste of her tongue, the feeling of her hands trailing across the skin at the nape of your neck.

But in due time, that kiss breaks apart. Her hand trails down the front of your dress shirt, button by button, she has undressed you so many times now that the motion seems so familiar, and practised, but she still takes her time in doing it, as though with every undone button her anticipation is built upon.

You place your hand against the curve of her hip, thumbing gently, with feather-light touches along the black fabric, her small waist and wide hips, firm and round and so shapely in just her lingerie—your hands could have found no better resting place.

As you slip out of your shirt, Mina slips the delicate straps off her shoulders and the skimpy piece falls away from her body like petals around her feet. Mina is bare for you, save for her panties. Her tits might not be as big as her ass but your mouth still waters at the sight of them.

"Look at me." You love it when Mina demands that, love how she smiles with smug confidence when you have nothing to do but oblige her. Mina turns herself around, and your hands slide down, down the generous arch of her back and cups around her round, firm ass.

"Oh, come now," you can't help but tease her, "How very complacent of you, to think my eyes would look at nothing else but you. You know that I am a man of refined culture." You knead at the ample flesh in each palm, so soft. "I am very clearly an admirer of the finer things in life."

"How very romantic," she laughs, sliding down her underwear with a shimmy of her hips before placing her palms flat against the wall. "Go on then. Enjoy the art, like the cultured man you are."

There is something intoxicating about watching her there, propped against the wall, naked for you, your cock uncomfortable in your trousers. You unbuckle the clasp of the belt, then, in the pause, you approach, letting a single finger trace up the arch of her spine, leaning closer to her neck to whisper, "Not right here. Look over there, the mirror."

A floor-to-ceiling mirror, to be specific. She smiles a devilish little smirk. "And what of it?"

"Mina," you tell her, pressing the front of your trousers against the curves of her body, against the supple flesh of her ass. "I want to see all of you when we fuck. Every beautiful detail."

Mina purred, content. "Spoken like a poet..."

You land a solid and deliberate smack against that big ass of hers, and she lets out a groan. "Don't let it go to your head."

Mina let out an effectual moan, knowing fully how it tempts you. You roughly press your body against hers as she does it. Hooking both your arms around her naked form, you pull her to where you want her, right over to the mirror.

"That's it, take me like you want to." She presses her hand flat against the mirror, pushing back those delicious curves against your body once more. You force down your slacks and underwear until the cool air envelops you, at least until you push against her body once more. You cup both your hands at her full ass, slipping your stiffness between the cheeks and rocking back and forth. Mina is biting her bottom lip as she looks back at you in the mirror, and you look at nothing else but her deep dark eyes, her face framed by that long, dark, glorious hair.

"Your ass. This. This beautiful, beautiful thing of yours, drives men wild, drives me wild," you breathe out as she rocks herself back into your groping hands and your hard cock grinds between her cheeks, slow and methodic. "Drives me a little bit insane."

She deepens her bend, lowering her shoulders level to her ass, and her face presses against the glass. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip again, peering over her shoulder, a shameless erotic, willing for you to take her in the most raw and depraved way. You can't deny the effect it has on you, and it has you raising your right arm, palm poised to land another satisfying spanking to her ass.

The crack rings out through the room, and she lets out a soft, sweet little, "Oh!"

You wrap a hand around her, over her stomach and down between her legs, reaching for her sweet, slick cunt, and find her soaked, wet with arousal. Wet for you.

"Fuck, you're so horny," you utter hoarsely. You drag your fingers through her juices as you drive your stiff cock over her tight asshole, so much teasing, maybe too much, perhaps too tortuous. You groan into the shell of her ear. "You get so wet for me. So wet. You need it so badly."

She moans, grinding back against you and circling her hips as if it could ease her pain. Half teasing, half goading, she says, "Maybe you should stop fucking playing around and do something about it."

She hisses when you drive your two slick fingers inside her without warning, pushing deeper in one smooth motion, as you mutter into the crook of her neck, "Impatient, aren't we, Mina?"

"Just fuck me."

In response, you slowly withdraw your fingers. She gasps against the mirror, the palm of her hand curling flat into a fist. Her words get you harder as she tries to wiggle her ass and spread herself, desperately trying to draw your dick to the slick pink centre of her sex for you. She doesn't care anymore what this does to your discipline, doesn't care at the prospect of you breaking, turning this into a savage, ravaging of her body; what matters only, at this very instant, is that she gets filled and fucked, fast and hard.

Finally, you give her that. Draw your cock out from between her cheeks, sliding the tip down between her legs, feeling the moisture that glistens on the swollen lips. You don't bother to strap up, or even ask, it's long since established that raw is how she likes it.

Slowly, you push forward. Mina sucks in a breath through her teeth. You know by the arch in the small of her back, the little trembles, that it is taking all her concentration and willpower not to throw her hips back, to force you to the hilt.

You bite the edge of her shoulder, and a shiver travels down Mina's entire body. You pull out, a little, before driving forward a little further.

"You feel..." you groan, your cock feeling like it was engulfed by satin. You sink a little further. "Fuck."

"Mhm, go on," her eyelashes flutter as you begin to take her, in this raw, animalistic way. "Tell me how it feels."

"Every time is like the first time," you continue, sliding in slow, then deeper, bit by bit, until you're all the way in and her big, round ass is pressing hard against your abdomen and her thick thighs against your legs. "You feel warm and slick and tight and wet, and oh, God..."

A sudden thrust forward as her greedy cunt squeezes the length of your shaft. A delicious whimper that sends blood to your head. A long, shaky groan slips from the both of your lips. You buck hard into her ass and watch as it ripples at the contact. "Ah! There, yes. Fuck," Mina moans.

There are two of her, perfect reflections, two Minas taking a rough pounding from behind. Each little expression on her face, each beautiful feature is visible in the reflection. And behind that her body ripples just like the one below you, and she whimpers, helpless as you penetrate her over and over.

"F-faster." She whines. "Harder. God, fuck, fuck me harder."

Mina has always liked it a little on the rough side, so you grab a handful of her hair, ball it in your fist, and pull. "Tell me, how does it feel?" You rear her head back so she has to look at herself in the reflection and tell it to herself. You pick up the pace, beginning to relentlessly pummel her from behind as you bury yourself into her tight heat as deep and hard as you can.

"So... Ah! So good." You yank her hair again, making her ass tense, making her gasp. She pants hard, short and fast as the force and strength of each thrust get stronger. "I love it when you... fuck me like this." Her chest begins to heave up and down. She raises her ass even higher for you. "When you—God, ah! Ah!—make me want to scream..."

You feel that incredible warmth building and swelling in your abdomen as her sex drips around your shaft, and it is so hard to slow yourself down when her ass slaps against you in perfect sync with your every motion, when Mina's knees shake, when her desperate moans urge you to never, ever stop. Still, you would like to do a little something before she orgasms all over your cock.

You roughly jerk out of Mina, pulling away abruptly with no warning.

"No, no! Don't stop!" She cries out immediately, her greedy body already missing yours. The flush at her neck spreading, blossoming down—her shoulders pink. "No!" She whimpers as she tries to throw her pussy back against you.

She cries out so pathetically that she doesn't protest when you roughly turn her around and lift her by her thighs, allowing her to wrap her legs around your hips and sink her to the hilt onto you. You sink her down and up and down again and again, bouncing her on and off of your aching cock in front of the mirror, gritting your teeth to keep yourself from finishing the moment her tightness wraps and flexes around you.

"I'm gonna cum so hard, I swear, I can feel it," she gasps in time with your rough pounding, arms holding onto your neck tightly, fingernails digging into your shoulders. "So close, don't you dare stop."

The harder and faster you go, the louder and harder she screams, eyes rolling back and mouth falling open. She digs her heels into your back, pushing down against you so there's nothing left for either of you but pleasure. You pound hard and heavy into her, chasing her orgasm, and when that perfect heat grips all around you and consumes you entirely, there is nothing in the entire world that compares to it—to this. The thought that very soon you will be cumming inside Myoui Mina.

It is that pure bliss, that power and sense of total control, of giving her such pleasure that you're left moaning along with her, revelling in this wonderful mess. Your bodies are sticky and tangled and you just start to let it go. Filling her pretty cunt as you have so many times before.

You grit your teeth and struggle through the overstimulation, taking satisfaction in how the trembling in her legs persists, her breathing ragged and body shaking. Doing your best to fuck your load into her—she's just so into that sort of thing—you don't think that there's anything, truly, that is better than this.

Not when Mina whimpers as she weakly presses her nails into the skin of your shoulders and when she knows not how to stop trembling. Your limits are worth pushing for a woman like her.

But even then, limits are ultimately undeniable. Her full weight in your arms, your knees weak, your legs tire beneath you and finally, as you plant a series of gentle kisses along her neck and shoulder, her mouth gasping, her nose against your cheek, you give in and fall to your knees. Mina's back leaves a mark of where it was once imprinted against the glass.

"So..." she laughs breathlessly into your ear as you sit with her on you. "Do you think management has any idea how often we fuck during these trips?"

"I imagine that if they found out it would be both of our jobs on the line." You hold a hand on her lower back, keeping her upright and then place your mouth on one of her breasts. Her nipple is firm, you suck on it and run your teeth over its delicate surface. Mina keens with her mouth falling open and her lashes fluttering, a small quiet "ah" escaping from the back of her throat.

"Guess we better stop," she jokes, breathing out in a chuckle and gently, pushing your forehead away from her chest.

You chuckle dryly into her neck, wrapping both arms fully around her naked body to pull her closer. "Something tells me you won't really be able to help yourself."

"Punishingly handsome, smart, a sense of humour—" She reaches down to where your half-soft cock is planted within her cunt. "—Great cock, excellent fuck" As though it were some sort of sales pitch. "No. No, I can't help myself."

"Is this about next week?" you ask.

"They never split us up, we're a team, so why would they send you with her instead?" Mina rocks her hips slowly on your lap. You groan into the crook of her neck.

"It's a one-off, Mina. In two weeks we'll be travelling together again." You wrap your arms around her soft, warm skin and run them down her back. "Another hotel, another set of adjoining rooms."

"Yeah," she sighs as she lazily continues her grinding. "Or, we could... See each other outside of work, you know. Like normal people do."

"We're far from normal, Mina." You let out a soft sigh as you start to harden inside her again. You pull at the small of her back, urging her on. "We're having our fun, right? It works. What reason is there to rock the boat?"

Her arms move up your chest and onto your shoulders. With that same teasing voice of hers, "There's always room for more fun. More sex." Mina pushes hard on your shoulders, and you fall back into the soft carpet. Mina is above you—over you—all-powerful beauty and you want nothing more than to grab her hips and drive up, and into her. Her hair falls over her shoulders and down her arms. Her pert little tits beg to be held. Her face, with flawless skin and those few prominent freckles, is decorated with a filthy smile.

"Two weeks, Mina, two weeks and we'll be back to doing this." You caress the silky soft curves of her sides. "Two more weeks, and then it's a real long trip. Just me and you."

She's visibly more excited, and she rides you harder now than just a gentle grinding and you hear the little wet sounds of your cock plunging into her cum-filled pussy over and over again. Her breasts bounce beautifully, and finally, you do cup one in a hand. A playful glimmer dances in her eyes, along with the lust haze. Mina's wet thighs slap against your hips, the sounds are vulgar in the best way.

"I'm going to fuck you every single morning and night for the whole trip," you tell her, and her grin widens. "Then you won't want for a thing."

Your words only seem to encourage her more, to fuck you harder and harder. She's riding your cock wildly but never has her eyes left yours. She fucks like she does everything else; with every fibre of her being, her passion is unbridled and intense. And oh, when she whimpers, it makes a hot current run straight to the end of your spine, it gets the heat in your head pulsating. That's just what Mina does to you.

"Two weeks without me. You're going to be so frustrated, Mina, so needy. You're gonna make me a promise."

"Mhm?" she gasps.

"You're going to wait for me," you say. "After tonight, for whole two weeks, no cumming."

"No," she says through clenched teeth. "Absolutely not."

"Yes, Mina, absolutely."

You clasp your hands on her hips, slowing down her speed. "Promise me."

She almost struggles to find her voice. "No way. I can't!" Her hips fight against your hold, she fights to drag her cunt over your cock and just feel the pleasure you're denying her. Mina grits her teeth, and the pain is evident on her face. "Okay! Just please fuck me now." She twists her body, trying to release from your hold.

"Promise."

"I promise. I promise. I promise!" Mina squeals, nearly shrieking as you soften your grip and thrust up into her quivering, wet heat. You let her fuck you again and she picks up right where she left off—frantic and wild. She leans in to kiss you deeply, and a little whimper spills from the corner of her lips. "Fuck. Cum inside me again."

The eagerness with which Mina rises and falls on your cock, her pussy taking in all of you, demands only one thing. Cum—the mess of you both—spilling over and running out, all over you and the floor and ruining the hotel's carpet.

"Yes," her voice cracks, high and soft, "Oh fuck. Fuck. God, I'm gonna cum."

It's good, your hands gripping her body firmly, matching her pace, and taking the chance to look behind her, at the mirror, where you can see your cock bury in and out of her again and again. Slipping up below her ass that ripples beautifully every time your hips meet.

Mina cums not even ten seconds later. With an eruption of screams louder than you've ever heard, shudders all over, and more fluid spilling between you both. She's struggling and you feel it. You slap her ass and follow with a groan of words halfway between an instruction and a plea. "Don't stop."

She doesn't stop. She sits up and throws herself back, reaching for something to balance on. A hand against the mirror, her legs spread and her body present to you, she fucks that pretty pussy down onto you so fast, she's struggling to maintain the rhythm but her nails are curling against the glass, her brows are pressed so tense together, her body shakes all over and a cry comes again from that lovely mouth.

She cums again like this as if it's a show for you and what a fucking show it is. Her legs tremble so hard they lose purchase and you begin lifting yourself up into her and the sight, the sound—her sounds—and her perfect body is making you buck and press harder into her. You've become so mindless, so desperate and hungry for her body. You can hardly keep yourself from spilling into her for a second time. But not yet, you think. Not yet and not there.

Mina's leg buckles. She fights for air. "Can't," she chokes out, breathless and shallow. Nothing left to give you. She slips from her perch, collapsing to the floor, leaning against the mirror. Her dark hair matted with sweat, her pale skin gleaming. Her expression is dreamy. "On me. Just finish on me."

On Mina, a work of art. Over her pretty face, or those luscious tits, or that soft tummy. Over that thick, firm and oh-so-perfect ass, or those equally tasty thighs. Maybe even just glaze over her messy cunt. Her eyes flicker as she looks up at you, and you have a decision to make.

"Anywhere. Cum wherever you want."

[eoieopda]

whiskey neat | jwy

there’s no common ground between yours and wooyoung’s vastly different circles. that is, until tuesday nights at the black cat form the center of the venn diagram.

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader au: strangers to something type: one-shot | smut wc: 8.3k rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: inspired by hozier’s “too sweet”, primarily wooyoung’s pov with one switch at the end; bartender!wooyoung, musician!reader, alcohol use, setting is a bar, uhhh wooyoung is a (to the tune of that arctic monkeys song) cigarette smoker, oral sex (v), protected sex (p in v), corruption kink kind of?, use of “sweetheart” (fatal). reader notes: afab (gender identity not designated); kind of naive; into fitness/“wellness” (no body type/weight is described, except wooyoung thinking they’re “strong” + reader thinking that they are in the best shape of their life); wears a sundress at the beginning. the following terms are used in the scenes involving smut: pussy, cunt, clit, tits (no description given). a/n: i quite literally started this in march 2024 and then experienced the most severe hobby death of all time. this is coming after five (5) months of scooping it out of my brain with a melon-baller, so… not my best, but here she is! thanks @sailoryooons for beta-ing because i’m self-conscious lately 🍤

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat never used to be busy. 

For three years, Wooyoung spent the majority of his shifts behind the bar doing fuck all: Folding receipt paper into increasingly complicated and wasteful shapes; replacing citrus wedges that went unused and then brown; paying visits to the stray cat camping out in the alley near the dumpster. He’d go hours without talking to another human being, and he never took issue with it, even if his wallet did.

Two months ago, however, things changed. 

Two months ago, management started panicking about the lack of revenue. To keep the lights on and draw in a crowd of (hopefully) soon-to-be regulars, they implemented a schedule of recurring events — some monthly, others weekly, most stupid.

Wooyoung’s precious solitude disappeared, and in its place, he got trivia nights and turntable DJs, showing off their collections of vinyls. Games of bingo targeting hipsters, who show up en masse to fight it out for prizes — potted plants, of all things — they could easily buy on their own for far less than their tabs’ totals. Themed brunches. 

A million other events and just as many used glasses to wash.

Despite his ever-present scowl — his face just looks like that —  it hasn’t been all bad. Without the newly-added acoustic sessions, the bar wouldn’t need a local performer to both play and host on a biweekly basis. Management wouldn’t have reached out to you; and you’d have no fucking reason to come to a dive like this. Suffice it to say, your pilates-practicing, daylight-disciplined circle of doers would never otherwise overlap with Wooyoung’s, in all its nocturnal, nicotine-dependent grit.

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat now occupy the center of the Venn diagram.

As usual, you come traipsing in half an hour before your set starts with a gig bag slung over your shoulder and a megawatt smile on your face. This is your natural state, he’s come to learn. Solar-powered. It shouldn’t be possible, but you manage to brighten further when your searching eyes find him sitting on the counter behind the register.

Through no fault of his own, Wooyoung’s gaze trails down from your face to the little sundress you’re wearing. It’s new, he notes immediately. The skirt of it flutters with each step you take, showing off more and more of your thighs as you move.

You don’t react to the migrating fabric. Just the same, you don’t notice his appraisal or the way patrons’ heads turn as you cross the bar. 

No surprise there, he thinks. 

From the four (4) entire conversations the two of you have had so far, you’ve made one thing abundantly clear: You’re inclined to assume the best of people and their intentions. 

Nine times out of ten, Wooyoung dodges naivety like that the second it starts skipping his way, well-versed in the consequences of trusting so implicitly. You and your cotton-candy smile have proven to be the outlier, though. Working in tandem, you and that grin have him pinned where he sits with no urge to run.

You don’t notice that, either.

When you slide onto the stool across the bar from him, Wooyoung finally clocks what you’re holding. Your right hand grips some green concoction that he suspects was made with kale. Or moss? In your left hand, an iced Americano — beautifully black — weeps condensation onto manicured fingers, making hard-earned calluses glisten.

Wooyoung’s racing thoughts about those hands are still inflicting psychic damage when you lean further over the counter.

“Extra shot of espresso,” you hum as you hold the coffee out to him. You do your best to tease him, though you’re shy as hell about it, so the words still manage to come gently: “For those of us who were still awake when the sun came up.”

Wooyoung mentioned his coffee order several weeks ago in passing. It’s sweet in a way he’s not used to that you’ve not only remembered how he takes his coffee, but that you’ve brought it to him ever since, apropos of nothing, when all he’s ever done is his best to get a rise out of you. What he’s up to isn’t sweet — not by a long-shot — but it’s easily done and well worth the misplaced effort when he sees how flustered he can make you.

Wooyoung tilts his head, draws his lips in a straight line, and gestures to your cup with his. “Worry about those waking up shortly after sunrise, sweetheart. They’re drinking algae.”

As intended, you’re visibly affected by the pet name, so much so that you stumble over your defense. “It — it’s healthy!”

“It’s swampy.”

Your nose scrunches indignantly, prompting the edge of Wooyoung’s mouth to tick upwards. He doesn’t emote more than that. Five (5) conversations in now, and he’s already picked up on how much it gets to you when he only concedes a hint of a smirk.

As much as he’d relish the opportunity to sit here and keep toying with you, the crowd surrounding you has doubled in a matter of minutes. Just over your shoulder, Wooyoung sees a patron glance down at the screen of her phone to check the time; then, he hears the complaint she thinks is muttered quietly under her breath. It’s not. In fact, you hear it, too, and you divert your wide, heart-shaped eyes away from him. That smile of yours curves in the wrong direction once you do.

When you look back at him, you say, “I should go,” but he hears it for what it is: an apology. 

