#and this man would just shrug and grab it with a pair of tongs

[jaratedeguadalupe]

stuck with the idea that remus straight up takes cups from the sink with fucking dish soap in it, and casually puts coffee or fucking orange juice in it in the morning like he didn't just commit a war crime 

[avastrasposts]

Pickled Interruptions - a Pickled Peña Production

Hello!

As you've probably seen, we've been gearing up for a writing challenge these past few weeks - Pickled Peña! A brain child of some of my lovely friends here on Tumblr. Anyone who joins in will be added to the Pickled Peña Master List over at @pickled-pena and I cannot wait to see what everyone comes up with based on the prompts that were randomly selected.

Below the cut is my contribution. I ended up using an OFC I created for another fandom but there's no need for prior information about her to read this fic. I just wanted to bring her out to play again because she's such a firecracker and would give Peña a challenge.

There are no warnings for this fic, it's just a bit of spicy fluff, mentions of pickles, sticky floors and Peña's half hard dick because...you know...

“Daniels! No fucking pickles in the vodka orange!” Eve snapped at the new bartender on her shift as she grabbed a pair of tongs and picked the sad, floating cucumber from the orange juice. 

“Who the hell even hired you?” she growled at him as he shrugged and slid the drink over to the disgruntled looking patron on the other side of the bar. 

Eve sighed and went back to serving her side of the bar, keeping an eye on him from the corner of her eye. It was New Year's Eve, the busiest night of the year in any decent club but instead of making drinks and getting big tips, she was now babysitting the dumbass newbie. The imbecile further down the bar had been hired just yesterday to cover for a skinny kid, Lenny, who’d suddenly called in and claimed he had a broken leg. 

And she could see why Daniels had been hired, the cluster of women surrounding his section of the bar made it very evident. The man was undeniably good looking, his broad shoulders and narrow hips emphasized by the uniform worn by all the bartenders at the club, tight fitting black slacks, a white shirt open at the neck, rolled up sleeves and a black vest. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t say she was tempted, but she pulled her eyes away from his butt as he bent down to pick up a tumbler he’d dropped. It was a very good butt, but she had a job to do, and she could see almost every woman, and some of the men, stare at it when he turned around to grab whiskey from the top shelf. 

“Daniels!” she yelled, making him jump and almost drop the five hundred dollar bottle of bourbon he’d just grabbed. “We do not put JD Gold Medal in a fucking Jack and Coke,” she hissed at him as she took the bottle from his hand, “get a fucking grip, regular JD is just fine.” 

“Yes, boss,” he replied, grabbing the right bottle this time, pouring a much too generous measure into the glass as Eve rolled her eyes. 

“Put this back on the shelf when you’re done,” she snapped, “Considering your name I really thought you’d know more about Jack Daniels, Jack Daniels,” she scoffed at him and went back to her section of the bar.  

Javier Peña seethed under his breath as he poured the Coke into the glass, trying to remember his bartending crash course from two days ago. Who’s stupid fucking idea had it been to give him the alias Jack-fucking-Daniels? This last minute undercover thing was dicey as fuck as it was, even if was just to be reconnaissance to figure out when the next drug shipment this club was a front for would come in. He just needed to get a look at the office in the back, but so far the bossy know-it-all they’d stuck him with at the bar had gone back there herself every time something was needed from storage. 

He glanced over at her, she was leaning over the counter, smiling at some clearly drunk blonde guy, the open buttons of her white shirt straining against her cleavage, giving the man a perfect view. And he was taking advantage of it, not even attempting to hide the way he was staring at her breasts. But judging by the generous tip he gave her when she passed him his drink, it had been worth it. And he had to give it to her, she had the looks to make all the men at the bar hang on to her every movement as she swiftly made their drinks. He had noticed that most of the men were on her side of the bar, and the women on his side. He didn’t mind, he just wished he was as fast as her when it came to making drinks. He fucking hated having to ask her for instructions, her barely contained eye rolls becoming more and more pronounced the further the night went. But she was right, he wouldn’t have fucking hired himself either, the only drink he knew was whiskey, neat. 

Javier had tried flirting with Eve, hoping to get some information from her while she showed him where everything was in the bar before opening on his first night the day before. 