He’s never been good at ending conversations — especially in the rare case that he’d prefer to keep one going — so he nods, leaves it at that. You pause for a nanosecond, as if you’ve got something else to add, but you don’t. You smooth down the back of your dress once you’ve hopped from the stool to your feet. Then, you mimic his gesture. 

You make it two steps towards the stage before Wooyoung calls out to you, prompting you to spin back around and your dress to flutter:

“Thanks for the coffee, sweetheart.”

Your frown disappears instantly. The smile that replaces it is still there when you disappear into the crowd, only to resurface several seconds later on the tiny stage across the room.

Guitar now in hand, you duck your head through the woven strap, shuffling carefully closer to the microphone stand. You introduce yourself, strum a quiet, major chord, and chirp, “Welcome to both the Black Cat and my favorite day of the week.”

Normally, you leave shortly after your last set, as if you’ll turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes ten. With the schedule you keep, it’s no wonder. From what Wooyoung has gathered so far, you wake up before dawn most days to get a workout in before heading to the office. The very idea makes him nauseous whenever he thinks too long about it, so he does his best not to. 

Mornings are for sleeping, he told you once.

Life is for living, you’d replied.

Apparently, the two of you have drastically different ideas about what living looks like.

For Wooyoung, life on Tuesday nights looks like catering to a steadily dwindling crowd once you finish up and disappear with a friendly wave goodbye. It’s cleaning up sticky spills, resetting migrated stools, and doing a half-ass restock that will make the opener — him — complain about the closer — again, him — when his next shift starts at 5:00 PM on Wednesday. 

In the gap between his shifts, life looks like meeting up with his similarly shadow-dwelling friends on someone’s balcony to chain-smoke, sip whiskey, and watch the sunrise until he gets bored. From there, it’s either walking back to his apartment or kicking said friends out of his, so he can rot in front of his PC. Eventually, life looks like blackout shades and crashing into bed while the world around him heads out for brunch.

Tonight, however, life is starting to look a little different.

When you wander over, it’s not to say goodnight or close out the tab you think you’ve accrued, which Wooyoung never opened in the first place.

Maybe, he thinks, you’ve finally caught on that all these “technical issues with the point-of-sale system” — occurring for the last four (4) shows in relation to one (1) patron in particular — can’t possibly be a coincidence. That a free drink given will always beget a free drink received. That Wooyoung doesn’t deal in unpaid debts, even if he hasn’t and won’t own up to his petty workplace theft.

You sidle up to his bar and slip back into the stool you’d previously occupied, no more aware of the way your sundress shifts now than you were earlier. Likewise, he’s no less blatant with the way he looks you up and down, eyes lingering unabashedly and hungrily. The pair of you float in each other’s orbit for a few moments just like this: waiting for the other to speak first.

“Don’t you go to yoga class at ass o’clock on Wednesdays?” He eventually inquires, leaning back against the counter behind him with his arms crossed and head tilted.

Your eyes flick down to the screen of your phone, which rests face-up on the bar between your elbows. You clock the time but not the way your current posture causes the neckline of your mostly modest dress to plunge. Conflict creases between your eyebrows, then you tilt your chin to look at him.

Wooyoung knows that look, although he’s never seen it on you before. That look begs to be talked into something, rather than out of it. It’s a look he gets often. For better or for worse, it’s one he never turns down.

“I do,” you admit through a sigh. 

Offering nothing more than a hum to indicate his intrigue, Wooyoung watches you and waits patiently for you to elaborate. Another few seconds slip by without a word. His attention makes you shy, he notes; he loves it. 

But he loves the idea of toying with you even more, so when you don’t say anything else, he takes that attention and diverts it to the few remaining patrons, all of whom have vested interest in closing out and getting out.

Good riddance, he thinks as the last of them stumbles out and away, leaving the two of you in charged silence. 

Even more seconds pass. 

Still nothing.

Wooyoung glances around and finds a bottle of Jameson on its very last leg. It’s the perfect amount for a litmus test — two shots left, nothing more to give and everything to prove. Snatching two overturned shot glasses from where they dry on a holed rubber mat, he empties the whiskey evenly and turns back to you with an eyebrow raised.

Your eyes widen slightly when he sets the spare on the bar in front of you, more so with interest than surprise. For a moment, you stare at it with the same ambivalent expression, nibbling thoughtfully on your lower lip. 

Finally, you all but whisper, “I should’ve been in bed an hour ago.”

With his left palm flat against the bar, Wooyoung rests his weight and leans in, eyelids and voice dropping. “Why aren’t you?” He murmurs, gaze flicking down to your lips then back up again — just long enough for you to notice that he was, in fact, looking. “Hmm?”

Your breath hitches — just loudly enough for him to notice that you are, in fact, finding it hard to function this closely to him.

“On a school night, no less.” His eyes narrow teasingly.

“I’m asking myself the same question,” you confess, though you’re the picture of innocence. Your fingertip traces idly down the side of your shot glass, then back up again. 

He’s as distracted by the mindless movement as you are, albeit for different reasons. Before he lets himself get carried away in wondering whether or not your touch is always that delicate, Wooyoung lifts his glass and gestures for you to do the same. “Sounds like you could use a bad influence.”

A soft clink permeates when your glasses touch, followed by a muted thump when the bottom of each one is tapped against the bar. Your heads are thrown back in unison, just like your drinks, and when your faces finally level out towards one another’s, you counter him breezily, “Maybe you could use a good one.”

Wooyoung thinks he could use more than that.

Breaking eye contact, you glance down at your phone again. It’s obvious that you’re second-guessing your decision to linger. He wants to chuck that brick in the bin with the other useless shit, to get rid of any excuse you might give for having to leave, but he doesn’t. 

And you don’t give him an excuse.

Your hand wraps around that fucking phone, then you stand up slowly. 

“Try not to stay up too late,” you advise with a smile that still manages to read like disappointment.

Don’t.

Reaching into the pocket of your jacket, you pull out the tips you made tonight and collect a few bills before dropping them on the counter to cover the shot you didn’t even order. Wooyoung wants to tell you not to — that your money isn’t good here, even if you are — but he knows it won’t make a difference. 

You sling your gig bag over your shoulder, thank him, and tell him that you’ll see him in two weeks.

He scrubs his hands over his face the second you walk out the door and mutters through gritted teeth, “Fuck.”

You don’t see Wooyoung in two weeks. 

As a matter of fact, you cancel your acoustic session for the first time ever. Management either doesn’t know why you bailed or doesn’t think it’s any of Wooyoung’s business, so no one bothers to tell him. If he’d ever thought to ask for your number, he could check in on you himself, but he didn’t and therefore can’t.

Ignorant and annoyed, he resigns himself to occupying an empty tavern on a goddamn Tuesday night, yet again. 

Nobody brings him coffee. 

Nobody worth talking to crosses the threshold. 

No one makes little comments — genuine concerns poorly disguised as digs — when he uses the paring knife to carve little stars into the lip of the bar top, instead of slicing limes. 

And when he gives up and closes down early, he’s so tired of his own shit that he simply goes home and goes to bed.

Bed being the operative word. 

He doesn’t go to sleep, even though he has nothing better to do. Alternatively, Wooyoung replays your last interaction on a loop in his head, daydreaming about what could’ve happened if you’d stayed. While his thoughts spiral, his hand drifts, finds the pulse beneath the zipper of his jeans, and feels the throbbing ache building through the denim.

It’s pathetic. 

He knows it. 

Too bad that doesn’t stop him from fucking his fist every night for the next several, imagining how much softer yours must feel.

The patron pulls a face the absolute second Wooyoung slides her glass across the bar. 

Wholly uninterested in the response one way or another, he slathers on his customer-service smile and asks her, “Alright?”, in a tone that doesn’t match his expression in the slightest.

“There’s no ice in it,” she mumbles, cringing in mild horror as she does. As if the liquor features his spit instead. “I wanted ice.”

There’s a split second where he almost lets his mask crack, says something shitty just because his mood was already sour before she walked over. Wooyoung doesn’t get the opportunity, however. Over the girl’s shoulder, someone gently intervenes: “Neat means no ice. You’d have needed to order it on the rocks.” 

A beat passes, then comes, “Or — you know, with ice, please.”

Wooyoung neither hears nor cares what the girl says in response. She shuffles off, and that’s all that matters. Without her body blocking the way, he sees you clearly. You’re more done-up than usual, like you’ve just come from somewhere far nicer than here.

“It’s Saturday.”

Probably should’ve started with hello.

After eyeing the glowing, neon clock on the wall, Wooyoung notices that both hands are pointed skyward. He corrects himself, “Nah, it’s Sunday.”

You slip into the now-unoccupied stool ahead of him and nod, chuckling like you can’t believe it, either. When you settle in, you prop your elbow on the bar top, then your chin upon the heel of your hand. Just above, your eyes twinkle with a kind of mischief he’s never seen you wear before.

That might be the thin veil of tipsiness, actually. 

Not that he’s complaining.

Wooyoung hides his amusement by bending over and rummaging through the under-counter refrigerator that hums beneath the register. The rush of cool air has nothing to do with how awake he suddenly feels. He wonders if you feel the same but can’t ask outright; eagerness isn’t his style.

“You’re here on purpose?” He asks instead, resurfacing with a bottle of soju — some new, fruity flavor he assumes you’ll like — and a raised eyebrow.

You hum appreciatively when you see what he’s holding. That soft sound that punches him right in the center of his chest with force. “I was out with friends, but…”

Your voice trails off, too distracted by his hand enveloping the seal-covered bottle cap. With a firm grip and quick twist, it’s gone. You’re still eyeing his hands, he notes, even though all they’re doing is holding the bottle. 

Normally, he’d love to give you the benefit of the doubt and attribute your sudden fixation on the rings he wears. It wouldn’t be the first time a man in jewelry snags attention, complimentary or otherwise. Unfortunately — or maybe fortunately? — for you, Wooyoung forgot to put his usual accessories back on after this afternoon’s shower.

Nope, he thinks, biting back a wolfish grin. He’s not alone. You daydream about his touch, too.

Catching yourself staring, you shift atop your stool with a quiet, self-conscious laugh that sounds more like a sigh. He opts to let it go without further teasing, but he doesn’t let it go entirely. That breathy little noise echoes in his ears, drowning out the faint slosh of liquor as he fills your glass. 

In a weak attempt to distract himself, he remembers your half-finished sentence and prompts with a low voice, “But?”

“They wanted to end the night.” You accept the glass into your hand from his and raise it slightly in thanks. “I didn’t,” you whisper, then bring the rim to your lips to cloak their upward curve.

Wooyoung would be lying if he said your tiny act of defiance didn’t send all the blood in his body rushing straight to his dick. Maybe it’s arrogant of him to assume that he’s the source of this newfound rebelliousness. The spark that lit the fuse, or whatever. Maybe that should bother him. Of course, it doesn’t.

In an effort to hide how strong of a chord your confession has struck, he gestures with one extended finger to the clock. Your eyes follow, and he leans in closer; the smirk you can’t see is still evident in his voice, he’s sure.  “How much of a coincidence is it that you showed up right before the trains stop running?”

When your gaze flicks momentarily back to him, he spots a hint of surprise. This impeccable timing wasn’t a scheme at all, he realizes. Not a plot. If he had to bet, Wooyoung would guess that you’re never out late enough to know that the train schedule ends at all.

God, you’re going to give him a cavity.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Coincidentally, I know someone who gets off just in time to walk you home.”

“This gonna bother you?”

Having stepped out of the bar before Wooyoung, his question prompts you to look back over your shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised slightly out of curiosity. He lifts his right hand from his jacket pocket to reveal the half-spent pack of cigarettes he’d been storing there.

He expects it to, and to his surprise, he cares enough about that possibility that he doesn’t light up without asking in the way he normally would.

“In theory, yes,” you laugh, “because I’d prefer your lungs to be tar-free.”

“And in practice?”

You must not have expected him to note the distinction; you fluster. Grinning slightly, Wooyoung answers his own question on your behalf, “In practice, you find it kind of hot.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he pulls a cigarette from the pack — slowly, to test his hypothesis that you’ve got a thing for his hands — and then, Wooyoung slides the cardboard back into his pocket. 

Your gaze follows while he gently places the filtered end between his lips. It stays put when he furnishes a lighter, holds the flame to the opposite side, and inhales. Turning his head to the side, Wooyoung exhales the smoke where it won’t reach you. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he assures you, eyes devilish. Deer in headlights that you are, you freeze but for the bob of your throat as you swallow. “I won’t make you admit it out loud.”

Yet.

Once he’s decided that he’s played with you enough for the time being, two of you head south, ambling under streetlights without any sense of urgency. Making up for lost time, maybe; picking up where the last Tuesday left off. 

He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol making you more talkative than usual, or if you’re feeling the rush of your off-brand decisions, but Wooyoung’s fine with it, either way. You tell him about your week — in full and without hesitation — like you’re chatting to a friend and not someone you’ve only just started to encounter on a brief, twice-monthly basis.

You had a date this Tuesday night, he learns. It didn’t go well. Too similar, you explain with a wave of your hand. According to you, it’s boring to sit with you at a dinner table. Wooyoung looks pointedly at you as soon as he hears it, noting his disagreement. For a second, you assume something he doesn’t mean: that he enjoys his own company more than you enjoy yours.

“No,” he corrects you. “I just can’t picture dinner with you as something boring.”

You duck your head, embarrassed. “Oh,” is all you manage in reply.

Wooyoung follows your lead across several more city blocks, hanging on every word you say in the meantime. When the pair of you reach the front of your apartment building, his cigarette is spent, but neither one of you is. He takes an extra step towards the garbage can near the door and drops the butt amidst the others in the lid, which doubles as an ashtray. A faint vein of smoke bleeds out until the dark sky laps it up entirely.

You look conflicted when he turns back in your direction. Clearly, you don’t want him to leave just yet, but asking him upstairs is likely way out of your pattern of behavior. Wooyoung sees two options: He could say goodnight and go; take a few steps towards his side of the city, and hope you to act even further out of character, or — 

“If you’re asking, I’m saying yes.”

— he could go off-script entirely.

Your apartment looks exactly the way Wooyoung expected it to. Everything is cozy; a far cry from the modern and monochrome edge of his place. It all makes sense, based on what he’s learned about you so far. Feels like you, although he’ll concede that you haven’t been felt by him just yet.

Each shelf features a tchotchke or framed photograph — or several — but not a single speck of dust. Likewise, the various potted plants you’ve displayed artfully around the space are well-kept. Flourishing, he assumes, despite the fact that he doesn’t know shit about fuck when it comes to plants.

His shoes, ratty in comparison to yours, are toed off at the door before he follows you further into the kitchen. You stop at the island, bottom lip between your teeth once again. Unsure, you nibble on it, like it’ll help you set your dizzy mind straight.

When Wooyoung inches closer to you, he does it slowly, even though every part of his body demands that he ramp up the pace. As badly as he wants his hands — and his teeth, and his tongue…— all over you now, he can’t be the jump scare that sets your little bunny heart to sprinting. The adrenaline is practically vibrating off your frame already with every step he takes in your direction.

Though you could, you don’t move further away, the nearer he gets. You stay put with the small of your back against the lip of the granite counter, hypnotized. Right where he wants you.

Once he’s close enough, Wooyoung tests the waters. You let him; your gaze clings to him so strongly that he feels the weight of it without reciprocating. With his thumb and forefinger, he traces the belt loop closest to your left hip, then tugs slightly, making your breath quicken for a moment. 

Eyes still focused on his own ministrations, he murmurs, “Am I the first stray you’ve ever brought home?”

You don’t answer with words. His gaze flicks upwards, and from under heavy-lidded eyes, he sees the tiny nod.

“Full of surprises.” He looks down again, purposely depriving you of eye contact, and moves his fingers from your belt loop so that the pad of his thumb brushes over the top of your jeans. There, the skin of your hip peeks out from under the denim, hot to the touch. “Not just sweet, are you?”

“Someone told me I needed a bad influence.”

The sudden re-introduction of your voice pulls his focus. You stare back at him boldly, and it feels like a dare. Both of his hands move to your hips now, simultaneously guiding you closer to his chest and keeping you pinned between his body and the island.

“You’ll miss your Sunday morning pilates, I fear,” he tuts with a slight shake of his head.

“You’ll make attending redundant, I hope.”

And then your mouth is on his, all tongue and teeth, while you card desperate fingers through his hair. It occurs to him, as he licks into your mouth, that the split-dyed strands you're clinging to are a microcosm. 

Black and white. 

Conflicting tastes, like sugar and salt, that only make sense together in certain contexts. Like this one — right here, right now — with the two of you tangled up in your half-lit kitchen, so caught up in exploration that inhibition takes the backseat. Steeping in the aftertaste of soju and cigarette smoke, scent heady like arousal.

You break the kiss to catch your breath but can’t make it very far. His teeth claim your bottom lip, pulling forth the softest little growl he’s ever heard.

“Fuck,” he echoes with a growl of his own. 

That’s it. Breathing is overrated. Wooyoung’s ready to suffocate, so long as you let him.

“Lay back on the counter.”

You’re stunned into silence for a second, and while you blink back at him, he wonders if you’ll actually let him eat you out where you eat. It’s objectively filthy, he knows, but he might drop dead where he stands if he has to wait another second — or take another step elsewhere — before he tastes you.

Your answer is a leap, figuratively and literally. The hands you’ve been using to cling to him each flatten palm-down on the island behind you. With his grip on your hips to boost you, you scramble to your new stage; and you shatter the conservative expectations he had for you in the process. 

A newfound confidence flashes in your eyes, making his stomach flip and his dick twitch. A patronizing frown graces your kiss-bitten lips. “You didn’t walk three kilometers here just to look at me, did you?”

He sure as shit didn’t. Still, he can’t help but bask in the odd sense of pride he feels in staring up at you on the pedestal he put you on. The more time you spend with him, the rougher you seem to get around the edges; and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t love the grit.

In lieu of a verbal response, Wooyoung locks eyes with you and gestures downward with the index finger of his right hand. You follow his silent command eagerly and without question; he keeps the praise you’ve earned on the tip of his tongue, saving it for later.

It takes less time than he expects to strip you of your jeans, most of which is attributed to slipping them off your ankles and dropping them blindly over his shoulder. They hit what he believes to be the range with a soft twack, then a barely audible crumple when they finally find the floor. 

Your lace underwear disappears in a similar fashion, albeit more eagerly. Couldn’t be helped, he thinks. That scrap of fabric was the last barrier between him and the thing he’s been craving most since he met you; and fuck, if you don’t exceed his expectations once again.

“Christ,” is all he can say.

It’s rare to find a pussy so perfect that it wipes out his vocabulary, let alone makes him want to weep. That’s exactly what’s waiting for him when you spread your thighs wide enough to accommodate his body between them. Really, the only thing driving him more insane than the sight of you is the thought of how many self-imposed rules you’ve broken to get to this point — the self-discipline you’ve thrown out the window on your way down to him.

He accepts the invitation, descends upon your wet heat like a man starved, and loops his arms underneath your thighs. Immediately, your thighs tighten around the sides of his head, muffling the groan that slips out of him the second your taste hits his tongue. Just the same, you’ve got him drunk in an instant while he laves his way through folds sweeter than cherry wine.

From under his own lashes, he looks up and sees yours flutter at the sensation of his lips encircling your clit and suckling slowly, deeply.

“Oh, my g-god,” you hiccup before your fingers are in his hair again, nails scratching perfectly along his scalp. “You’re so —” 

Wooyoung’s wickedly curved lips are slick in more ways than one, though he doubts you can see them through all those stars in your eyes. You don’t see the switch-up coming, either. Unwilling to let you race too far ahead of him, he scales it back, trading his deep pulls for targeted kitten licks.

“— evil.”

Your frustration rings out with a tortured whine. Wooyoung can’t blame you; he knows he’s cruel for guiding you so close to the edge, right out of the gate, then refusing to send you off of it. But he has to draw this out as long as he can, savor what he can for however long you give him.

And to your credit, you take it well. 

You give, too, offering up the moans, whimpers, and sighs he couldn’t have dreamed up correctly if he tried.

Well…

Wooyoung did try. Gave it his best shot, even, but his imagination fell short. He knows that now. The pitch was wrong, the timing was off, and he failed to anticipate just how badly it’d fuck him up to feel you grinding against his tongue. To have your fingers tied off in his hair, refusing to accept anything less than closeness.

That particular chorus swells for the first time when he unwinds his right arm from where it secures your left thigh; and his middle finger slides into your cunt, curls upwards to greet that spongy patch of nerves along your front wall. 

Eyes swimming with previously untapped desire, you look so pitifully perfect. Only breaking eye contact to throw your head back, you start to wail, “Wooyoung, I —” 

But the rest of that thought must turn to static before you can finish it. Charged silence settles in its place, save for your ragged breathing. All the while, his tongue never lets up on your poor, abused clit, though your arousal already has him coated, leaking down over the knuckle.

A particularly needy tug of his hair seeks what you can’t verbalize. 

More.

Closer.

When he adds his ring finger to fuck you further open for him, you can’t keep his name from spilling out of your mouth. Wooyoung starts to sound like a summoning spell; an invocation repeated so desperately that he just might give you what you want.

“W-Wooyoung, please,” you choke out, hips bucking up to chase his mouth. “I’m so close!”

The fact that you’re downright begging — on the brink of tears, no less — goes straight to his head. He lets up for a moment to purr, “Since you asked so nicely…”

The hand he doesn’t have half-buried in your heat grips your right hip, hard, securing you against the granite. It’s for the best, really. You jolt so much when he finally lets you cum that you could’ve knocked him out otherwise.

Not that he’d complain.

When the aftershocks peter out, and you gain back some control of your trembling limbs, you collapse back onto the countertop, chest heaving as your breath struggles to even out. One leg stays put, hinged over his shoulder, the best kind of dead weight; the other pools off the edge of the island, hanging limply.

Before pulling away entirely, Wooyoung presses an open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, suckling slightly — just enough to leave a calling card, though he doesn’t want anyone but you to know it’s there.

“You fucking menace.”

Your eyes flutter open and catch the way he’s grinning, the lower half of his face otherwise shining with a mix of spit and slick. With you watching intently, he licks his lips, simpering, “Think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Deserved.” You sigh contentedly and close your eyes again for a second, but the blissed-out look on your face doesn’t dissipate. 

Wooyoung wonders if you’re holding onto the image of him between your thighs, replaying it behind your lids. The sight of you is going to haunt him — then and now, before and after. Even if your stamina is depleted now, his appetite’s been sated. He can survive off of this moment alone for weeks if necessary.

But you summon the strength to stretch your arms over your head, to moan breathily while you arch your back off the counter and ease the tension in your muscles. Then, in a burst of vitality, you sit upright. Eyes alight, you give him a smile to match.

“Help me down?”

As if he’d say no to a question asked that sweetly.

You wobble when your feet touch the ground again and thank him when he snakes an arm around your waist to steady you. With a nod in the direction of what Wooyoung assumes is your bedroom, you beckon him, “Come with me.”

“That’s been the plan, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at him — another first — and take his hand in yours. Fingers intertwined, you lead and he follows through the adjoining living room towards a door on the far side of the apartment. The pair of you barely cross the threshold into your bedroom before you turn and tug his hand, pulling him into a kiss.

“Do me a favor,” you murmur against his lips.

Wooyoung has no questions about that — the answer is yes, no matter what the favor is — but there is something he’s wondering about: when you open your mouth against his, can you taste yourself on his tongue?

Distracted by that thought, and the way your free hand makes its way to the button of his jeans, he nods. It gives him the opportunity to swallow down the groan that builds in his chest when you squeeze his still-clothed cock.

Your mouth leaves his then, drops to the side of his neck. Something about the light nip of your teeth below his ear makes his resolve start to crumble. It only gets harder when the warmth of your tongue flicks over his skin to soothe the sting. He sounds fucked out already when he sighs, “Anything.”

“Let me repay you for all those drinks you never charged me for.” Between kisses down the length of his neck, you purr, “Not exactly subtle, you know.”

He clenches his jaw to keep it from dropping. “Have I been hustled?” 

“Is it hustling if I offer to reimburse you?” 

Knowing damn well what it’ll do to him, you flutter your lashes against his skin, forcing him to fight off a shiver. There’s no hiding the rush of heat that follows; he doesn’t need to ask to know that you feel it creeping up his neck. “I’ll make up for it,” you promise. “Atone, and all that.”

Wooyoung reaches up and cups your jaw with his hand; you follow his direction and look up at him with excitement twinkling in your eyes, juxtaposing the deep black in his. “I’m charging interest,” he bites back. “The rates are astronomical.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, indeed. Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

With a light smack on your ass, he sends you on your way. In the few seconds it takes you to skip over to your mattress and jump onto it, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, then tosses it aside. Before unbuckling his jeans and tearing those off, too, he snatches his wallet from the back pocket. More specifically, the condom he’s been keeping within just in case you ever decided to stoop to his level.

You’re a second away from drooling when he makes his way over and stops at the edge of the bed. That kind of hunger is yet another thing he failed to see coming. There’s something insatiable in your eyes now, darkening by the second. 

You reach out for the condom, but he pulls his hand back, holds it up where you can’t reach. Frustration makes your eyebrows pinch together. Out of context — if you weren’t naked, wet, and wanting him — he’d likely go out of his way to tell you how fucking cute you look when you’re annoyed. 

“Don’t pout at me, sweetheart.” Wooyoung’s warning tone is gravel-lined, sharp to the touch when it hits you. Whether you intend it or not, your breath hitches in tandem with your pupils dilating.  “I’ll let you do it, but I have one condition. Consider it a repayment term.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “And what’s that?”

“No hands.”

The surprised look he was counting on never comes. He gets sheer determination instead. You pull the packet from between his fingers, rip the foil open with your teeth, and flick the empty wrapper onto your nightstand. Not a second is wasted in you tugging his black briefs down his thighs.

You don’t deal in unpaid debts, either, it seems.

What happens next nearly puts him in an early grave. Wooyoung fucking wishes for a fly on the wall to witness you — someone else to memorialize the finesse you exhibit in working that latex down his length with your mouth alone — because he can’t believe his own eyes. In fact, he has to screw them shut to keep from cumming at the sight of you with his dick down your throat, lips flush to his pelvis.

“My god,” he groans, head dipping backwards. “If that’s how good your fucking mouth feels…”

You give him a second to pull himself together. Then, you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull him. He drops into the space you were occupying just a second ago, and as soon as his back hits the mattress, you steady yourself with your palms on his chest and position yourself over him.

Now, he can’t keep his hands to himself. His fingertips scratch up your thighs, leaving goosebumps along the fastidiously trained muscles underneath his touch. Palms gliding up the curve of your ass, then your waist, then those fucking tits.

“Shit,” you mewl. He lightly pinches your left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, spurring you on to rake your nails over the flesh of his chest. The way he tenses under your touch must embolden you. “Play with me all you want, but I need you inside of me now.”

Wooyoung has no idea where this assertiveness came from, but he’ll be goddamned if he doesn’t give you everything you want and then some. To prove that you’ve earned the lot, you line yourself up and take everything he has. 

Somehow, you manage to take his vision, too. The world gets blurry as your heat envelopes him; everything in the periphery blackens until all that’s left is you throwing your head back in pleasure. No other light, no noise beyond the obscene sound of your pussy soaking his length and the collision of your perfect ass against the tops of his thighs.

As strong as you are, Wooyoung knows your orgasm will wipe you out long before your body tires. He sees your eyes start to roll back in your head, even when you put your palms down behind you and lean away from him to perfect the angle. 

Not good enough, he decides. He wants to watch your pupils blow when you fall apart.

“C’mere,” he rasps. 

Fuck, he’s about to break, too. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You push off your hands and move to lean in, but you wind up crumpling against his chest, immediately overwhelmed by the depths of his strokes when you re-enter his gravity. With the proximity perfected, every movement that follows is desperate — animalistic, even. Clinging fingers, sweat slicked bodies swapping searing heat. He lifts his hips to drive himself further into you with every downbeat, sets a pace so punishing that he has you speaking in tongues.

When you cum the second time, the moan that rips through you almost sounds like a sob. It really might be. The droplets on your cheeks are either tears or sweat; one or both would be justified, considering the show you just put on for him.

Shit, how you managed to blow his world to pieces just by walking into his bar, he’ll never understand. All he knows is that when he cums — not long after you — and his entire fucking body goes numb, you’re there on the other side of the cataclysm to kiss him back to life.

Sweet.

When you wake up, you don’t even have a guess as to what time it is. That’s your fault, you know. You didn’t think to connect your phone to its charger prior to falling asleep in a mess of sheets. The numerous alarms you always keep set didn’t go off, obviously, but right now, that’s the least of your worries. 

Until your phone has enough juice to power back on, you won’t know if Wooyoung texted you before sneaking out of your apartment.

You’d taken it as a good sign when he asked for your number in a fucked-out haze. Now, you realize, that naivety of yours was operating in full swing, even when the rest of you was down for the count. That’s what one-night-stands are for, you tell yourself. That’s the decision you made.

Uncharacteristically, you’re tempted to spend the rest of your day — however much of it is left — rotting in bed. It’s an urge you’ll give in to, you can already tell; just like the one that got you here in the first place. The only thing stronger than the call of your bed is the grumbling of your stomach, begging for sustenance.

Sighing loudly, you throw your comforter off your lower half and wiggle towards the edge of your bed. Bare feet meet the braided rug below, then unsteady legs do their best to get their bearings. As you ache, you realize that you need to give credit where it’s due:

You’re currently in the best shape of your life, and Wooyoung still managed to fuck the constitution out of you.

You bend slowly to scoop a shirt from your untouched laundry basket, groaning all the while. On its own, it’s long enough to cover your ass, so you don’t bother to dress yourself further — except for the fuzzy slippers waiting next to your bedroom door.

It’s closed, you note when you finally bother to look at it. It wasn’t when you fell into bed with Wooyoung. He probably didn’t want to disturb you on the way out, you figure. This would strike you as thoughtful if it didn’t feel like a chapter ending too soon. Reaching out to reopen it, you tell yourself to be less sentimental.

In the living room, laying eyes on an empty kitchen, you also tell yourself, I told you so. This isn’t a drama, after all. There’s no love interest in your kitchen to cook you an unexpected breakfast. 

Pre-made frozen breakfast sandwich it is, then.

You tear open the package with more effort than you should’ve needed to expend, then dump the single-serving lump onto a paper plate. As if on autopilot, you shove the plate into the microwave and smash a few buttons without registering much of it. The quiet hum of the machine nearly lulls you straight back to sleep.

Well, it likely could have.

The metallic rattling up the hall catches your attention, prompting you to step backwards so you can peer over at your front door and confirm that it’s locked. It is. You turn back to your breakfast in progress, and it takes five (5) entire seconds before you realize the issue here.

Keys jingle with more determination, right on cue. You spin around fully this time, eyes wide, to find Wooyoung in your doorway. He holds the door open with his elbow because both his hands are full; and as if that all wasn’t enough, he tries to toe off his shoes without being able to see them over the cardboard to-go tray in his hands.

“Fucking —” he grunts, wobbling. 

It must’ve been louder than he intended because he winces immediately. In his moment of panic, his eyes flick over to your bedroom door. Then, when he realizes it’s open, they search for you, blinking in surprise when they find you. He peeps, “Oh.”

As it turns out, his ability to make you lose your words isn’t limited to late hours. The sun is beating through the sliding glass door to your balcony, and you confirm that you’re just as dumbstruck by him in daylight. So, you simply point to the drinks and paper bag he’s holding with your eyebrows pinched in confusion.

“Found that caf�� you go to on Tuesdays,” Wooyoung explains gruffly. His morning voice is every bit as ruinous as you imagined it would be. “The logo on their cups is just a cloud, so it took a lot of wandering to solve that fucking mystery.”

This time, it’s you who peeps. “Oh?”

It’s then that he finally succeeds in getting his shoes off. With his hip, he nudges the door shut; your key ring chimes in the process, having been attached to his belt loop. In a few steps, he sets his burdens down on the kitchen island and looks up at you with a wicked glint in his eye. Apparently, his immediate thought is the same as yours. Simpering, he picks everything back up and makes for your living room’s coffee table instead.

“I’m glad to report that the green shit you drink doesn’t include algae or moss.” He lifts a smoothie from the carrier and holds it out to you, flashing you a smile that makes your knees wobble. “However, I regret to inform you that it does contain vegetables.”

If you try any harder to bite back your idiotic grin, you might lose your lips. “Did you — did you really think there was moss in it?”

He waves his hand dismissively. Notably, he doesn’t say no. That hand then lowers, finger crooked to beckon you closer. You move in, and you try to focus on the moment in front of you, rather than the obscene flashbacks the gesture gives you. The knowing look you expect doesn’t follow, though. Wooyoung simply places your drink in your left hand and your keys in your right.

“Sorry for borrowing those without asking or — well, notifying you in any way, whatsoever.” He grimaces. “I figured I’d be gone for a minute, and I didn’t want someone to waltz through your unlocked door and wake you up.”

“Was burglary on that list of concerns, or is sleep truly your main priority?”

At this, he grins like an idiot. “You’re getting better at that, you know.”

The look on your face must convey your confusion. 

“I like the version of you that doesn’t pull punches,” he continues, sounding almost embarrassed to admit something about himself.

You take a move from his playbook and slide your finger through his belt loop, tugging him forward until he’s squarely within kissing distance. “This Wooyoung?” You murmur, “The one who got up early to hunt down a smoothie he’s disgusted by? Objectively likable.”

He rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t distract from the pink tint overtaking his cheeks. “I don’t know about that.”

You kiss him before he can offer to agree to disagree. And when you finally pull back, you nod firmly. “He might be sweet enough for me.”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

ateez masterlist. multi masterlist. navigation.

tagging: @jihopesjoint @bahng-chrizz @sourkimchi @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon (also paging @moni-logues because i feel like woo is our sister wife, lmfao.)

[joelsbloodyhands]

Mine

Din Djarin x Reader, The Mandalorian x Reader

Summary: Your employer is pissed when you come back from getting information about a bounty with a bruised hand mark around your neck.

A/N: I kinda just wrote this one because I had a vague idea and ran with it. I think everyone is going to learn very quickly in my writing that clearly jealous/overprotective Din is my fave version of him 🙈

Warnings: reader gets choked and not in the nice way (only talks about it), overprotective Din, Din is your employer but clearly wants to be more, death and m!rder (all in the name of love) 🤗, mentions of blood and bodily harm, mentions of slave traders, fluff with a little bit of spice✨, soft!Din but also a little bit reckless!Din 👀 smut references but not written too explicitly but still MINORS DNI, business associates to lovers arc? 😅 not set at any particular point during the series.

READER does not have a specified gender, they/them pronouns used. Reader does not have a visible disability.

You’d been gone too long and Din was getting anxious.

This hadn’t been his original plan.

The contact for information regarding the bounty had unfortunately been highlighted as a previous foe of his. He’d busted them prior when their bounty puck had fell in his lap over a cycle ago.

Trust Karga to let the man redeem himself by providing intel on high-level bounties with the incentive of remaining out of the hands of the Rebellion that for some reason unbeknownst to Din, wanted his head on a stick.

Why had Din let you go and barter for the information again?

“He won’t suspect me to be a threat.”

Oh right, yeah. That’s what you said.

Except Din was probably worrying about the wrong thing because the biggest threat would be the ex-criminal you were meeting with at Mos Espa Cantina.

“Go say hi to Boba for me. Get the boy fed and I’ll be back soon.”

Din was losing his edge.

On what kriffin planet did he give in to such a request?

You were in danger and he knew it.

He knew it and he still sat in the markets with Grogu, twirling wupiupi coins in his fingers for the past half hour while his son slurped another bowl of pog soup.

Why?

Well, that was easy.

Since the past year you had been travelling with him, Din had grown to have affections for you.

To start he kept you at arms length.

Brief answers to your curious questions turned into nightly talks between your bunks. Subtle touches to guide you through busy and sometimes treacherous places turned into lingering holds in his grasp, fear of losing you to the crowds. He found himself watching you far longer than he ever had before and during times when he didn’t necessarily need to. The sound of you using the fresher while he tucked in his little green son had his heart pounding and a certain area of his armor feeling a little bit too uncomfortable.

He grew more and more protective the further you strayed without him.

He no longer wished for you to venture into dens alone to ask for information on his behalf but he couldn’t deny that you were good at it.

Better than him.

You were calm and collected.

You had a level head.

Something that he could very easily lose control over should Grogu and yourself be threatened by a contact. Though it was the one thing you had learned you could assert yourself over since Din’s change of heart.

You had a job that needed to be done and you were the best person for it.

So Din caved far quicker than he normally would with allowing you to go the cantinas and talk about bounties, pay and information. It sped up the process for Din to track them and also meant he didn’t have to deal with the unwanted chit chat that came with meeting up with Karga.

Something you enjoyed. Something that had Din’s palms itching whenever Karga took your hand to help you stand from the booth, Din’s clenched fist aching to wipe the smug look of his face when he turned back in his direction.

“I like her, Mando. She’s good at getting what she wants.”

He knew you were.

Din wasn’t sure if he was included on the list of things you wanted but you sure as hell were on his.

There was times he had a inkling.

Especially when he was feeding the kid and he caught you looking away when his eyes found you scraping away at your lunch.

Times when you would grab his hand without hesitation and pull him through midnight markets towards the sights of fireworks. Din’s heart warming at the wide smile plastered across your face, the powdery shades of red, blue and green lighting up in your eyes from the sky.

Damn, he was down bad and he had no idea what to do about it.

Technically, he was your employer.

Juggling Grogu and his job was a difficulty. Most of the time he was happy to venture out with Grogu in his carrier or pod but his bounties got, let’s say, brave in their efforts to deter him. Going so far as to aim shots towards the child. They learned his weakness and Din hated it.

So with much reluctance to start, he asked Peli if she would be interested in babysitting him for a price but of course she refused; even with the money on the table.

“Not a chance but I know just the person for the job.”

He had slid the money off the table and walked back to the ship without another word until she scrambled after him.

“Hey, hey, hey! Just hear me out, okay?” Din had sighed, turning back to her from the top of the ramp while she stood hands on her hips and a smile growing. “There’s this kid that needs a job. Call ‘em a distant relative, if you will. They’re desperate. Need money, board, food, water and they’ll make sure your little boy is taken good care of. I swear!”

“Have they taken care of children before?” Din asked inquisitively but also with a half mind to ignore Peli completely and close the ramp in response to her proposal.

“Yeah! Loads of times! They’re a professional!”

Din doubted that very much. He knew Peli’s tactics for selling him an offer and he couldn’t deny that she was good at it.

Fine, he’ll bite. Again.

“Call them.”

He just remembers Peli’s grin, your soft voice on the end of a comlink and then a speeder sounding just outside.

She had presented you to him like a rare gift and he was less than happy to receive you at the time but more than a few rotations later, you had thrown yourself in front of a bounty that had tried to commandeer his ship, their blaster aimed for Grogu in his bunk, taking a graze to the side before Din shot him dead.

You were willing to die to protect his son.

That was more than he could’ve ever asked for.

Later when Din was back at the Crest, you returned.

He had spent the past hours pacing up and down the ramp like a mad man.

Originally, he had planned to detour from the markets with Grogu over to the cantina but you had used your comlink to tell him you were already near the ship.

That was interesting because Din got back to the ship and you weren’t even here.

Which begs the question, why did you lie that you were already nearby?

Maybe he was being paranoid. His fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly, stressing about your whereabouts and the obvious reason as to why he was so stressed to begin with.

So when he’d heard your footsteps up the ramp, your voice calling for Grogu, you were both surprised to see the other staring back.

“Where have you been?” Din questioned gently but you sensed an underlining annoyance to his tone.

“I detoured, sorry,” you sheepishly smiled, holding up a bag of frog meat. “I saw a vendor selling this and I knew Grogu would be happy about it. Not to mention,” you brush past him, eyes focused solely on the sleeping child snuggling into his hammock on Din’s bunk, “it would be nice to see him not eat a whole frog for once.”

You laugh and it eases Din.

Of course he was just being paranoid.