“The ice is here, it usually needs to be refilled once a night if it’s busy. The big ice machine is next to the storage room out back,” she thumbed behind her to the door, “but I’ll handle that. You just keep the patrons happy for now.” 

“How about keeping you happy,” he smiled, wiping his thumb over his bottom lip, “I don’t mind carrying the heavy stuff for you, cariño.” 

“Yeah, thanks, I can handle myself,” she snorted, turning away from him and nudging the bar fridge with the toe of her shoe, “This is where we keep any garnishes for the cocktails, we’ll need to cut up some more during the night so keep an eye on how much we have left.” 

“So, you’ve been doing this long? You seem to know your way around a bar,” he asked as he leaned on the counter next to her, making sure he was down on her level as he smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of her copper red hair behind her ear. She swatted away his hand and he chuckled, “Feisty, jus-” 

“If you say what I think you're about to say about redheads and temper, just shut it,” she snapped at him, her eyes flashing, “I’ve heard every possible variation.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he grinned, holding up his hands in surrender as she turned on her heel and stalked off to the other side of the bar, grabbing the dish cloth and throwing it at him with a flick of her wrist. 

“You’re on dishwasher duty, don’t fuck up.” 

He caught it mid air before it hit his face, sauntering after her as she pulled up the hood of the dishwasher.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be less predictable in the future,” he grinned and changed his tact, giving her a softer smile this time, leaving some space between them, “I’ve always had a soft spot for redheads, never dated one though,” he said, tilting his head as she scowled. He was making sure to keep his eyes on her face and not let them drift down to where the shirt of her uniform opened up. 

“Good for you;” she replied, pulling out the tray of clean glasses and pointing to them, “They need to be dried or they’ll have water stains, get to it.” 

“Yes, boss.”

“And put them with the other clean glasses when you’re done,” she pulled down the hood again and started turning away but Javier put his hand out to stop her.

“Wait, I apologize, I was an ass, I didn’t mean to come on so strong,” he gently put his hand on her upper arm, careful to not grab her, just let it rest there as he gave her his most sincere look, “but if you get an evening off, I’d like to make it up to you and take you out, just for a drink or something.” 

He smiled at her again, keeping it soft and honest looking as he removed his hand from her arm, “I’m serious, you’re a beautiful woman and clearly a much better bartender than me, and I’d like to get to know you. If you’ll let me.” 

He kept his eyes on her as he stopped talking, reading her face for any tell tale signs of her softening but she wasn’t budging. 

“I don’t date bartenders,” she smirked, picking up an empty tray and leaving the bar area. 

“Make it your New Year’s resolution to try something new and date one?” he called after her with a grin as she began collecting dirty glasses

“Not dating bartenders is my New Year’s resolution,” she threw back at him over her shoulder. 

The first night at the bar had been a disaster and the second was shaping up to be even worse. The bar was quickly getting packed with people out to celebrate New Year’s Eve and it was all hands on deck. Eve cursed as she saw Daniels attempt a gin and tonic, adding far too much tonic as the guest protested. To adjust he poured more gin into the tall glass and made the G&T strong enough to knock out a bull. 

“Daniels!” Eve called, jerking her head in the direction of the back door, “We’re gonna need two new kegs of Stella, get ‘em for me. Patty, take over for Daniels, we’ll be faster without him.” 

Javier tried to look pissed off but in reality this was what he’d been hoping for. Handing the G&T to Patty, who gave him a dirty look, he left the bar and hurried towards the backdoor. If he moved quickly he’d get a few minutes to snoop around. 

The backdoor led to a large storage room, the kegs were stacked in a corner. But at the other end of the room was another door that led to a hallway, and at the end of that, the office. Javier knew this since they’d managed to pull the blueprint of the building from city hall, and now he quickly grabbed a keg and brought it back to the bar. 

“Gonna take a few minutes for the next one, I knocked some shit over, I need to clean it up,” he told Eve, shrugging as she rolled her eyes at him, handing a patron a bright cocktail. 

“Just hurry up, Daniels.” 

“Yes, boss.”

Javier turned and hurried back to the backdoor, closing it behind him and shutting out some of the loud music from the night club, the dull thud of the base reverberating through the walls. 