“And the contact?” He says and you remain with your back to him, reaching your hand in carefully to tug the blanket over Grogu’s body. “He give us what we need?”

“He did,” you respond and Din satisfied, presses the button to bring up the ramp and close the hatch. The sound of it whirring so loud, in need of some oiling so much so that you had probably thought he missed your quiet words.

“What was that?” His helmet turns your way when the hatch closes with a loud creak.

“I said, somewhat.”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t being paranoid after all.

Din feels his nerves wash over him, noticing how you’re not even turning around as you address him. He takes you in. You don’t seem discomforted, angry or emotional. You’re incredibly calm.

Though that was worrying.

Normally, you came back from having debriefs with the informants with a story to tell.

“It was quite scary actually. They had this wookie with them but then you’ll never believe this guy! Stood there, blaster in hand, immense glare in his face, goes and shoves a fist in his satchel, I’m ready to throw hands and I shit you not, Din…wookie pulls out a cookie and starts crunching away at it!”

“Have you ever met a Gungan, Din? I think they’re my favourite people I’ve ever met. I mean they were all like, yousa follow us now, okeyday? Seriously! Oh gooberfish! I love them!”

“What do you mean by somewhat?”

You sigh.

This wasn’t good.

“I’m sorry, Din. They gave us the last location. I think that’s the most important thing.”

“What about if they’re solo or run with a crew? We need to know what we’re walking into, otherwise we could get bombarded the moment we land.”

This wasn’t a simple bounty. This guy was one of the worst out there.

A slave trader.

It angered Din to even think about it.

“Something happened,” he doesn’t let you tip-toe around the subject. “What are you not telling me?”

You fall silent and that’s enough for him.

Something did happen and what’s worse, you don’t want to tell him.

He moves towards you and you turn on your heel, ready to protest. Din had only meant to just embrace your shoulder gently to ease you into a conversation he thought you needed to have but the slightest wince had him drawing back almost immediately.

With his steps halted in front of you, the air cold, the crest filled with silence, Din’s visor drops instinctively to your neck.

Was it getting cool? Sure, when it was getting late. Though right now, it was still early afternoon and you never wore a scarf in Mos Espa outside the settlement and in the dunes.

“Did he touch you?”

Din has to bite back the growl threatening to crackle through his modulator.

Your head drops, eyes on the floor and the look of regret on your features make Din pray to the Maker that he’ll kill the man just for the expression on your face.

Then you unravel the scarf and Din wastes no time.

His hand had pulled your collar back gently, his shoulders stiffening at the purpled marks there.

You grimaced before trying for a smile but he sees the way your eyes plead with his, “Before you ask, it looks worse than it feels. I’m fine, Din. Let’s just go.”

He remembers you calling his name after that.

Only once because you knew as you watched him brush past you, grabbing two vibroblades from his armoury and charging down the steps towards the town, that there was nothing you could say to stop him.

And you were right because less than five minutes later, Din’s blades were impaled on the informants hands, stapling him indefinitely to the table at the cantina while onlookers ran completely, hid or dropped their heads from his view.

Then his gloved hands were on his throat, squeezing the life out of him.

An eye for an eye.

You hadn’t explained why the man had strangled you and it was pointless anyway.

He had no right to touch you.

To hell with Karga.

He’d lose an informant but that informant chose to fuck with what was his and that was worth more than any information.

When Din felt the life leave him, he dropped a number of credits to the table, looked up at the barman and walked away. His last words being, “you can keep those,” shrugging his shoulder towards the blades on the way out.

Now back at the ship, you sit rigidly on the bunk while Din gently swipes a lotion of bacta over your wound with a cotton wipe.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

Your eyes flicker to his visor and you know he’s evading your gaze.

You sigh and for a moment, he think you’re not going to reply until your hands gently take his, stopping him from tending to you.

He lifts his visor then, meeting your concerned eyes, your fingers intertwined with his on your lap.

“I can handle myself. You know that, right?”

Oh. So that’s what this was?

You were worried he thought you incompetent to end up in this circumstance?

Of course you would think that. He’s your employer. You only want to deliver good work for him.

That’s not all this is anymore though and Din can’t pretend and let you go on feeling like a failure especially with the tears dancing on your waterlines.

“You are very capable, mesh’la but-“ Din sighs.

How can he even begin to explain to you that he’s more angry at himself for not protecting you like he’s supposed to?

Kriff, you’re not even a bounty hunter. Trained to use a blaster as a novice, he noticed how you flinched whenever you’ve had to pull the trigger on his behalf. You’re at your calmest when you’re rocking the small boy before bed, singing lullabies to him in a hushed tone probably so Din couldn’t hear. You had no idea that he stood just above the ladder to the cockpit and listened.

You were ethereal and he couldn’t get enough of you.

That’s why it made his hands shake to even think that anyone would harm you.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts, he misses the way your eyes widen at the term of endearment he let slip and the quick gesture as you shake yourself from how affected you are by it.

“I just…” you break through his racing thoughts, his eyes latching onto your dipped chin, eyes shadowed in the corner of the docking port, just outside his bunk. You look solemn but rather than feel dread, Din’s heart stills when he notices the flush of pink across your features.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were nervous.

“I just want to be able to do more for you.”

The words play on a loop, almost like they’re colliding against the inside of Din’s helmet, repeatedly soaring through his ears again and again.

“I want to be more useful for you. Ya know?”

Useful? You think you’re not already useful?

“Sometimes I just feel like I have more to offer. I know you brought me in to be a babysitter but I can be more than that. For you.”

Was the carbonite freezing system failing or was it getting hotter in the crest?

Din felt like he needed to tug the shroud off from around his neck. The air was suffocating.

“Please say something?” Your small voice says quietly.

“You are more to me than you will ever understand, cya’rika.”

Your eyes meet his then.

Well, his visor at least and Din curses his creed for having him hide his face at a time when he wants- no needs you to see how much he means what he says.

You’re silent but the increasing rouge of your cheeks is enough to see that you understand him and that perhaps there was some truth in his suspicions.

You felt for him just as much as he felt for you.

“Din…”

And just like that, his eyes roll back momentarily hearing his name leave your tongue like a pleading prayer.

He couldn’t pretend like you weren’t affecting him too.

He needed you to know.

“Get in the bunk, ner kar’ta.”

Your body stills a moment in surprise and you don’t move.

Maybe he misjudged or maybe he’s being too forward but then you stand and without taking your eyes away from him, you seat yourself on the side of his bunk.

Waiting for him.

Waiting for further instruction just like you’ve been doing ever since you walked onto his ship.

One thing he realised he misjudged.

All those times you obeyed every command, it was never out of the need for his money.

You never questioned him, never refused an order but with Din and the matter of Grogu’s safety, it was never a request and that’s all it was to start.

It was just a matter of his sons safety until he realised he loved you too.

Din stands and steps in front of you, you look up at him as he tugs the shroud from around his neck loose.

He notices how your eyes drop to his waist, evading the reveal of his tanned skin while you’re positioned below him. He wraps the material a couple of times before placing the fabric over your eyes.

You don’t move.

You don’t flinch.

You just allow him to remove one of your senses, leaving nothing but darkness over your sight. His heart aches at the trust you have in him, allowing him to render you vulnerable before him.

He ties it behind your head, making sure it’s not too tight as to hurt you.

He’s not the same type of man as the monster from earlier today.

His fingers itch at the memory and he shrugs his gloves off, setting his bare fingers against the cold metal of his helmet.

You await patiently and he watches as you jerk your head slightly at the familiar sound of his helmet releasing.

The sound you’ve only ever heard from a nearby room, hiding away from him when you brought him supper.

You await patiently while Din removes each piece of armor, setting it aside.

Then there’s just silence.

Until you hear his knees hit the ground in front of you and a warm breath hits your neck, a shudder running up your spine.

“Is it okay if I show you something?”

His whispers hit your ear drum in the most delightful way.

You nod dreamily.

Then you feel rough, warm lips graze your neck.

If heaven was travelling at light-speed through space, it was right here and now with Din’s lips travelling along your jawline, mapping out the path to seal against your lips. He tugs gently, coaxing you out of the shy shell you had created when you realised the butterflies he made you feel when you first met had more to do with how attracted you were to him than to how intimidating most people found him.

Every step he took on each planet you travelled, Din carried a powerful aura that most people cowered away from but it only drew you to him more.

You knew Din was strong.

You knew not many could beat him in a fight, yourself included but that was the whole point.

Din would never abuse his strength over you.

Ever.

Though, you wish he would, in special circumstances.

Like right now.

“How do you feel, cya’re?” Din inquires breathlessly, lips pressing soft kisses down your throat while you bite back the urge to be vocal.

“I wish we’d done this sooner,” you say uneasily, your hands gripping the bunk below you.

Din’s chuckle hits your ear, reverberating against your ear drum exquistively.

“Din?” He hears your voice rattle with every nestle of his lips stroking over your skin.

“Yes, mesh’la?” He raises his head, lips brushing the underside of your jaw, watching your lips turn up into a small smirk. Though you couldn’t see his expression returning yours, his adoring smile awaited your next words patiently.

“You killed him, didn’t you?”

You feel a thumb smooth over your bottom lip.

“He deserved it,” you shake your head slightly, fighting away an amused smile on your lips that he quickly wipes away, replacing with an expression of longing when his lips meet your ear.

“You’re mine.”

[chibinasuu]

Ghost Ship | Straw Hats x Reader

★ requested by @supernatural-hunter1 (see here)

Summary: There’s no need to fear Davy Jones and his ship of ghosts. After all, it’s just a myth… or is it? Tags: sfw, platonic straw hats x reader, GN!reader, no use of y/n

Disclaimer: There are many myths and legends about Davy Jones and the Flying Dutchman, but the one here is my reimagined version, borrowing elements from One Piece’s Flying Dutchman lore (Fishman Island Arc, ch. 606) and some from the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. 

It was a festive night onboard the Thousand Sunny. 

Earlier, the Captain of the Straw Hat Pirates had begged the cook to prepare a feast tonight, without any reasons whatsoever. The cook was hesitant at first, as he was not one to use excessive ingredients when unnecessary, but with the last of the fresh supplies they got at Water 7 on the brink of losing their quality, Sanji had relented and cooked up an extravagant banquet for the crew. 

Not wanting to waste a beautiful moonlit night, the Straw Hats set up picnic blankets on the Sunny’s lawn deck to enjoy their dinner. Franky had busted out his ukulele, playing a cheery tune that transformed the quiet night into a lively one. A portable metal fire pit sat in the center of the lawn, the flames providing light and warmth as the crew partied the night away. 

It was not uncommon for this particular crew that a night of drinking would evolve into a night of daring each other to do stupid things. Luffy’s face was currently caked with Nami’s makeup, Zoro and Sanji were reluctantly interlocking hands as per Robin’s dare, and Chopper had one of Franky’s (clean) underwear strung between his antlers. The dares were getting more and more ridiculous as the game went on, to the point where Usopp had just challenged you to skinny-dip off the side of the ship. One glance over the railing at the dark, cold, and uninviting waters had you sitting back down on the deck. 

“Yeah, right,” You scoffed and downed a shot in lieu of doing the dare, “That’d get me sent straight to Davy Jones’ locker!”

“Whose what now?” Usopp asked with his head tilted in confusion, the phrase unfamiliar to his ears.

It was such a common saying in the South Blue, where you were from, that you just blurted it out unthinkingly. There were no Southern seafarers who didn’t know about the mythical pirate Davy Jones and his ship full of ghosts. 

“The Davy Jones’ locker.” You repeated matter-of-factly. Surprisingly, none of your crewmates seemed to show even a hint of recognition. You eyed them one by one, but all of them sported similar blank looks, “Oh c’mon, Davy Jones? The Flying Dutchman? Ring a bell?”

“Robin, you must know it.” You turned to the archaeologist, certain that she must have read about the legend before in one of her books, but she merely shook her head.

“No way,” you looked at your crew in disbelief, “And you call yourselves pirates?”

“Hey!” Luffy protested indignantly, “What’s a flying locker got to do with being a pirate?” 

“Huh,” you shrugged, “Guess the story’s only popular in South Blue then.”

“Ooh, a story?” Chopper leaned forward toward you in anticipation, “I wanna hear it!”

“Alright then, listen up.” You looked at your friends with a sly smile, “But beware, this tale is not for the fainthearted.”

You started the story, lowering your voice in a mediocre attempt to sound spooky, “Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, a pirate crew was sailing on troubled waters when its captain – by the name of Davy Jones – suddenly fell ill and lost his mind. He killed his whole crew, chucking them off the ship one by one into the angry sea.”

Robin’s eyes sparkled with intrigue, while Zoro looked unbothered, but was listening intently nonetheless. Luffy was munching on some meat, only half paying attention. Franky had put down his ukulele, and Sanji took a long drag of his cigarette, eyes never straying away from you. Usopp, Nami, and Chopper had started to huddle together, never ones to enjoy scary stories. 

“When he came to, Davy Jones realized what terrible deed he had done and blamed the gods for his madness, throwing curses at the rulers of the seas and the skies.”

The silence that now shrouded the chilly night only added to the tense atmosphere, broken just by the low whistle of the winds against the sails and the faint crash of the waves against the hull. No one dared breathe a word to interrupt as you continued your tale. 

“The gods were furious and punished Davy Jones to roam the seas for eternity aboard his ship, the Flying Dutchman, doomed to ferry the souls of those lost to the sea to the world beyond, far deep through the oceanic abyss, which sailors came to know as the Davy Jones’ locker.”

Unbeknownst to the crew, a shroud of unnatural mist has started to surround the ship. Its tendrils snaked through the gaps and crevices, slowly infiltrating the deck.

“They say the Flying Dutchman still roams the seas to this day, never able to make port.” You paused for dramatic effect, “People say, that if you’re unlucky enough to encounter it, you could hear the lost souls onboard the ghost ship sing; Dead men tell no tales, dead men have no desires. Dead men don’t need jewels on their–”

“ENOUGH!!” Usopp yelled, covering his ears, “That’s enough, I don’t want to hear it anymore!”

By this point, the fog had gotten so thick that it was impossible not to notice. The crew was suddenly overcome with a sense of dread, goosebumps creeping on their skin.

“Wh-what is this mist?!” Nami shrieked, “What’s happening?! I don’t like this!”

Zoro and Sanji stood up, whipping their heads around in search of enemies or threats, but nothing emerged from within the murk. Nami and Usopp were now clinging to each other, screaming their heads off when suddenly, Chopper pointed at something in the distance and squealed, “Wh-wh-what’s that?!”

A silhouette of an old, rickety vessel materialized from beyond the mist, sailing head-on toward the Thousand Sunny. Its tattered sails swayed in the winds, a faded glow cloaking its body. 

Screams of panic filled the air as Usopp, Nami, and Chopper ran around in terror.

“That’s it, I’m going inside! You guys deal with that!” Nami exclaimed, rushing towards the safety of the sleeping quarters.

“Oi, Nami, wait for me!” Usopp ran after her, Chopper closely following behind, “Can I sleep in the girls’ room tonight?!”

“Nah, man.” Zoro shook his head, “Give me monsters or devils, and I’ll fight them. But, I don’t fuck with things I can’t cut with my swords.” He said before hightailing it to the boys’ quarters.

Sanji stammered that he was “definitely not scared of ghosts, unlike the cowardly mosshead” but claimed that he wanted to make some midnight snacks and speed-walked to the kitchen. The mere mention of a midnight snack had Luffy following Sanji like a puppy, all thoughts of ghosts or whatever vanishing from his mind, and so he too, was gone. 

With most of the Straw Hats cowering inside, the deck was once again plunged into a thick silence as the mysterious ship crept closer and closer.

A sudden slow clap permeated the stillness.

You looked behind you to see Robin smiling knowingly, “Incredible.” She chuckled, addressing you and the only other remaining Straw Hat on deck, “How did you two do it?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Robin.” You deflected unconvincingly, trying to hold back a smile.

“Yeah, Robin, what do you mean?” Franky added with a cheeky grin, “That’s totally a real ghost ship comin’ right at us.” 

“Alright, keep your secrets.” Robin said with a laugh, “I’m going to bed. Make sure you clean up nicely, hm?”

Once Robin was out of sight, Franky offered his big metal hand to you, and you slapped it in an enthusiastic high-five. The two of you broke out in laughter, ecstatic at the success – for the most part – of your harmless but elaborate prank. 

“Ah, that was a good one.” He sighed, wiping a stray tear from his eye, “Did you see their faces?” 

You grinned at him, “I thought we fooled everyone, but Robin’s a tough one, isn’t she?”

“She’s super smart,” Franky laughed, “I knew from the beginning that she wouldn’t buy it.”

He took out a remote from his shirt pocket and pushed the big red button on it. Instantly, the mirage of the ghost ship disappeared as the light projector hidden inside the lion figurehead’s mouth was deactivated. The smoke machines mounted through the side portholes also died down, and the thick fog surrounding the ship gradually dissipated. 

Since no one was around anymore, you and Franky took up the job of cleaning up the lawn, considering it as a way to make up for the fright you gave the rest of the crew. You stacked the dirty plates, gathered all the empty booze bottles, and folded up the blankets. The big, yellow moon provided ample brightness even as Franky killed the fire. 

“Franky,” You called out as you noticed something in the horizon, “I thought you shut off the machine.”

“Yeah, I did.” The cyborg replied without even looking at you, still focused on cleaning the fire pit. 

A chill of uneasiness ran through you at his answer, “Then… what’s that?”

Franky looked up at your shaky voice and turned to the front of the ship, eyes bulging in shock at what met his sight. 

A curtain of thick, black fog coated the ocean and sky ahead, swallowing the stars from the sky and plunging the waters into total darkness, where no moonlight reached it.

And the Sunny was sailing right at it. 

You and Franky could only stare at the unfathomable phenomenon as you stood frozen side-by-side.

“Oh, we are super fucked, aren’t we?”

a/n: bonus points if you got what the thick fog at the end was supposed to be! anyway, i had so much fun writing this!! it might be a bit early for a halloween post but i hope you all enjoyed this silly little fic nonetheless 🧡

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; a new face arrives in town, and everything begins to shift. something is terribly wrong strange, but no one is talking.

★ warnings; none!

☆ story masterlist

As the first light of dawn filtered through the windows of the apothecary, you buzzed around, busy with substituting half-way empty jars with new ones full of elixirs and various herbs. The heavy scent of sage hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of brewing potions bubbling in the cauldron nestled in the corner. With a flick of your wrist, you lit the candles scattered around the shop, their soft glow casting long but warm shadows around the shop. 

Your familiar Sybil, a snow white Borzoi, twitched from her spot under the counter, slightly raising her head in attention. Not a second later, the bell above the door chimed with your first client of the day. 

“Well, well, still up with the dawn, I see.” The deep, raspy voice was unmistakable.

Alex stepped into the apothecary with his usual long strides, his dark blonde hair a touch wilder than you remembered. 

“And you're still sneaking around at sunrise," you teased lightly. “Here for Farah’s order? I was just about to pour a fresh batch.”

“Yeah,” he replied, as he handed you his usual green thermos for the refill. “She’s been feeling… well, she’s hanging in there. Just a bit more tired lately.”

You hummed knowingly, tightening your apron and moving to get the order ready. 

“Have you heard?”

“About?” You replied absentmindedly, focused on getting the exact quantity of steaming liquid into the thermos. 

“The new girl that Laswell took in.” 

That made you pause and turn to look at him. 

Laswell was a witch like you, and a deeply influential one at that. That made her difficult to approach, but even harder to earn her trust. It had taken you a year of back and forth before she allowed you to set up shop in this part of the city. So to say that you were slightly intrigued was an understatement. 

“Who now?”

He snorted, stretching over the counter to wriggle his fingers down at Sybil, and who in response raised her large snot to meet them in greeting. 

“Apparently a few nights ago Ghost saved this rando girl from the Rose District―”

“What the hell was she doing in the Rose District?” 

“Well clearly she’s not from around here.” He retorted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which clearly wasn’t. Even people from out of town knew to stay away from that place, especially at night. She was either from another country altogether or really, really, dumb. 

“Anyways, he took her to Laswell and she offered her a job on the spot. She even let her settle in the loft above her bar and all.”