The office was locked but the cheap mechanism easily gave in and Javier slipped inside, scanning the room for any paperwork. He quickly got to work and flicked through a stack on the desk, moving on to opening the drawers when he found nothing. Next was a thick ledger on the bookshelf and bingo! Tucked between the pages were several shipping manifests, certain rows underlined. The next ship was due in three days. With a satisfied grunt Javier slapped his hand on the ledger. 

The door to the office swung open and Javier froze by the desk, staring at Eve who looked at him with annoyance written clearly across her face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she snarled, her hand slipping behind her waist in a movement Javier knew far too well, his hands shot up immediately as she pulled a gun from the back of her pants. 

“Nothing, boss, I was just looking for the pay statements, I think Patty’s stealing my tip,” he bullshitted and he knew she hadn’t bought a word. 

“Bollocks, Peña, you’re fucking DEA and you’re messing up my case.” 

Javier felt his mouth fall open as she moved across the office, coming to stand next to him and looking at the shipping manifest. 

“How the fuck do you know?” he finally spat out as she ran her finger over the rows he’d just scanned. 

“Because I’m CIA, and you’re the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever met.” 

“That doesn’t explain it,” Javier replied, “How are you CIA? You’re a bartender!”

“I wasn’t always CIA,” Eve tapped one of the rows, “This one, that’s the one I’m after, and I’m guessing they’re bringing in drugs on it too? Since you’re here?” 

“Yeah, that’s one, the same one we’ve seen three times before. Just didn’t realize it’d be coming in this week.” 

Eve looked over at him and rolled her eyes, “If the DEA put a bit more effort into their cases you’d know that this ship comes in exactly every twenty-one days, always from one of three ports. But they rendezvous on international waters with a ship from Colombia and transfer over their goods. We’ve had our eyes on the girls they bring at the same time, usually about ten poor things dreaming of a better life, but it makes sense for them to bring in drugs the same way.” 

“But how do you know I’m DEA?” Javier asked again and Eve closed the ledger with a snap and put it back on the shelf. 

“Because Lenny ‘breaks his leg’ and you’re magically available two days before New Years, the busiest night of the entire year. Any bartender has been booked months ago. But you’re also the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever seen,” she shook her head, tucking her gun back in the back of her pants. “So I lifted your prints and did a run, Javier Peña, DEA. I like to know who I’m working with.” 

“Well, fuck…” he huffed, “let’s hope no one else is a thorough as you, CIA.” 

Eve gave him a crooked smile, “No one rarely is, Peña.” 

“So these guys traffic women too and that’s why you’re here?” he asked as Eve moved to open the office door and he followed behind her. 

“Yeah, my boss has been on them for months and got a tip off about this place a few weeks ago, I’ve been undercover here since.” The hallway was empty and they moved out, Javier carefully closed the door behind them, making sure it locked again. 

“You had me fooled,” he chuckled, “I thought you were in with them, that’s why I asked you out, to see if I could get you to spill.” 

“Sure that’s why you asked me out,” Eve smirked, “Had nothing to do with the fact that this ridiculous uniform shirt is open halfway to my belly button.”

“That may have been a deciding factor in choosing my mark,” Javier grinned as they started making their way back to the bar. Suddenly the music from the club increased in volume, the door of the storage room was thrown open and over the sound of the music, they heard heavy footsteps. 

“Shit,” Eve hissed, “we’re not supposed to be back here! Quick, in here!” She grabbed Javier’s arm and pulled him in through a door halfway down the hallway and quietly closed the door. The room was a small storage space, jars of cocktail garnishes mixed with cleaning agents stacked on the floor. The space was cramped and Eve found herself pressed up against Javier’s chest as he squeezed in and closed the door quietly behind them. 

“You’re on my foot,” he hissed, shifting, his hands on her hips to move her to the side. 

“Stand still, they’re coming,” she whispered back at him, grabbing on to his arms to keep her balance as her foot knocked against a jar on the floor. The footsteps echoed through the hallway and passed the door, as they held their breath. 

“Wait outside,” came a gruff voice that Eve recognised as Mason’s, the guy who ran the club and was, supposedly, second in command. 

“Yes, boss,” came the surly reply as the door to the office clicked open and shut. Eve tried to keep her breathing as quiet as possible as she and Javier listened to the shuffling boots of the henchman outside the office door, efficiently trapping them in the storage room. 