“Well, that’s….unexpected? But good for her I guess.”

“But wanna hear the best part?” Shrugging you rang him up, throwing in a few stray herbs in a satin pouch as an extra for his wife. 

“She’s magicless, and a total smokeshow.” He was clearly trying to get a rise out of you, and honestly, he was successful. Rolling your cleaning rag tightly, you snapped it against his hand. He yelped in surprise, cradling his hands with mock-indignation. 

“Anything else?” He shook his head and dropped the exact amount for the order into the ornate dish you kept beside the register. 

“You’re no fun,” he pouted, stashing the flash into his bag before pointing at the satin bag. “What’s this?” 

“They should help with Farah’s morning sickness. Just mix them in with her morning tea, a dash of honey will help with the bitterness.” 

He gave you a wide boyish grin. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Waving him off and as if telling him ‘oh I know’, you watched him leave with a spring to his step, clearly eager to go back to his wife. You waited for him to disappear from sight, before reaching for your phone in your apron’s pocket. 

9:15 am

you: hi

you: everything k? alex told me about the rose district

9:17

👻: 👍🏻

9:18

you: lmk if u need anything

you: btw your order’s ready, you can drop by anytime

you: sybil says hi 

(picture attached) 

You didn’t get a reply right away, which was strange, but not uncommon for the half-wraith. In the end, he always got back to you. Telling Sybil to stay put and care for the storefront, you moved to the back to organise the rest of the day’s orders. 

Once upon a time, Ghost’s go-to place had gone out of business (he had personally taken it down after discovering it was a front for a fairy trafficking ring), and as per Laswell’s recommendations, he had appeared one day to commission you with a list of potions and ingredients, each tailored to his pack’s specific needs. He gave you three days, and you had gone above and beyond to deliver. 

You knew you had succeeded in meeting their expectations after he came back the following month with a much bigger and more detailed list in hand. And it was through his monthly visit that you got to know the rest of the pack. 

Simon took care of pickups and never stayed long, but long enough to listen to you rant about lousy customers, all while answering to Sybil's demands for pets. 

You never got much done with Johnny around, but his charm definitely helped you with sales, especially with the older gnome ladies. The werewolf also played tug with your familiar when the shop became notably busy and you couldn’t take Sybil for her daily walkies. 

As the only son of a witch, Kyle liked to help you with just about everything. He especially enjoyed peering over your shoulder whenever you delved into one of your many experiments, smiling like a child whenever you asked for his opinion. 

You got to know John last, a human Hunter and their de facto leader. He never dropped by, but whenever you encountered him outside your shop, he never failed to greet you with a warm smile and ever warmer shoulder-squeeze. The older man also was a worrywart to his core, always asking about you and Sybil, as in have you had breakfast/lunch/dinner yet? Did you get your windows insulated for the winter? He can take care of it for you, and oh he got a good bargain on some chicken, let him share some of it with you. 

Slowly but surely, they each had wormed itself into your stiff-witchy heart. 

10:30

👻: can’t today

👻: sendin’ alejandro

The curt answer made you falter, a mix of disillusion and confusion settling heavily on the pit of your stomach. His lack of response to Sybil's picture was also worrying, that never happened. You struggled not to push him for an explanation. 

And so, you waited. 

Alejandro made his appearance a few hours later. Again, you left Sybil in charge while you greeted him and his partner, Rudy.

“Preciosa, it’s good to see you.” Alejandro enveloped you in a tight hug and kissed you on the cheek, Rudy following right after. 

You returned their greeting just as warmly, guiding them to the back and to the crates stacked neatly and ready for them to take. You watched them work, swaying a little from side to side, before finally mustering up the courage to ask them about Ghost’s unusual absence. 

“Is Ghost okay?”

Alejandro grunted as he loaded the crates into the trunk, hand falling over his hips before he turned to regard you with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah he’s fine, por (why)?”

You shoved your hands deep into your apron’s pockets, a nervous habit. “He has never missed a pickup, and he’s not answering my texts.” 

“Oh, it’s probably that girl.” He acknowledged dismissively. As if sensing your dismay at Alejandro’s lacklustre response, Rudy chimed in. 

“Leah, the new girl working for Laswell.”

Making the most of his receptiveness, you prodded Rudy for more details. “Have you met her?”

He shook his head, tilting his chin towards his partner. “Nope, but Ale has.”

“Well she’s cute, in a mousy kind of way.” He supplied while scratching his chin, and something about his pensive gesture told you that he still hadn't exactly made up his mind about her. 

They were quick to leave however, busy with their own things, plus having to drop off the pack’s order. You watched them go, fingers twisting and turning 

Yes, hopefully this strange episode would pass.

. . .

Things did not pass, if anything, they only got worrisomely stranger. 

A few days later, you found yourself in the supermarket. It was just another part of your routine that you usually enjoyed.  You reached for a jar of honey, when you felt it—a shift in the air, a tingle at the back of your neck. Straightening, you allowed your gaze to wander, searching for the source.

And then you saw him.

He stood a few feet away, staring intently at a shelf of cereals. Your heart skipped a beat, not from surprise but from the pleasant flutter you always felt when you saw him. You  instinctively moved closer, a full smile already settled on your lips.

“Johnny, hi!” 

His head jerked up as if startled, eyes widening when they met yours. For a moment, he looked at you with a strange mix of confusion and surprise, as if he barely recognized you. 

“Och aye! Hello there! Whit ye daein' here?"

“Uh, I always shop here on Sundays?” But you know that, you’ve come with me more than once!

"Oh, dae ye no? Well, anyways!” Johnny’s brows furrowed, and he blinked rapidly, like someone waking from a deep sleep. His gaze flickered away from your face and back to the rows of cereal “Whit dae ye think Leah would fancy the most?"

That caught you off guard, so much so that you couldn't give him a rightout answer.

Suddenly, a second figure came from around the corner. It was Gaz. He walked up to the two of you, but something was off. 

“Mate, stop running off! We need to get back to—” Gaz blinked at you, as if seeing you for the first time. “Oh, hi?”

“Hi?” You parroted back with an incredulous guffaw. 

You just stood there, feeling an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation—like the ground beneath you had shifted and you were the only one who noticed. This wasn’t right. Your relationship had always been so easy, and filled with laughter. But now, it was like there was a barrier between you and them, unseen and unsettling.

“Is…everything okay?” You asked them, voice laced with a mix of worry and disbelief. 

Gaz looked at you again, but there was no warm recognition in his eyes. “We’re fine,” he said, though his voice was flat. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, Johnny following him like a shadow, a box of chocolate flavoured loops in hand.

He hated that kind, not even bending whenever Gaz tried to coax him into getting them as a treat. 

You watched them disappear down the aisle, dumfounded. The vibrant hum of the grocery store around you flickered slightly as your mind whirled. 

Taking a breath, you forced yourself to stay calm. You should head back to the apothecary and Sybil, maybe even check in with Laswell. 

She’d know what to do, right? She always did.

banner credit

[rosedpetal]

A Good Father

Summary: Ransom shows his family he knows how to take care of his own kid.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader (as his baby mamma)

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: none

Author's note: this is a repost.

Masterlist

If years ago someone ever told Ransom that he'd get married and have children, he'd laugh in their faces. Whenever anyone in his family brought the topic of him settling down, he would leave the table and curse at them.

Until you came in the picture.

He was having the worst day ever, and he desperately needed a cookie. So, he went to the grocery store and was about to pick the last package left of his favorite cookies on the aisle, when you swayed your damned hips and got the package first.

Ransom was livid. He threw the most embarrassing tantrum ever, threatening to call security on you and ruin your life, but you just laughed at his face and asked if he wanted to share. Share! How dared you?

So, you bought the cookies and gave him half. After the first bite, his mood improved and he actually asked you out on a date. It was the best night of his life.

Five years later, you were married and had a baby. You moved to a nice house in a quiet neighborhood, and even adopted a stray dog (well, he just got home from work one day and the puppy was chewing on one of his expensive shoes, while you had the widest grin he ever saw on someone's face).

Ransom loved you with all his heart. And when you gave birth to your baby daughter, he loved her beyond words.

But right now, you were set on making him miserable.

"I'm not talking about this again, Hugh." You pointed your finger at him and he flinched. You never called him by his name. "You're going and you're taking Lily with you. Her nanny is sick, and I have to work."

"But babe-"

"Not. Another. Word." You gave him one of your deadly stares, and he actually felt sorry for Lily having such a scary mother. After petting your dog's fur, you turned to Lily on the highchair and peppered her face with kisses, while she giggled. "Mommy's gonna miss you so much baby boo, you tell me if your daddy misbehave!"

Ransom tried not to roll his eyes at you. You pecked him on the lips and he pouted. Before you left the kitchen, he called you:

"Babe, don't forget your jacket. It might get cold."

You smiled at him. You knew he was upset for having to take Lily to his family's horrible get-together.

After your car left the garage, he looked at his chubby baby, wondering if he'd succeed in shielding her from the evil of his family.

Things change after having your first child. First, Ransom started saving money. No more shopping sprees for him. Then, he actually tried to get his own thing, in which he failed miserably. Seeing his struggle, his good old grandad secured him with the ownership of their publishing company (for Walt's despair). The only catch: he'd have to show to family meetings at least until Harlan Thrombey's death. 

Which was how he was stuck in this mess in the first place. 

Ransom was not stupid. He could handle these annoying game nights, dinners and whatever by provoking everyone and leaving after setting the mood for a big fight.

But bringing his baby with him?

Big no.

Well, you shared his opinion on this. You two would avoid having Lily in their company as best as you could, but some things couldn't be helped.

Your trusted nanny called in sick, and you couldn't bring Lily to work.

Ransom wanted to cry. 

He took the fussing Lily out of the baby seat and struggled to put her in the carrier attached to his front, got her pink bag on his shoulder and closed the door of the car with his feet (how you managed to do all these things so gracefully were beyond him). He got on the front porch of Harlan's home and wanted to scream. What the hell was his great-grandmother doing there, sitting alone on that chilly afternoon, with such a thin blanket covering her?

"Hey Nana, why don't we go drink some tea inside?" He offered. The small old woman nodded, in a way he new she didn't actually acknowledged him.

Fuck his family for treating Nana like she was something disposable.

Ransom took Nana's small hand on his and carried her to an armchair in the living room, where Fran was serving tea to Harlan.

Before Ransom could even say "hi" his grandfather was already up and speaking in his "baby" voice with Lily. His daughter giggled, showing her cute teeny tiny new teeth.

It was fucking cute, but the days of Lily's teething made Ransom and Y/N traumatized.

"Hi to you too, granddad." Ransom rolled his eyes, sitting across his grandfather's seat.

"Tea?" Fran offered Ransom. He thanked her, an habit you made him build. Saying "thanks", and "please", things his parents didn't bother to teach him. He wanted Lily to be better than him, and by that, he had to make himself better than whatever he was.

The first time Ransom apologized to Fran, the woman was so shocked that she broke in a fit of hysterical laughter, while Marta just blinked like she was imagining things.

Ransom took a walk with Lily still safely attached to his chest. He didn't want to admit it, but she was getting heavier and harder to carry all the times. God, after five minutes he needed to sit down on a wooden trunk to recover.

Feeling like his breath was coming to normal again, Ransom went back to the house, noticing that there were more cars parked there.

Here comes the shit show.

At the dining table, Richard's voice mixed with Walt's, like they were competing on who would talk louder. Linda absently smoked a cigarette, promptly ignoring Joni. Jacob and Meg where fighting over politics or some shit, and Donna was on her phone.

A miserable-looking Marta sat between Fran and Nana on the small couch on the corner.

And Harlan ignored the rest of them, with a glass of whiskey dancing in his hand.

"Oh, there he is! And look who is here too!" Linda beamed, putting out the cigarette. 

Ransom grimaced when his mother's nicotine smelling hand brushed against his daughter's face. Lily was so calmed before, and it broke his heart when she started crying her lungs out, like she wanted to be away from Linda's greedy presence.

Lily's crying made everyone shut up. She was born eight months ago, and they saw her only once, when Ransom and Y/N took her to Harlan's when she was a newborn. Linda and Richard tried to visit Ransom's house a few times, but they quickly grew bored of the grandparents role.

Joni, Donna and Walt couldn't really care less for baby Drysdale. Meg tried to be as nice as she could with Lily, but she was terrified of babies. As for Jacob, Ransom didn't want that little creep close to his daughter.

"Oh, Ransom, is she hungry or something?" Linda grimaced at Lily's screams. 

No, mother, she's upset because she hates you. Ransom wanted to yell at Linda's face, but he just took Lily in his arms and rocked her gently, kissing her sweaty temple and running his thumb over her tears.

"Shh, love. 'S okay, daddy's here for you. My brave little girl, everything's gonna be alright, I'm here for you." Ransom whispered gently to Lily.

Linda gulped, suddenly feeling her eyes watering. She wondered if she could go back she'd be a better mother. She doesn't remember ever holding Ransom like that, not even when he was a baby. She didn't even breastfeed him, and she and Richard never woke up in the middle of night to soothe Ransom's cries. Not when they had nannies for that. Not when they could buy their way of not giving him their time or affection.

"You're good with her, son." Richard cleared his throat, feeling the same guilt wash over him.

"Of course I'm good with my own daughter." Ransom scoffed, still rocking Lily in his arms. He lowered his head to her. "There you go, baby. Wanna hang out with auntie Marta while daddy spend some time with these assholes? Huh?"

Marta smiled a little at the snarky remark, and Ransom passed Lily to her, who was already making grabby hands for Marta.

Of course she likes the immigrant nurse, Linda bitterly thought.

"Wow, that was so cute, Ransom!" Meg complimented. "You make me think even I could be a good parent! No offense, of course."

"None taken, cousin. Having children is life changing if you're ever willing to have your own."

"Ohhh, I miss when Meg was that tiny. You were the cutest thing ever, baby." Joni took Meg's hand on her own. Donna and Walt's gaze strayed to Jacob, who smiled at them.

The memories of Linda, Neil and Walt's feet running in the house flooded Harlan's memory. How he missed them like that. How he missed his deceased son and wife. 

The atmosphere in the living room was way more harmonious, almost soothing. The Thrombey-Drysdale family was taken aback by Ransom's behavior. They never thought he'd be a good father.

[breadbrobin]

our little affair

james potter x reader — harry potter; marauders era

[gn!reader]

summary: before three months ago, you hated james potter, and everyone knew it. then everything changed. now, you’re meeting him in dark hallways and he’s leaving hickeys on your neck, and someone is going full private detective to find out just who you’re seeing.

warnings: swearing, kissing, reader and james are in love but they won’t admit it, allusions to sexual content—non-explicit.

word count: 1.2k

(it’s been a WHILE but i’m back and writing for a completely different fandom lollll anyway james has always been the loml and i think he deserves to get made out with in a hallway thank you for coming to my ted talk)

———————————

three months. that’s how long it had taken for someone to figure out you were in love.

to be fair to lily, it had taken you around the same amount of time, and you were inside your own head, with full access to all those innocent and not-so-innocent thoughts 24/7.

it was a little stifling, how she watched you like a hawk to see who you were smiling at, glancing towards, blushing because of. and it was a little more than a little embarrassing that she’d figured you out so easily.

it was stupid, really. a hickey left slightly too high and a shirt collar dipping slightly too low while you studied. that was all it took.

“what is that?” she’d asked accusingly.

“what?” you frowned, looking up at her across the table.

“that.” she jerked her head at you, her eyes locked on your collar. “that’s a hickey.”

“no, it’s not,” you’d hissed sharply, but you’d tugged your collar up far too quickly to play it off anymore. she shot you a look, and you had to sigh. “fine. yes, it is. don’t ask who, when, where or how, please.”

“so you’re embarrassed.” she’d nodded understandingly.

your cheeks had flared red as you caught sight of james—god, james potter and his magic lips and warm hands and—stop it—over her shoulder, looking back at her before she could realise your attention had strayed. “i’m not embarrassed. it’s just… private.”

“for now or for good?”

“for now,” you’d answered like you knew for sure. in truth, you didn’t. you’d avoided talking about the whole public relationship thing with james because, well, was it even really a relationship now? could you call sneaking around and leaving secret notes and making out in secluded hallways a relationship? you really didn’t know, and you also really didn’t want to deal with it very much.

regardless, lily was obsessed. when she’d inevitably asked, claiming it was her right as your best friend to know and threaten the poor person, you’d shut her down, and she’d become a woman on a mission.

it was like she’d turned from your best friend to your bodyguard. you felt like the president of the united states, with the secret service watching your every move. it was, honestly, tiring.

it also didn’t help that james was as subtle as a gun in an echo chamber. every chance he got he was smiling over at you, slipping you notes half as sneakily as he should, winking at you across rooms and teasing you every chance he got. it wouldn’t take long, you knew that. you also knew that the moment lily found out the truth, every shred of your reputation that you’d built up over the years would crumble away.

years of hating james potter’s guts had slipped away in the blink of an eye, leaving you floundering in the deep end, and him as your dashing lifeguard, saving you easily. it was infuriating, and what was worse, was that you liked it.

you liked his lips on yours. you liked his body pinning you against a wall. you liked his touch, his smile, his voice… you liked him.

maybe you were a little embarrassed after all.

but you couldn’t even think of embarrassment when james slipped you a note with a tiny doodle of professor flitwick falling off his stack of books, and looked at you with that goofy smile that made you want to melt and then kiss him stupid. ugh, it was ridiculous.

but he was addictive, and after class when you met in the same secluded side hallway as always, and his lips found yours like they needed to be there for him to survive, and his hands were on your hips, your waist, your back, your hair… it didn’t feel so ridiculous. and suddenly you didn’t care.

he always melted into you like he’d been waiting all day for your touch. his shoulders dropped, the tension slipping away from them. a soft sigh of relaxation left him as he touched you.

and it was only you and him in the world, and it was perfect and—

“oh my god!”

james jumped away from you like he’d been burned. you covered your mouth with your hand and shook your head frantically, meeting lily’s wide eyes.

“lily, i—“

“ew, guys, really?” you thought she’d be mad that you were kissing a marauder, but she looked positively gleeful. “i knew i’d be the one to find you two!”

you and james both frowned.

“what?” he asked.

“god, marlene owes me ten galleons.” she laughed, shaking her head. “thank you, guys, really. fucking hell.”

you just stared at her with wide eyes. “you’re not upset?”

“upset?” she snorted. “babes, why would i be upset?”

“because…” you floundered for a moment, gesturing at james. “he’s a marauder.”

he snorted. “wow, thanks.”

“you know what i mean,” you scoffed.

lily laughed. “i don’t care who you make out with. i just care that you’re happy. and you’ve been happy these last few weeks since you two got together.”

“months,” you corrected absently.

“months?”

“three months and four days, to be exact,” james cut in helpfully.

lily stared at you two for a moment before shaking her head in wonder and stepping away. “wow… first of all, i’m offended you didn’t tell me. second of all… you guys have got to find a better hiding spot. everyone knows. marlene and i placed bets on who would find you guys making out first.”

you stared at her. “wait, what?”

she turned and walked down the hall. “toodles! i have to go cash in. use protection!”

and just like that, she was gone, leaving you and james standing in the hallway, confused.

“did that…?” you started, trailing off.

“yeah, i think so.” he frowned, leaning against the wall beside him. “huh. so… if everyone knows already…?”

you looked at him curiously. “what are you suggesting, potter?”

“what do you say to me asking you out? officially.” he stepped closer, fingers brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

you couldn’t stop the stupid smile from breaking onto your face. “i say yes.”

“great. that’s awesome. really.” he grinned, lips mere inches from yours. “because i’ve actually been wanting to ask you out for ages, and—“

“would you kiss me again, potter? and stop talking for once?”

“oh, yeah, right.”

and his lips were on yours again, and his hands were holding you close, and unlike every other time you’d kissed, you didn’t feel the need to hide and pull him down an abandoned hallway. actually, you felt completely fine kissing him in the middle of one of the main hallways of the school, even when footsteps entered the hall, and even when sirius black’s voice started loudly complaining at the two of you. even then, all you did was smile against james’ lips, and revel in the moment. you’d be late for your study session with your friends, but you had more important things to do.

[dilf-din]

Two Favors — a Joel Miller story

Rating: G

Warnings: none, unless you need a warning for girl dad Joel!

WC: 1250

For @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno coffee house challenge prompt: farmer’s market

Fridays were hectic enough without fighting your way to the farmer’s market before it closed. Your best friend called at lunch to remind you of your dinner and pumpkin carving plans, which had slipped your mind in the middle of your quarterly fight with the shipping department to fill out their dang PO’s correctly. During your weeklong task of flagging down half a dozen different employees who didn’t care half as much as you did what parts belonged to what project, you completely forgot about your annual fall soup party.

The sun was already fading in the sky by the time you pulled into the parking lot. Loose gravel crunched under your boots and the wind was blowing the stray strands of your hair, getting them stuck in what was left of your chapstick application on the freeway a few minutes ago.

The farmer’s market was a community hit year round, but especially in the fall. Local bakers had trays stacked high with apple cider donuts, sourdough with thick crust and intricate carvings, and mini pies bursting with every fruit you could imagine rimmed with buttery crust and thick sugar crystals.

Your mouth watered just thinking about all the goodies, or, whatever would be left at this hour at least. Dusk meant just a few more minutes before the shops that weren’t already cleaned out for the day would be heading home to their families.

With your arms piled high with squash and corn, you lucked out grabbing the last loaf of bread from your favorite stand. A final lightbulb went off when you remembered the pumpkin carving portion of the evening, and you saw one round, orange beauty waiting just near the back corner of the tent that shaded the parking lot stalls from the Texas winds.

You fished a five dollar bill out of your cardigan pocket and shuffled across the pavement to grab the last gourd, smiling at the middle aged woman who took the cash and wished you a good evening.

You pulled out your phone to shoot a message to your friend, letting her know your ETA, when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“I’m sorry darlin’, it looks like they’re all out.”

Joel Miller, widowed neighbor, business owner, and girl dad extraordinaire. You had moved a few houses down from him in the spring when your job transferred you a thousand miles away from the cul-de-sac you grew up in.

Joel was always friendly, the kind of neighbor who would take your trash cans back up to your garage on cold days. He always smiled and nodded on the rare mornings he left late enough to see you climbing into your own car. You always pegged him as shy, but friendly.

Beside him came a small dejected voice, “But we’re supposed to carve a pumpkin toniiiiight.”

Sarah looked downcast, a grumpy frown the likes of which you had never seen before turned her lips completely upside down as she scraped the toe of her already scuffed sneaker against the ground. She had a pair of purple fairy wings strapped on over her puffy jacket, and her curls were extra voluminous from sitting on top of her thick outer layers.

Joel knelt to eye level with her, sincerity in his voice as he responded, “I know, but they’re all out baby. We’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“It’s because you always work late,” she grumbled.

From the corner of your eye, you could tell how much that hurt him. You rounded the stack of hay bales you had been occluded behind, and hoped he could forgive you for cutting in.

“Did I hear someone was looking for a pumpkin?” you queried, your voice colored with a mischievous smile.

“Me! Me! Me!” Sarah exclaimed, reaching her hands out.

“Well, I just happen to have this extra one lying around,” you said slowly, “Do you think you could take it off my hands?”

Sarah’s frown turned into a smile of equal radiance, and she hopped in glee.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Joel stood from his crouched position. He had watched the whole interaction with a look on his face akin to the one the grinch the day his heart grew three sizes.

“Don’t even try to talk me out it,” you warned, raising one eyebrow in mock seriousness.

“I know better’n to talk you out of anything,” he smiled shyly.

“At least let me pay ya for it?” he fished a worn leather wallet from his pocket and started thumbing through bills.

“Keep it. Better yet, get her some of that apple cake,” you pointed towards the front with your free hand, shifting your bags in your arms to adjust for the space the pumpkin freed up.

“Let me carry those to your car,” he opened his arms, desperate to compensate for your kindness somehow.

“Thank you Mr. Miller,” you smiled, as he scooped the paper bags out of your grasp.

He whistled a simple three note tune and called, “Sarah, time to go.”

She scrambled back to his side from where she had wandered to talk to one of the other vendors.

“Truck’s unlocked,” he instructed the girl as she swung the heavy door open with one hand, being careful not to drop the pumpkin tucked under her arm.

“I’ll be right back”, he called, but she was too busy strapping the pumpkin carefully under a seatbelt to care.

His arm brushed against yours as you crossed the small parking lot to your sensible sedan. You popped open the trunk, and Joel carefully nestled the bags into the back, next to a box of clothes you had been meaning to drop off at the thrift store.

“So chivalrous,” you teased, as he closed the truck for you.

“I really appreciate you being kind to her.”

“It’s just a pumpkin,” you shrugged it off.

“She had a really bad week, so it’s more’n just a pumpkin. Just, thank you,” he said sincerely, with a smile that allowed you a peek into the weary eyes of a single dad trying his best.

You reached out and squeezed his bicep through his jacket, “I was happy to do it, really. I’m making soup tonight. Can I bring you a bowl tomorrow?”

“Then I’ll owe you twice,” he countered, leaning against the side of your car casually, his hands shoved deep in his jean pockets. You suddenly became aware of how close you two were standing.

A chill ran down your spine, and you hoped you could play it off as the wind kicking up.

“I like coffee. And dinner,” you toyed the line, “And my gutters could use cleaning,” you threw in for good measure.

“How about I bring you one of those pumpkin lattes and clean your gutters on Sunday?”

“Where I’m from, that’s a marriage proposal, Mr. Miller,” you said in mock surprise.

He laughed loudly and shook his head, “You’re getting ahead of yourself. I haven’t even had your soup yet.”

“Oh, everyone who tries my soup wants to marry me. Consider your battleship sunk.”

He laughed again and opened your door for you and stepped aside so you could climb into the driver’s seat.

“Guess I gotta go ring shopping,” he leaned in with a low voice and a wink before closing your door and shooting up a hand in a wave.

You waved back, but inside you were dying to tell your friend that you had a date with hot dad neighbor. Hopefully that would make up for the fact that you were now turning up pumpkin-less.

[sweetnotshort]

INVISBLE STRING PT 2

pairing: stranger!matt x reader

summary : in which you and Matt had met as kids on a vacation, but lived too far away from each other. But some string pulled you together later on in life .

warnings : underage drinking

part 1.

└────────────────────┘

⤑ summer 2022

“I’m so happy you agreed to come to this party with me, I can’t deal with these fake influencers alone.” Isabel laughed while straightening my hair.

“You know I’d never miss a chance to go to a party. Plus who knows maybe I’ll find a mega hottie.” I replied causing us both to giggle.

I applied lipgloss before shoving it into my bag and going to pick out an outfit.

“What happened to that guy in your comments, matt isn’t it? He might be there tonight.” She gave me a knowing look while strapping her heels.

“Wait really?” My head whipped over into her direction.

“I think he and his brothers were invited, maybe you two will hit it off.”

“Don’t be crazy belly, he’s like famous now.”

Ultimately I decided on a black lacy mini shirt, and black tube top paired with black heels.

“So how do I look.” I asked belly shoving my belongings in my bag.

“Holy shit you look hot.” I giggled and pulled out my phone.

“Ok our ubers like here so we should go.”

ׂ╰┈➤

We’d arrived at the party about an hour ago and drinks were already flowing, music was blaring and chatter filled everyone’s ear.

“Bells I’ll be back I’m going to refill my drink.” I yelled to her over the music before making my way over to the drink station.

“Now what type of drink is that?” I heard someone say to my behind me.

“Acid in a cup-“ I giggled and turned around to face whoever was talking to me.

“Matt?!” My eyes practically popped out of my head when I saw the brunette boy infront of me.

“Hi Y/N.” His smile was as bright as I remember, blue eyes like glaciers, the only thing that changed was his now brunette hair was blonde.

“You look..wow. Like respectfully really hot.” My mouth spoke before my mind, but that happens every time i’m intoxicated.

“I could say the same thing about you.” He smirked down at me.

He looked around before setting on me again.

“Wanna go outside, there’s a fire and it’s way less stuffy.” He finished with a laugh.

The rest of the night I had spent my time with Matt. There was never a moment where we weren’t by each other’s sides.

“So you really don’t drink?” I questioned taking a swig of water.

“18 almost 19 years sober.” He winked at me.

“Y/N I really need to go home.” bells exclaimed grabbing my arm.

“Oh um ok, sorry matt I have to go.”

I gave him a saddening look before I was pulled away by my friend.

“Wait!” I felt a hand on now my other wrist causing me to stop.

“Can I get your number before you disappear for another 15 years.” Matt quickly pulled out his phone.

I bit back a smile while nodding, typing my number into his phone.

ׂ╰┈➤

⤑ summer 2023

“Happy one year Matty!” I exclaimed entering his room a big smile placed on my face.

“How are you so energetic in the morning.” He groaned and pulled me down to lay with him.

“Matt it’s 11:30.” I giggled and brushed stray hairs out of his face.

He sighed while just staring at me.

“What’s are your mind?” I questioned running my fingers through his hair.

“I think I’m ready..” My eyebrows furrowed,

“For the day? Matt i’m a little con-

“No, no. I’m ready to announce us. I know it took a long time but I think no I know I’m-

I cut him off my placing my lips on his gently.

“I love you Matt.”

“I love you my girl.”

matthewsturniolo

liked by yourusername and 734,209 others

matthewsturniolo happy 1 year to my first kiss, the girl that’s my other half, she’s the funniest, most caring and gorgeous girl. thankful for that invisible string that brought us back together,

…view comments

yourusername im not crying you are

matthewsturniolo i can confirm she is crying

user omggg we all called ittt

nicolassturniolo we like y/n more than you matt

user my parents

user she’s probably using him

user if she was using him they wouldn’t have been together for a year…

└────────────────────┘

ok so this is the last part, i wasn’t even gonna make a pt 2 but after all the requests i decided too

thank you all so much for the support on invisible string, i never expected any of it. i didn’t even think it was that good so all the support really meant a lot

i hope you guys like this

[joelswritingmistress]

Camp Crystal Lake: Chapter 1

Requested by @yellowjacketsbuzzbuzz

Joel Miller x f!reader (romance/horror)

Setting: Camp Crystal Lake

The reader is taking on the position of a camp counselor at the infamous Camp Crystal Lake. While she begins to enjoy her summer, even crushing on the camp director Joel, a killer lurks in the woods unbeknownst to anyone. 

Every town in North America has a ghost story. Some are well kept secrets, and others are so notorious that the sins of those tales have spread far and wide, to every dark corner of the earth. Crystal Lake was a sterling example of such a place. It had a typical sounding name, really, for a fresh body of water in the middle of the New England woods. But the stories surrounding the area were anything but typical.

As a young child, I remember hearing his name being said on the playgrounds at school. Jason. It didn’t take me long to insert myself into conversations in an attempt to hear the details of whatever version of the story the older kids were spreading. Back then it didn’t matter if they were fact or fiction. I stayed up late, wide eyed staring at every dark corner of my bedroom after hearing tales of Jason Voorhees. Now, at 22 years old and about to enter the summer as a counselor at Camp Crystal Lake, those distant, childish memories made me grin; though when my rusty, Jeep Wrangler bounced down the uneven road past the wooden Camp Crystal Lake sign, the hairs rose just a bit on the back of my neck.

“I thought you outgrew superstition,” I said quietly to myself as a song ended on my playlist, leaving me in a few extra seconds of silence to take in the wooded surroundings.

Jason Voorhees. The name still creeped everyone out. Yes, there had been a tragedy that happened decades earlier. Jason Voorhees was real; but after several attacks on counselors and residents alike, a boy named Tommy Jarvis managed to put Jason to rest permanently.

I shuddered and reminded myself that that was decades ago. I wasn’t even alive when it all happened. And this new camp wasn’t anywhere near the original location of the attacks on that Friday the 13th back in the 80’s.

I saw a pale yellow VW Bug parked up ahead next to a blue Ford pickup truck. On the opposite side of the truck was a Bronco with about as much rust as my Jeep. I began to wonder what my coworkers would be like. Would they be my age? Younger? Older? Local? I was about to find out.

I parked in the clearing beside the VW and stared out at the lake a few hundred yards away. There was a small beach with a towering, white lifeguard stand in the center and a wooden raft floating too not far from the patch of sand. If nothing else, it would be a great summer gig with a view. The campers wouldn’t be here for several weeks and I knew getting the place ready would call for some physical labor. I never minded hands-on work, and I was sure it would give us all time to bond.

When I exited the vehicle, a breeze hit me from the water and I shuddered, despite the temperatures nearing eighty degrees on the late June afternoon. My eyes scanned the trees on all sides and I suddenly wondered where everyone was. I let farfetched ‘what-ifs’ filter through my mind for a second before smirking to myself.

Grow up, I scolded myself lightheartedly. The imaginative part of me still enjoyed the folklore, no matter how juvenile it felt.

I popped open the back of the Jeep and reached in to grab my suitcase, an oversized gym bag and a backpack that housed the majority of my clothes. I had a few stray boxes with makeup and hair products, among other toiletries, though I decided I’d come back for them later.

Again, I took in my surroundings. For some reason I half-expected to see a group of young people out-and-about in the immediate area upon arrival. The silence was beginning to hit my psyche harder than I’d like to admit, and so I stared up at an oversized cabin with wooden paneling and headed in that direction.

A hammock swung empty on a giant front porch that was littered with chairs and small tables in between. Above them hung metal lighting fixtures, some of which were swinging in the summer breeze.

And then I heard a sound I could only compare to clicking. It was like a clock, almost. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I set my suitcase down near the bottom step and shrugged the gym bag off my shoulder so it rested beside it, leaving my backpack on. And then I followed the sound.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

What is that?

I swallowed hard as the noise grew louder. It stopped for a second and then there was a louder noise. A faint bang. And then a pause. Another bang.

What the hell is that?

I rounded the side of the two-story cabin and peeked my head around to see if I could get a glimpse of whatever, or whoever, was responsible for the sound. Visions of Jason Voorhees and his menacing hockey mask left my mind immediately when the truth revealed itself.

A muscular man in a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows swung an ax, connecting with a giant log of wood. It split into two, sending little shards flying into the air. He wiped his forehead with his arm and then reached for another.

I wasn’t sure if I should tiptoe back to the front porch or interrupt him, but my mind was made up by default when he slowly turned in my direction. When he smiled beneath a mustache, I blushed and glanced at the open area of his chest where a few buttons were undone.

“Hello.” He gave a wave and wiped sweat off his forehead again before removing a pair of work gloves.

I raised my hand and swallowed hard. “Hi.”

The man approached and extended an arm in my direction. I stared down at his hand for a second before joining mine to his in a handshake. Our eyes met and I felt my eyebrows raise unwillingly.

“I’m Joel Miller,” he introduced himself, slightly out of breath. “I did the phone interview with you back in March and a second one in April. (Y/N), right?”

“Yeah.” I nodded and cleared my throat with a smile.

“I’m the camp director,” he informed me with a nod.

“Nice to meet you.” My hand was still in his and finally they parted.

Joel nodded in agreement. “I’m just finishing up here. I think we have one more person to arrive today before the rest come in the middle of the week. You can get yourself settled in whatever room is still available and I’ll be in in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” I nodded, “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

When he smiled again I might as well have turned to stone. Who knew my boss for the summer would be such a.. hunk.

Well shit. It’s thirty seconds into the summer and I’m already crushing on my boss. I added, what a lovely predicament.

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER

@cattt777 @gissellec1

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter One

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 1,3k

Warnings | +18, explicit language, kidnapping, yandere, use of a sleep-inducing substance (not specific which one), mentions of prostitution

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! Here is the spin-off of Happy Ending, I hope you like the first chapter! 🥰 I would like to warn you, Jimin in this story will not be kind and soft like Jungkook from Happy Ending, he is very cruel and selfish, he is a hard yandere

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Next

2020.

Three years ago.

According to Kim Seokjin's rules, the choice of a whore was something very important. The girls chosen had to meet very specific requirements, such as not having anyone who would one day - following their disappearance - look for them. Seokjin did not want any trouble, and Jimin was not about to give him any. He took a long, deep drag from his cigarette, inhaling its bitter addiction, before blowing a thick, white cloud of smoke out the car window. He stretched his gloved hands over the steering wheel, waiting for the next move. Namjoon, at his side, checked that the situation outside was okay -nothing was moving in that neighborhood, not even the shadow of a stray cat - and this created the perfect moment. "Are you ready, Jimin?" asked the older man, beginning to prepare everything needed. The dark-haired boy's eyes sparkled, he nodded confidently as he adjusted his coat. One last glance at the clock and shortly after exactly 1 a.m. they got out of the car, long strides on the asphalt counted only by the ticking of their smart shoes. Seeing them, anyone would have said they were two well-to-do men about to attend an important event, except to glance at the squalor of the houses shrouded in darkness around them. Namjoon carried a dark briefcase in one hand; Jimin walked confidently beside him before turning into a small, narrow, grim alley.

"They have to stay here, don't they?" asked Namjoon, observing the crumbling building. "That's what they wrote," confirmed Jimin, finding the lobby door already wide open; it was a low-level Motel, it wouldn't take long. They found a guy half asleep behind the counter, the two exchanged a glance of understanding before Jimin approached the man in his forties striking him dryly in the back of the head, the latter only having a chance to let out a choked scream before passing out completely. "Thanks, man," sneered the boy, beginning to look up the names he was interested in in the register, along with the room number and corresponding key. He nodded to Namjoon when he had everything and they went up to the indicated floor. Jimin's alert and shrewd eyes immediately found what he was looking for, he pointed the door to his taller friend and together they opened it, they found the lights off, but they were trained to see even in the dark so they went straight to the two beds in the middle of the old and stale room, it was clear that such a Motel could not have all the comforts and amenities with what little they paid, there were not even cameras, it was an unsuitable and unsafe place for young girls like those asleep in those beds, Jimin thought with a grin.

Namjoon set the briefcase down on the floor, retrieving ready-made syringes from it, handed one to his friend and headed for one of the beds, Jimin chose for himself the one near the window and as the filtering neon sign light increasingly put the young girl's sleeping face on display, he inspected the young girl's face carefully, drinking in the sight of her softly parted lips and the warm breath rhythmically lowering and raising her chest. He lowered himself slightly to her neck, cautiously inhaling the light scent of roses emanating from her inviting skin. Namjoon, meanwhile, had already finished gently injecting the pinkish liquid into the other girl's arm, the substance would send her to sleep for a few hours, and Jimin should have hurried to do the same, too bad that he was merely gazing longingly at the woman, completely rapt. Namjoon noticed this and with a shade of reproach in his voice, called him to his senses. "Jimin, get a move on! Don't let your cock harden just now," he scolded him in a low, irritated tone. The young man puffed slightly, before uncorking the loaded syringe, unfortunately not accounting for the girl's light sleep, who squinted her eyelids as if disturbed by the presence looming over her with the eyes of a hawk.

She thought she was dreaming, but the figure of Jimin took a distinct and material form in her field of vision, which at first glance left her speechless.

Then a shrill scream left her throat, she tried to pull away, but Jimin was immediately on her, trying to block her, Namjoon caught up with an expletive clenched between his teeth and grabbed the girl by the shoulders, pushing her against the bed, the latter only in time to kick like a horse, managing to hit Jimin at jaw level, which pissed him off in no small measure, without any kindness or regard he stuck the needle of the syringe on her exposed thigh thanks to her pajama shorts, it penetrated the skin like butter and the girl stiffened screaming in pain, she fainted from shock without needing to wait for the injection to take effect. Namjoon let go a sigh before staring furiously at Jimin, who was touching the affected area with glacial eyes fixed on his victim. "What the fuck has gotten into you! Did you have to give her time to wake up?" he hissed, his silver hair glowing with the neon light outside, and Jimin gritted his teeth at the saintly appearance he was displaying at that moment. "I didn't think she'd wake up so easily, okay?" he blurted out, before pulling the girl's body to himself without any care, Namjoon shook his head before retrieving the other one more gently, the one had been good the whole time and he hoped the other Motel patrons hadn't heard the screams.