Javier was uncomfortably aware of how her soft breasts were pressed up against his chest, her hands on his arms to keep her steady. The top of her head was just by his cheek and with each inhale he could smell the light flowery scent of her shampoo. It reminded him of springtime back home and without meaning to, he inhaled deeply and held his breath, closing his eyes. He shifted his body weight, his hands on her hips sliding up every so slightly as the warm press of her body made his cock twitch. 

She shifted next to him, her hips brushing against what could only be his half hard length, hearing a low intake of breath from above as he adjusted his stance. Pressed up against him, her nose was right next to the soft looking skin of his neck, a smattering of freckles visible in the dim light. She could feel him inhaling softly above her and she did the same, catching his aftershave and fresh sweat from the long shift. She carefully tilted her head up, watching his lips part as his tongue came out to wet his plush bottom lip, before he slipped it back inside, meeting her eyes as he looked down at her. 

In the hallway the office door opened and closed again. 

“Alright, all under control for tonight, get Jones and head on over there an-” 

The crash of a glass jar interrupted the man’s orders as Eve cursed under her breath, somehow the stacked jars by their feet had toppled over and now the vinegar smell of pickle juice filled the storage room. 

“What the fuck is going on, check that room, Mendez!” 

Javier grabbed Eve’s face between his hands and pressed her against the wall, his lips on hers a split second before the door was yanked open. He groaned loudly into her mouth, rolling his hips into her soft belly and thanked her quick mind as she pulled him closer by his arms, whimpering against him.

“I don’t fucking pay you for fucking in the storage room!” Mason yelled and Javier yanked himself away from Eve as if they’d just been caught red handed. 

“S-sorry, boss,” Eve stuttered, smoothing down her shirt as Mason growled. 

“Clean this fucking mess up and get back to work, I’m docking both your pays for this. And for the pickles!” 

The door rattled as he slammed it shut, leaving the two of them in the dark again. Javier still had his hands on her face and she was holding on to his arms, exhaling slowly as the footsteps faded down the hallway. 

“Quick thinking, Peña,” she said, looking up at him in the dim light with a smile.

“I hope you won’t judge my kissing skills on that,” he grinned, “I had planned to give you a much nicer first kiss if you’d said yes to that date.” 

“You’re telling me that wasn’t your best work?” Eve asked, taking in the way his eyes dropped to her lips before finding her eyes again. Her hands were still on his biceps, the warmth from his body seeping into her palms as his muscles flexed and moved.  

“Not even close, honey,” his smirk was audacious as he leaned in again, bending down towards her lips, waiting for her to make the final move or pull away. He didn’t need to wait long, her grip on his arms tightened as she moved closer. Her lips were soft when she pressed them against his, parting slightly as he gave her a light kiss, capturing her bottom lip between his own, moving slowly. He felt her open her mouth for him, her tongue touching his lip and he pulled her closer, his fingers sliding into her hair, cupping the back of her head as he deepened the kiss and she responded with a moan. 

The small space reeked of pickle juice, it was sticky under her shoes, she could hear Peña’s shoes slosh in it as he pushed her up against the wall. But his big hand, cupping her head, his warm lips over her own, all conscious thought melted away. Even those about how he really was a DEA prick who couldn’t mix a drink to save his life. At the back of her mind, her conscience hissed at her; ‘unprofessional’. But a much larger part of her brain was drowning in the way his tongue licked into her mouth, and the way his hands felt holding her against him as the evidence of his own excitement grew between them. 

He groaned into her mouth, rolling his hips against her and she gasped for air, before pulling him closer. 

“Please, cariño, tell me you’ll let me take you on that date,” Javier mumbled against her as she kissed the corner of his mouth, moving her lips along his jaw, “I’m not about to fuck you in a storage cupboard, so I need to take you on that date.” 

Her teeth scraped across his neck and he hissed as she sucked a mark into the thin skin, his fingers digging into her hips as he sought out any friction he could get. 

“I don’t think we need a date, Peña,” she mumbled, letting him tilt her head back and reciprocate the mark she’d left on his neck. He pushed her shirt to the side and found the soft skin over her collarbone hidden just out of sight. Eve curled her fingers through his hair as his mouth made her gasp into the dim light of the small room. 