They should have moved in complete silence inconspicuously, but Jimin did not know what silence was, evidently. They went out with a placid step, from the other doors they heard absolutely nothing. Perhaps they were not occupied rooms, or most likely no one wanted to risk their skin to go and see what had happened to the girls, it was still a bad neighborhood that one. Jimin held the unconscious body rigidly in his arms, full of lividity. When he had watched her sleep he had called her a tender little angel in his head, well he was wrong, and very wrong, too. The bitch squealed like a goose and he would have loved to stretch her neck, which Namjoon wouldn't let him do anyway, they served without the slightest bruise to the Dark Moon. They arrived at the car without further trouble, even the road had remained deserted, and loaded the bodies into the back seats. "Let's get out of here before something else happens," muttered the friend, Jimin huffed annoyed, getting back into the driver's seat. "You're making it too tragic, no one heard us," he said, earning an angry look. "Because it was a sleazy Motel, you make all that noise in a normal house and see if no one hears you."

Jimin waved a hand, as if to say that he didn't give a shit about Namjoon's worries, bit his own lower lip piercing as he drove taking semi unfamiliar roads to leave no trace of himself. It would not happen again, after all. Yes, it hardly ever happened that he got a hard cock in the middle of a kidnapping on behalf of the Dark Moon, that had been new for him as well. He cast a glance at the other girl as well, but she said absolutely nothing to him, his body seemed to be attracted to the bitch who had kicked him, this made him even more irritated. "Should we take them to the warehouse?" The warehouse was an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere, they used it to hide their equipment, but also often to torture and kill, or as in this case, keep the goods cool just long enough to make decisions about them, it was convenient and practical. "Yes, Jungkook said that Seokjin will lose time at the Dark Moon, there have been clients giving the girls trouble and he is cutting some names off the list," Namjoon replied, reading their maknae's messages. Jimin nodded, taking the last descent of that country road that would lead them straight to the warehouse.

[wndaswife]

two slow dancers

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

tags: smut, fluff, angst, unspecified age gap, jealousy, strap-ons, cnc, manipulation, breast slapping, cunnilingus, hair pulling, slight spanking, belly bulges, degradation, praise, dumbification, mommy kink, breeding kink, piss kink, impact play, breast play, mentions of somnophilia, dom!wanda maximoff, sub!reader. MINORS DNI.

word count: 6996

summary: Your coworker invites you and a few others to celebrate New Year's Eve at her place, but all she wants to do is get you alone.

gif credit to creator.

Through your window, stray fireworks shoot up in the dusked horizon.

A week ago, your coworker, Wanda, invited you over for a New Year’s Eve gathering at her house. She started at the job no longer than a month ago, and you believe you’ve gotten relatively close with her since then.

Wanda Maximoff is thirty-four with an ex-husband and two twin boys you’ve never met. You’ve seen her ex once when he was dropping some things off for her at work. The exchange you observed could only be described as one between two vaguely similar creatures at best, interacting only out of necessity. They shared children and nothing more.

She took a liking to you in particular, and you were grateful for having her company for the last month.

She had a knack for offering comfort, and you often found yourself revealing to her some of your most intimate feelings and worries when you hadn’t even intended to. Wanda would always be so kindhearted, running a hand down your arm or squeezing your thigh gently while responding to you with supportive coos.

Now that the day of the party has come around, you’re standing in front of a mirror, holding up a pair of earrings to each side of your face. You survey the glistening faux emeralds, turning them around and observing them with great focus in the mirror before opting for a different pair.

“Are you ready?” a voice chimes from the hallway. 

Looking into the mirror, you see Monica step into your bedroom in a pair of black jeans and a warm blue-green long sleeve. 

“Just about…” you mutter, putting on a pair of pearl earrings. Turning around to face your friend, you ask, “Does it match?”

After a moment of deliberation, Monica nods. “Yeah, it matches,” she confirms and heads over to your bed to get your purse. “Who are you dressing up for, huh?” she inquires, a grin forming on her face as she looks over at you getting your jacket on. “Wanda?”

Your eyes snap over to her too quickly to hide your peaked interest at your coworker’s name. “What?” you chuckle out nervously. You lean down to pick up a pair of flats from your closet, thankful for the way your hair shrouded your suddenly-flushed face.

With crossed arms, Monica approaches your bedroom door as she looks down at you, amused.

“N-No,” you finally answer. “I just want to look good. It’s New Year’s Eve.”

“Sure,” Monica says simply, nodding. She hooks her arm around yours and leaves the bedroom with you.

You carpool to Wanda’s house together, as plans were to meet everyone there at a certain time. Despite having left early, Monica takes a wrong turn and you end up getting caught in traffic as the car takes the main roads to Wanda’s place.

Finally, you arrive at your destination about half an hour late.

With her homemade mango float and your bottle of champagne, Monica hopes the both of you can apologise to Wanda for the late arrival. She makes a joke that Wanda wouldn’t mind in the slightest if the two of you came even two hours late so long as you were arriving with her. 

The front door to Wanda’s house opens, revealing your coworker with her brown hair let down, and you notice for the first time how long it is. Today, she is wearing a bit of blush and a darker red lip than she normally wears for work.

Her eyes flicker between you and Monica before Monica lifts up a covered dish of mango float, breaking the brief silence.

“We’re sorry for how late we are. Traffic,” she says, a sheepish smile forming on her face.

As if returning to the present, Wanda blinks and smiles. “It's quite alright,” she reassures.

Just then, Darcy pops up behind Wanda and reaches her arms out to take the mango float from Monica’s hands. “Thank you,” she says graciously, eyeing the tinfoiled dish as if she would take a whole bite out of it then and there, tinfoil and ceramic material included. 

“Hey, Y/N. Happy New Year’s Eve,” she greets with a grin.

“Hi, Darcy,” you reply with a smile and a little wave.

Monica steps into the house and takes her boots and jacket off. Darcy leads her into the house.

Then, it’s only you and Wanda standing at the front door.

“Oh dear, how rude of me,” your coworker says. “Please, sweetheart, come in.” She ushers you into her house and tucks a hand under your jacket, making your back straighten. If she notices your sudden jerk of tension, she says nothing of it. Her hand loops around your waist to your furthest hip so her arm embraces you under your jacket.

Her hand reaches down below your eyeline while you’re looking up at her. You’re hugged against her side, swallowing your nerves but trembling all the same.

“Is this for me?” she whispers, grinning as if amused.

All you can manage in response is an idiotic, “Wh-What?”

A bottle of champagne is lifted up so you can see it and, with her eyes, Wanda gestures to it.

“Oh,” you say, then clear your throat. “Yeah, that’s for you. For everyone, kind of.”

Wanda hums and examines the bottle. Her eyes return to you and she smiles again. “We can say it’s for everyone to appease the guests,” she suggests and removes her arm from around your body. She begins to take off your jacket with her free hand and you slip your other arm out of the sleeve. She hangs your jacket up for you, and with her hand against your lower back, leads you out of the front foyer and into the living room.

Familiar happy faces greet you once you enter the living room with some women lounging on the couches and some standing around.

Jen, Darcy, Natasha and her younger sister Yelena, an unfamiliar girl who you would later find is named Kate, and Carol all exchange greetings with you.

Wanda’s hand leaves your lower back and you turn to watch her place your champagne on the kitchen counter with a few other bottles of wine and a cooler of what you suppose is filled with sparklers and beer.

Monica pulls you down onto the couch and you take a seat between her and Darcy. 

You think you see a flash of Wanda eyeing you from across the living room from beyond the passthrough window that connects the living room and the kitchen, but when you look over to her, she’s already starting a conversation with Jennifer. 

You tell yourself that you’ll talk with Wanda later.

A body suddenly sprawls itself out across the laps of you and the two other women on either side of you, thus taking your attention away from Wanda.

Carol stretches herself out in front of the three of you.

“Happy New Year’s Eve, Y/N,” she says with a grin that reminds you all too well of a golden retriever. 

You respond with an equally large smile, “Happy New Year’s Eve, Carol.”

The afternoon passes swiftly, especially with Wanda hosting. Not a moment passes when there aren’t drinks nor fresh snacks and food available along the kitchen counter. She’s an extremely attentive host, engaging herself in conversation and ensuring everyone is well taken care of.

Wanda also gave everyone a tour of her house during which she got endless compliments on nearly every room she introduced. 

Eventually, all of you gather around the dining room table playing a board game Kate brought and are divided into two teams. You have no idea how to play.

At the sight of your confused expression, Wanda places a hand dangerously close to your ass and pulls you close to her under the table. 

“Do you know how to play, darling?” she inquires with a curious tip of her head.

When you tell her you don’t, she invites you to sit beside her and stay on her team. She tells you she’s played it with her twins and ex-husband a handful of times and that she’ll help you through it.

You settle in the chair beside Wanda and move yourself closer to the table.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here!” Monica announces and rushes over from the washroom. “What team should I join?”

“Join Y/N’s,” Wanda suggests. “I do believe couples should avoid all competition if possible.”

A few laughs and confused expressions are exchanged around the table.

“Cou…” you trail off and look up at Monica, who looks equally as confused as you. “What?”

“We’re not together,” Monica corrects with an awkward smile and a chuckle.

“Oh, you aren’t?” she repeats, looking between the two of you. You recall the way she looked at the two of you when you arrived together and when you took a seat beside Monica on the couch before. Though it was true that you and Monica were close, one would truly have to reach to come to the conclusion that you were dating each other.

Then, Wanda laughs. “I was under the impression that you were. My apologies,” she says.

The misunderstanding is easily forgotten because Wanda only started working with all of you about a month ago. Anyone could understand the mistake. But even so, your face remains flushed as you think back to the curious stares you got from her, and you were caught up in the momentary glint of envy behind each one.

Monica takes a seat beside Darcy, on the other team across the table.

Kate sets up the game and Wanda pours everyone a glass of the champagne you brought and leaves the bottle in the middle of the table for anyone to refill their glasses.

“Come closer, Y/N,” Wanda whispers once Yelena and Kate begin explaining the rules of the game. She wraps her fingers under your chair and moves your chair closer to her. 

Wanda’s arm remains comfortably wrapped around your waist despite your occasional movements. You watch her concentrated face, her eyebrows slightly furrowed as she listens to the rest of the game instructions all while her hand is running up and down your side as if you were an idle pet.

A pressure forms between your thighs and you adjust your position on your chair.

The game becomes increasingly amusing the more all of you sip at glasses of champagne and some on their bottles of beer, steadily growing more tipsy.

At some point during the game, Wanda’s arm leaves from around your waist, after which her hand ends up finding your thigh instead. Absentmindedly, her hand moves up and down your thigh, her fingers sometimes rounding your leg and squeezing.

Now that you were tipsy, you’d become significantly sensitive, shuddering under her touch and having difficulty playing your part of the game. Your face feels warm, which doesn’t help the blush that you know is there.

After the other team gains an advantage of six points against yours, they’re deemed the winners and everyone helps clean up. They decide to watch a movie and Wanda leaves the dining room momentarily to show them how to work the remote and the television.

There are plans to play a different game afterwards and you hear Wanda say she has it upstairs and will fetch it so it’s ready once the movie starts.

“Come help me, Y/N,” she says as she passes through the dining room to the staircase. Wanda stops at the base of the stairs and lets you catch up with her before you ascend together.

You follow beside her quietly, looking around curiously at the second floor. You’d seen it before when Wanda gave the tour of the house, but it was different now that it was empty other than for you and her. 

With the silence, you could envision Wanda living here on her own, heading upstairs in the evening and descending in the mornings. For the first time, you feel a sort of pity for Wanda’s living circumstances. It’s a quiet house, and rather large. It’s New Year’s Eve and you haven't seen Tommy, Billy, or even her ex-husband. 

You follow behind Wanda when she unlocks her bedroom door and steps in. 

“How are you enjoying the evening so far, sweet girl?” she asks. It’s only when Wanda looks over her shoulder at you that you redirect your attention from her bedroom. 

“Oh,” you answer idly then clear your throat. “I’m enjoying myself. It’s been really fun.”

When Wanda reaches her closet, she opens it and leans down to dig through a pile of boxes. Your eyes instinctively move to the curve of her ass, but you force yourself to look away and at the dresses and coats hanging in the closet. 

“What are you enjoying about it, sweetheart?” Wanda asks once she straightens and closes the closet with her free hand. In her other hand, a few stacked boxes of board games. She approaches you and you struggle to answer her.

It’s incredible what a fool you become around her.

Wanda smiles and sets the board games atop the corner of her bed. She raises her hand to your face and strokes your cheek with her knuckles. “You’re so young,” she whispers. The words themselves didn’t sound entirely like a compliment nor insult, but her eyes that are softened in gentle admiration tells you otherwise. 

You swallow and make a noise that was supposed to sound like a ‘thank you,’ or at least an acknowledgement of her commendation.

“Come here,” Wanda says, her hand dropping to your own. She takes it and leads you towards her vanity. She lifts your arm and with her other hand on your hip, moves you forward to round the seat that’s in front of vanity. Then, two hands are placed on your hips from behind and Wanda guides you into sitting down.

In the mirror, you can see her looming above you from behind. But Wanda isn’t looking in the mirror. She’s looking down at you from above. Her hands move upwards, up your sides and up the sides of your breasts, then to your shoulders. Finally, her hands find each side of your head where Wanda finally does look up at the mirror.

Careful fingers brush your hair back behind your ears.

“These are pretty, Y/N,” she tells you. Her thumbs flick at your pearl earrings.

You blush and utter a quiet, “Thank you.”

Wanda smiles at your graciousness and runs the backs of her fingers down the sides of your face. She continues to do this for the next few moments, alternating between the tips of her fingers to her thumbs to the backs of her fingers, exploring your face gently. With a featherweight pressure, she runs her fingers across your bottom lip, your brow bone, your forehead and your temples.

You watch in silence as she does so.

Green eyes flicker up from your face and into your eyes through the mirror. They wrinkle at the edges when she smiles slightly.

“Turn to me,” she instructs and you do while she leans forward and digs through a box on top of her vanity.

When Wanda straightens, you’re looking right up at her. Your legs are dangling off the other side of the chair and your face is in front of her stomach. Her hand cups your cheek and she positions a mascara wand in front of your face.

“Look up,” she says. When you look up at the bedroom ceiling, Wanda moves the wand forward. She brushes your eyelashes gently, retouching your makeup, and you’re tempted to look down at her but do not lest you get mascara on your eyebrow.

Her thumb strokes at the corner of your mouth.

Then, suddenly, Wanda whispers, “My boys didn’t want to spend New Year’s with me.”

At her words, you look down at her immediately. She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth in forewarning and you look back up to the ceiling,

You question, “Why?”

“Perhaps… their father is more attuned to celebration and I am not,” she supposes. 

“Why didn’t you celebrate together?” you ask and instantly bite your tongue for asking too much. But Wanda’s thumb continues to stroke the corner of your mouth and she shows no sign of irritation.

“They didn’t want to,” she answers. Wanda moves to your other eye. “Almost done.”

There’s a momentary silence between the two of you until you ask, “When will you see them next?”

“I presume the first week of January,” she thinks aloud. “Some time then.”

Wanda inhales softly but you hear the long drag of her breath. 

“Are your parents together, Y/N?” she asks.

“No, they divorced when I was younger.”

With a nod, Wanda says, “I see.” 

Then after a moment, she speaks again, “Was there ever any partiality?”

“It was hard sometimes, from what I remember,” you answer. Wanda nods. “But I really loved both of them the same. They were my parents. They did love me, I always knew that.”

Wanda’s hand leaves your cheek and she reaches back to twist it back into its bottle. “Finished,” she states and lifts a handheld mirror to your face. She tucks your hair back behind your ears. “Look how pretty you are.”

“Wanda,” you whisper.

She looks from the mirror and over to you, lips parted. “What is it?” 

“There isn’t a moment your boys don’t know how much you love them. How could they?” you uttered quietly. “And they love you because of it. Loving them is, essentially, one of the greatest things you can do for a kid. Any child would be extremely lucky to have you as their mother. You mustn't think they don’t know that. They’ll come back to you. I promise you they will.”

Wanda only stares down at you, her eyebrows still slightly pushed together. Her lips twitch in a miniscule, hardly noticeable way, and you wouldn’t have noticed it had you not been staring at them- the soft curves and the full faded-red shade of them.

Her finger hooks under your chin and she sets the mirror down on the edge of the vanity seat. She tugs her finger up carefully and you stand from your seat, but Wanda leans down quick enough to kiss your lips and you stumble back down onto it. Her hands find your hips then round them to your ass, squeezing harshly and pulling you up.

Clumsily, you trip forward against her, but Wanda steadies you. She turns you and makes you walk backwards into her bed.

The back of your knees meet with the edge of her bed and you sit back. Her wrists escape your hold and she slips her cardigan off, then her shirt. You lean forward and kiss her stomach, peppering kisses upwards while you unbutton her jeans and pull them down to her ankles.

Wanda reaches down and unzips your dress. She pushes its sleeves from your shoulders and eagerly pulls it down to your waist. With a hand on your shoulder, she pushes you back onto the bed and you move backwards atop of it so Wanda can pull your dress from your hips. She tosses it onto the foot of her bed and runs her hands up your thighs as she straightens.

She delivers a spank to the side of your ass and with a swift wave of her hand, pushes the board games from her bed, sending them toppling down to the floor.

You move further backwards onto her bed and Wanda gets on. She starts at your knees, parting your thighs slowly as she moves up your body. 

Wanda nips at your inner thighs, sucking at your skin and running her tongue up anywhere she could. Her hands find your ass again and she lifts you up from the bed momentarily so she could nudge her nose against your clothed clit. She grins at your muffled whimper and nips at your hip teasingly. She peppers wet kisses up your stomach and up to the valley of your breasts.

Her hands on your ass move up your body and find the clasp of your bra, taking it off and tossing it somewhere behind her. She gropes your breasts with both hands and moans appreciatively. She pinches your nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

Her grin widens. “Look how cute you are, huh?” she muses and plays with your tits in her hands, massaging them thoroughly and tugging at your nipples.

Straddling your hips and rolling them forward slightly to rub her clothed pussy against your thigh, Wanda pushes your breasts together and leans down to flick her tongue across each of your nipples. She kisses your breasts and then your painfully erect nipples, making you shudder. Her lips wrap around one of your buds, suckling at you and raking her teeth against you.

Your back lifts from the bed, pushing your breasts further against Wanda’s face as you moan out. Her free hand gropes your tit, her thumb having a particularly enjoyable time playing with your nipple.

“Feels good, baby?” she asks, looking up at you.

You hum out in response because you can’t manage any real words.

Wanda grins at your incapacity and switches breasts. Her saliva cools your other nipple in her mouth’s wake. Her other hand takes hold of one of yours and brings it up to your breast, making you fondle yourself.

The speed of her hips quicken and Wanda’s lips release from your nipple to moan out, her exhale warm against your skin. She straightens herself and moves to sit on your lower stomach, detaching her cunt from your thigh. You can see a darkened patch of her slick against her red panties.

She reaches back and unclips her bra.

Your cheeks and ears become warm as her tits push against your face when Wanda leans down and kisses your forehead. 

“Touch mommy’s breasts, puppy. Don’t be shy,” she utters against your forehead before sitting up and running her hands up your chest.

You reach up and press your hands to her breasts like she asked, fingers squeezing around them and making Wanda moan out. Her hips begin rolling forward against your stomach as she craves friction once more.

She squeezes your tits again, paying special attention to your hardened buds. 

Then Wanda reaches forward, her breasts only mere inches from your face once again. You hear her dig through her nightstand while you hold onto her shoulders, looking up at her face. She smiles over at you appreciatively when you kiss the side of her breast.

When she closes the nightstand and sits up, she’s holding some type of harness and a rather large black dildo. She watches your expression closely, smiling at the shock that comes over you. “Interested, my sweet girl?” she asks you with a quirked eyebrow.

You swallow nervously and Wanda slips off the bed. You watch her slip her panties off and run a few fingers through her cunt. She leans forward and sticks them into your mouth. You wrap your lips around her fingers immediately. 

She curls them in your mouth and you suck from them eagerly.

Wanda smiles and slips her fingers out once they’re cleaned of her juices. She strokes your cheek then pulls away to finish inserting the dildo and strapping the harness around her hips. 

When Wanda mounts the bed again and straddles your hips, she lays her cock across your lower stomach. Her hand reaches down between the two of you and pulls your panties down your legs.

Cold fingers press against your bare cunt and a small smile forms on Wanda’s lips at the shudder that runs through your body at the contact. She draws wide circles against your clit, her middle finger slowly entering and exiting your hole. She traces your opening with the pad of her finger while her free hand plays with your hair.

“You’re so pretty, Y/N,” she says, looking down at your naked body. Her fingers release their hold on your hair and she runs her fingers through the valley of your breasts all while you squirm below her. “So perfect. These beautiful tits and your young body. Gods, even at your age, I never looked like this.”

“You’re…” you manage to say through your whimpers, “... beautiful too, Wanda.”

She smiles at that but her thoughts are indiscernible. 

Now thoroughly saturated with your cum, Wanda wraps her hand around her cock, jerking it softly and coating it with your juices. Moving her hips back slightly, she positions herself against your opening. 

She lowers herself to your face, your breasts pushed up against hers as she kisses the tip of your nose. 

You feel her begin to enter you and a surge of panic quickens your heartbeat. “W-Wanda, no, it’s too big,” you plead, turning your head to look at her as she buries her nose against your cheek. 

“It’ll fit,” she presses.

“No, it won-”

You’re cut off as Wanda’s hips advance forward. You feel yourself begin to stretch out for her and your eyes shut tightly. You’re wet enough for her to glide against you, but you can’t stretch enough for her- she’s too big. It won’t fit. She’ll break you in half.

“Wanda, please!” you cry against her.

“Mommy,” Wanda corrects, hissing against your temple, “will make it fit. Just be a good girl and stay still.”

Your face contorts into something tight and anguished.

Once Wanda fits her tip past your opening, her speed of entering you quickens and you cry out, reaching up and trying to push her off of you.

She raises her hand to your breast and slaps it harshly, making you pull away from her and withdraw your arms. She gropes it, fingernails digging into your skin. 

“Do not move,” Wanda commands, each word thumping heavily against your ears as she speaks from beyond clenched teeth. She releases your breast and takes a hold of both of your wrists before holding them up above your head.

“I’m not above tying you down, Y/N,” she jests with a grin though you know her words are more than partially true. The words send a chill up your spine and you feel a shameful sense of warmth spread through you despite yourself.

She buries her face in your neck and kisses her way up to your ear. “Just relax, my beautiful girl. It’ll hurt less,” she hushes. “Mommy will take good care of you.” 

Her lips wrap around your lobe and she sucks softly at the flaccid skin. Her warm saliva cools your skin in the wake of her lips when Wanda moves towards your face. Her nose rubs against your temple, then her cheek against your own as a mother would her young. 

Her lips are pressed against your cheek and she continues to whisper soft praises and words of encouragement against your flushed skin, her warm breath cocooning you in a snug embrace.

Your hips finally come into contact with Wanda’s and you whimper. Every movement you make creates a pressure in the base of your spine, reminding you that you have the largest cock you’ve ever taken deep inside of you.

“Ah, do you see?” Wanda coos. “You took it all.”

With a shaky exhale, you nod. You open your eyes to see Wanda smiling down at you warmly and you suddenly feel extremely proud of yourself.

She kisses you tenderly and utters against your lips, “You’re such a smart girl. So bright,” she murmurs. “Mommy knows how to take care of you, doesn’t she?”

You nod with a happy smile and kiss her again.

Wanda laughs softly through her nose and kisses the space between your eyebrows when you part from the kiss. “Now, I don’t want to see you disobey me again. You ought to know how helpless and dumb you are without me. Good smart girls listen to their mommies,” she instructs.

“Yes, mommy. Wanna be a good girl,” you affirm, wiggling joyfully underneath her. The pressure of Wanda’s cock returns as you wiggle your hips so you stop immediately, though you feel an urge to buck your hips upwards to see what it would feel like.

“That’s what I like to hear,” she praises and pecks your lips, her tone suddenly maternal. She sits up again and takes hold of your hips with both hands, pulling you forward so the lower half of your body rests atop her lap. 

She pulls your ass against her lower stomach, her hips moving forward and moving her cock deep inside you.

You squirm and only feel it deeper within you, her strap stretching you out as it moves either way while fitting snugly between your walls. 

Then Wanda begins thrusting forward. With your thighs wrapped weakly around her waist, she thrusts her hips against your ass. 

Your head falls back against the pillow and your eyes screw shut at the immense pressure that forms at the base of your spine.

“Fuck, malyshka,” Wanda grunts, “you’re tight.” She places her hand on your lower stomach, drawing soothing circles there with her palm. The act relaxes you slightly and Wanda quickens her thrusts. 

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and restrain a cry. “Mama, too big…” you slur out, grasping at the bed sheets underneath you.

She responds, “You’ll take it, fucking slut.” Wanda pulls out of you suddenly and flips you onto your stomach. With her hands on your hips, she tugs you forward and sticks your ass into the air. She enters your cunt again and you cry out into a pillow. But Wanda does not take precautions she previously did. Her hips pick up speed and she slams forward into your ass repeatedly.

The slapping of skins mingle with the sounds of your muffled cries and Wanda’s grunts.

With the last fragments of capability you have to think independently, you hope desperately that none of the guests downstairs come through the door. You don’t realise how far ahead Wanda had planned when she first took you upstairs, nor the fact that she locked the door.

Your cries steadily turn into moans of pleasure if not fucked out of you with each thurst against your ass. Your hands unclench from the bed sheets but your face is still pressed into Wanda’s pillow. 

Her front presses against your back and Wanda’s groans exhale against the side of your neck.

“Tell mommy you love her cock,” she instructs, then kisses your shoulder.

Your words are slurred against the pillow as you answer, “I love your cock, mama.” You move your head so your lips are exposed to the air and your repeated words can be heard more clearly, but what comes out is no more discernible than before.

Wanda kisses the side of your neck and straightens. This time, she takes you with her, pulling you up so you’re sitting on her lap, your back still pressed against her front. Your knees are on the outer sides of Wanda’s, your legs spread as you sit on her lap. 

You can feel her nipples grazing against your back as Wanda thrusts upwards into you.

With this position, your moans are expelled into the room that already seems to you to be muggy with the scent of sex and the hot pants from the two of you.

She buries her face in your neck, wrapping her lips around your pulse and sucking. She bites down on another spot, causing you to cry out and jerk forward. But she wraps her hands around your waist, keeping you in place.

Her eyes dart down to your bouncing breasts, and with an amused and nearly sadistic smirk, she slaps one of your tits, and then the other. You hear her chuckle against your neck between your yelps. Both hands then grope your breasts, massaging harshly and twisting your nipples callously. 

“Mama, no, that hurts,” you whimper pathetically, squirming on her lap.

Wanda hums, uninterested in your pleading. She kisses your shoulder. “Mommy hurts you because she loves you, puppy,” she says. 

One of her hands moves down to your lower stomach. Her hand brushes over the bulge there, feeling the way it pushes against her hand with every one of her thrusts into your pussy. The heel of her hand presses down without warning. Immense pressure shoots through you and makes your clit throb.

You cry out and you feel your walls squeeze around Wanda’s cock. A different kind of pressure that you can’t quite discern forms in your lower stomach.

“My pretty brainless fucktoy,” Wanda coos into your ear. 

You feel warm pride bloom within you, but you can only manage a garbled, “Thank you, mommy.”

“I want to fill you with my children,” she pants into your ear. Her hips quicken as she continues, evidently turned on by what she’s saying. Your body jerks on top of her lap helplessly, your breasts bouncing at each harsh thrust and making it impossible for Wanda not to continue playing with them.

“Come in your pussy and fill your tight hole full of my hot cream,” she says. “I want you to carry my children. I want to see your pretty belly full of my puppies, to see our babies as cute as you. I want to come home from work to fuck my adorable little housewife dumb, until you can only take more of my seed, filling you over and over like the willing little breeding bitch you are.” 

Wanda reaches up and takes the lower half of your face into her hand harshly. She turns your head and kisses you. Despite her words and the harsh way she’s fucking you, despite the brusing handling of your breasts and the bites she delivered to your neck, her kiss is soft and possessive, her lips moving against yours in soft embraces as if worshiping them.

“You’ll be mommy’s precious cockwhore. I’ll fuck your pussy whenever it pleases me. If you’re angry with mama, if you’re sleeping, if we’re out together- I won’t spare any mercy in taking you for my own,” she grunts with the effort she’s putting into fucking you. “From now on, you’re mine.”

Her hand reaches down and she brushes three fingers side-to-side against your clit, sending you throttling forward and closer to your orgasm. 

Wanda kisses up your neck adoringly, nipping where she can and sucking at your skin soothingly. “Come for mommy, moya lyubov,” she whispers against your cheek then kisses it. “Let me see my perfect little girl.” Her free hand rounds your waist. The heel of her hand presses into your tummy bulge and her fingers pick up speed.

The indiscernible pressure in your lower stomach from earlier suddenly flowers, and at the slightest taste of your orgasm, it comes into fruition. You wince and hide your face in the mess of Wanda’s sweet-smelling hair, and a warm burst of release streams out of you.  

Wanda inhales sharply and her lips part from your neck so she can look down your body where you’re pissing all over her lap.

Your body is fatigued and now acting on its own without any conscious thought, leaving you to Wanda’s mercy as she takes your body for her own. In your complete abandonment of independence, it’s only Wanda who’s holding you up and keeping you warm.

“Oh, Y/N,” she whispers, in awe at your release. Her lips form into a grin and she kisses you. Her hand wraps around her dick, carefully pulling it out of your pathetically wet hole. She lets go of her cock and she slowly slides her hand up your cunt, allowing her hand and fingers to be soaked by your piss. “That’s a good, good girl. That’s right. Just let go, baby.”

Your cries release in short, trembling whimpers and Wanda kisses up your cheek. She presses a kiss to your soft lips.

While you quiver on her lap, your walls clenching hard around nothing and getting used to being empty after taking mommy’s thick cock, Wanda unfastens her strap from around her hips.

She lays you down carefully, onto your back. She kisses your breast, lips grazing your nipple and making you shudder. She watches you pant and squirm weakly with a smile as she slips the harness from her ankles and lays it on the edge of the bed.

The bed dips around you as you slip in and out of sleep. When the bed dips by your head, you open your eyes and find yourself looking up at Wanda. Even while dazed, you’re struck by the sight of her- her cascading hair and her breasts, the plain of her stomach and the creamy white porcelain shade of her soft skin.

Wanda caresses your cheek with her hand and when her knee brushes against your ear, you realise they’re on either side of your head. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you say suddenly, looking up at the older woman with nothing but admiration in the glints of your eyes.

She smiles, though from the angle you’re laying at, you can’t see the soft blush that forms across her face at your words.

Unlike before, it seems that Wanda does believe in the genuinity of your words. It reaches her, embracing her in a way she hasn’t been in years.

“Thank you,” she answers, stroking her thumb across your cheekbone. Then she lowers herself, her cunt pressing up against the lower half of your face.

She throws her head back immediately, one hand going to grip at the headboard and the other grasping at your hair painfully. A long moan escapes her and Wanda begins rolling her hips forward and back.

You part your lips, immediately taken by the taste of her pussy. You dart your tongue out and allow Wanda to ride the stiff muscle. She jerks her hips to the side slightly, teasing her clit and making her clench around nothing.

When the tip of your nose nudges against her sensitive bud, Wanda shudders and chases the feeling quickly, rolling her hips further up and now riding your face steadily. You take your breaths in time with the rolling of Wanda’s hips when your nose is uncovered.

Your lips, chin, and nose are completely coated in her cum, and you feel it begin to glaze your cheeks over in its sticky coating too. Your lips make a circular shape against her cunt, allowing you to suck at her hole then at the rim of it, which Wanda finds particularly pleasurable, evident by the way her thighs tighten around your head.

“Fuck, puppy…” she moans. “So… good. You’re talented.”

With a jerking motion, you turn your head and create a certain friction against Wanda’s pussy that makes her screw her eyes shut and huff out.

The tip of your tongue raises and teases at her hole before delving into her. With her clit pressed down against your nose, Wanda reaches her hilt. Her fingers grip at your hair painfully, pulling you up against her pussy. Her thighs tremble and a melody of pleasured moans and pants mingle.

She climbs off from sitting on your face and sits beside your hip, one leg on the bed and the other dangling off of it. Her thumb runs across your cheek. “What a mess you’ve made of yourself, Y/N,” she states, her voice a low thrum. “Let me clean you up.”

While you doze off in her bed, an indefinite amount of time passing, Wanda soon returns in a red silk robe that only just covers her ass after having redone and retouched her own makeup. She takes a seat at the edge of the bed. She leans over you and with a cool soft cloth, wipes your smudged makeup off.

Her elbow is holding herself up while she pets your head with her free hand. She wipes your makeup and the beads of sweat from your face.

Once she finishes, she lays the cloth on her nightstand and looks down at you. She kisses your face, slowly, all over your forehead and cheeks, your closed eyes, your chin, and finally, your lips. 

“There we go,” Wanda whispers. She touches your face with her fingers while watching you slowly awaken from your brief nap. “You’re very pretty, Y/N. You’re so young…” she says quietly, looking down at you with a small smile, “and your skin is so soft.”

You finally open your eyes and Wanda’s smile widens.

Subtle, muffled music plays downstairs.

“They must be getting close to the end of the movie,” Wanda says. She places her hand between your breasts and draws invisible shapes on your chest with the tips of her fingers. “It's one of my favourites. I won’t spoil it for you. I think we should watch it together, just the two of us.”

The soft hymn continues to play downstairs. 

“I love this song too,” she adds. “Come dance with me. Then we can get ready to join the others again.” Wanda stands from the bed and, while you sit up, retrieves a soft fleece blanket from her closet. She returns to you and wraps it around your shoulders.

You stand from the bed and Wanda pulls you against her chest, her arms wrapped around your shoulders and back, keeping you cocooned by the warm blanket. She tucks your head under her chin. 

“Thank you for what you said earlier, Y/N,” Wanda whispers. “Those were very kind words. I’ll treasure them eternally.”

You nuzzle your face against her chest. “I meant it,” you say.

“I know.”

Wanda cradles the back of your head with her hand, her fingers scratching gently at your scalp. She hums along with the barely-audible music downstairs while the two of you sway in the middle of her bedroom.

[sky-kiss]

Can't Have Mornings without a Sun

A/n: @molinaesque asked for some soft!Raph/Tav, and I'm cold so like. I dunno. Here's whatever this is.

R/T: This is fine in the winter. It won't fly in the summer, devil boy.

Did a devil dream?

Tav thinks she read something about it once, years prior. A lifetime ago. The words are lost, but the sentiment remains. They didn't. Devils didn't dream, sleep, or eat; they were beyond or divorced from humanity. 

Raphael dreams. 

She frowns, pushing up on her elbow to observe him. His nudity is somehow the most negligible intimate factor in the equation; it's his wild hair, the little huffs of breath bordering on a snore, and the way his mouth falls open ever so slightly in sleep. It's humanizing in a way Tav knows he'd despise. She reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The cambion grumbles, turning his face into her pillow. He doesn't stir. 

That surprised her; Tav had expected him to sleep lightly. 

She's afforded some time to think here in the early morning hours. The sunlight cuts through the bedroom window in jagged diagonals, only just falling over the bed. It'll be a half hour at least before it reaches her, and the light seems content to linger across her lover's nude form, bisecting his thighs and abdomen. She drags her nails across this dividing line, chuckling when Rapahel shifts. He grumbles something, shuffling nearer. It's a difficult task. In sleep, he's tactile. Her head remains pillowed on his arm (it must be numb by now), one of his legs hooked over her hip. In the grand scheme of things, she supposes it's possessive or instinctual. Technicalities that she'll argue at a later date. For now, all that matters is she's warm; he's here. 

And that's odd, too. In all Tav's imaginings, Raphael took his leave immediately after their first coupling. He would kiss her hand, thank her for her service (perhaps with a wink), and leave her cold. And yet.

She frowns, stroking his cheek. And yet, there's a dreaming devil in her bed. He's more mortal than he'd like to admit. Ageless, and yet there are crows feet near the corners of his eyes and laugh lines around his mouth. There's gray in his hair and dark bags from one too many sleepless nights. There are scars on his chest and ribs, and she wonders, not for the first time, what his life was like before they met. He's lived so long…thirty of her lives? Fifty? It's so much space to cover, so much weight. 

He is an odd thing. Tav struggles to quantify him, let alone understand. Her fingers tease back into his hair, nails scraping across his scalp. Touching him helps; it makes him feel…real. She's not deluded enough to call him soft, only handsome. So achingly handsome. 

"You're thinking," Raphael grumbles. He opens his eyes just long enough to glare, though the haziness robs the expression of its strength. "Loudly. A dangerous occurrence in your best moment, let alone before sunrise." 

Tav snickers. "Funny, I'd have expected you to be more of a morning person." 

"There are no mornings in Hell, pet." 

His tone remains petulant. Raphael reaches out for her shoulder. He shoves. It's enough to set her off balance; years of experience tell her to throw her weight into the motion instead of fighting it. Either way, she finds herself on her back, staring up at the ceiling first and Raphael shorting after. He presses up on his arms, settling himself between her legs before letting himself drop. Tav grunts as his weight drives the air from her lungs. 

"You deserved that," he says by way of apology, nosing into her throat. 

"Raphael?" 

"Sleep, little mouse. Or I will find a more suitable pillow." 

Tav rolls her eyes, ducking her head to kiss the crown of his skull. 

[hils79]

4 years ago today my dear friend @kpopingenue and I were talking and she sent me the MV for Wonderland because she liked it and thought I would too.

And, thus, my Ateez journey began.

I jokingly call it a slow burn relationship. I loved their music from the first time I listened to Wonderland but it took a few months before I checked out their albums and listened to their b-sides.

Even after that I still didn't know all their names (which is nothing against them, I'm the same with a lot of kpop groups I've been listening to for ages. I've been listening to Stray Kids for almost as long as I've been listening to Ateez and I still only know half the members).

Eventually, and I remember this clearly, in December 2021 I had a very vivid dream about buying Zero Fever Part 2 and I took that as a sign and ordered it as soon as I woke up.

It was funny because I knew some of the members at this point but not all of them and I had to text a photo of my photocards to a friend because I knew one of them was San, but I had no idea who the other one was (it was Yeosang).

After that, it became a pay day treat. Every month when I got paid, I'd treat myself to an Ateez album until I had them all. I now have at least one version of every album including all the Japanese ones.

And I finally sat down and watched a guide because if I was going to start collecting albums I should probably learn who everyone was.

Even after that I still struggled telling Yunho and Jongho apart for the longest time, and I have no idea why because now that I know them well I can see that they don't look anything like each other.

So, this carried on for a couple more years. I was happily collecting my albums and watching new MVs when they came out, but I still, for whatever reason, hadn't crossed the bridge into the fandom side of things. I was just quietly enjoying them by myself.

Then Will came out, and I don't know why, but that album rewired something in my brain. Suddenly I was fully obsessed. I watched Hongjoong's behind the scenes of Matz vlog, and suddenly I wanted to make gifs, but proper gifs not just a using a screen recorder which was all I'd ever done before.

I had an ancient version of Photoshop (which I have now upgraded) so I found a gif making tutorial for beginners. The gifs I made were very basic, but I had made them, and I was proud of myself for learning a thing.

Then I decided that to practice and learn new colouring styles, it would be fun to make gifs of all the Ateez MVs. So I did! It took a good few weeks of making a new set every evening, but I did it, and I can definitely see how I've improved as I've gone along.

And there we have it. 4 years from watching an MV to collecting albums to learning how to make gifs. And along the way I've reconnected with some old friends who love Ateez, and made some amazing new friends too. I went to my first ever cupsleeve in May, and I've been to a couple more since then, with another one on the calendar for later this month (happy birthday Mingi). And next time they come to the UK I am definitely going to try and get tickets, which will also make them my first kpop concert.

It's taken me a long time to get here, but the important thing is I made it.

Happy Ateez-versary to me!