Javi pulled away and straightened up, his hand sliding down from her hip, grabbing the round shape of her ass, pulling her core closer and letting her feel how hard he was as he looked at her, his dark eyes half closed, breathing heavily. 

“Javi,” he muttered, bending down to her open mouth again, “it’s Javi.” 

“Javi,” she mumbled, “I don’t think we need a date, but…” she trailed off as his teeth closed over her bottom lip and gently sucked it in as she moaned into his mouth. He shifted his weight, lifting his shoe from the sticky floor and pressed his leg between her thighs, feeling the heat of her core through the thin fabric of their uniform pants. 

“Fuck, Javi,” she gasped, the pressure of his thick thigh rubbing just where she needed him the most, but with a groan she pulled away from him, putting her hands on his warm chest and pushed him back, “Fuck, don’t, we’re never getting out of here if you do that.” 

“What’s the rush?” he chuckled, “Are you really gonna finish the bartending shift now that we have the shipping info?” 

“If we don’t, we’ll raise suspicion, better to finish it and leave normally,” Eve replied, trying to catch her breath as his dark eyes continued to trail over her lips, down her neck and the shirt he’d pushed open. 

He inhaled slowly, thinking while he lifted his hand and ran the tips of his fingers down her cleavage, caressing the soft skin, finding the lacy edge of her bra, the same white shade as the shirt. 

“You’re right, we should finish the shift,” he sighed, reluctantly removing himself from her warm body, carefully stepping back across the wet floor, “I’ll clean up in here, you get back to the bar, they’re probably swamped.” 

Eve nodded as Javi opened the door, letting them both out into the empty hallway, his hands still on her waist, reluctant to let go of her, now that he’d had a taste. 

“There’s a mop in the other room, and some rubbish bags,” she said as he followed her back towards the club, feeling him caress her hips, cupping her ass as they walked, giving it a light squeeze that made her throw a smile back at him over her shoulder. 

“Be careful, don’t cut yourself on the glass.” 

“I won’t, I’ll see you out there.” 

Javi cursed the sticky pickle juice, and sloshed water over the floor to get it all up once he’d picked up the pieces of glass. He glanced down at his watch as he tossed the trash bag in the bin and opened the door to the nightclub again, it was getting close to midnight. 

The place was swamped, people packed in on the dance floor, pushed up against the bar, where he could see Eve holding up a shaker, the vigorous movements making her breasts shimmy under the white shirt. The movement wasn’t lost on the three men hanging on the bar, all three of them clearly transfixed by her cleavage as she prepared their drinks. Hot jealousy shot up Javi’s spine, making him take longer strides, stepping up behind her as she placed the shaker on the bar counter. He scowled at the three men, staring them down as they pulled their eyes from Eve and were faced with his furious face right behind her. 

“Patty, quit slacking,” Eve called out, glancing over her shoulder down the bar where the tired looking brunette was leaning against the till, arms crossed, waiting for the bar helper to cut up orange slices. 

“I’m waiting for the oranges,” she snapped back at her as Eve accepted the bills from the three men and deftly took another order for a round of complicated sounding cocktails. 

“So take another order while you wait, the line is a mile long, how did it-” 

“What the fuck, you stand there and accuse me, but where you all this time?” Patty’s voice cut through the music of the club like a shrill fog horn, “You two were gone fucking ages, while we had to fight off this crowd!” She gestured at the throng of people by the bar, some of the patrons watching her angry face with glee, spoiling for a good shouting match behind the bar. 

Eve bit back her retort, Patty was right, she and Javier had been gone much too long and she knew the rest of the bar staff noticed. 

“It was my fault,” Javier said behind her, “I knocked over a couple of jars of pickles, had to clean them up and that pickle juice is a bitch to get off the floor.” 

Patty growled and swiped the orange slices off the cutting board, nearly knocking it to the floor as she stomped over to her section again. 

Eve put the last few drinks on to the bar as champagne corks started popping and the music was turned down. Across the nightclub people started to cheer as the manager, and a few of the  waiters, began handing out flutes to the guests as midnight approached. There’s temporary reprieve at the bar as the guests turned towards the small stage in the corner where the manager stood, next to the big screen tv streaming live from Times Square. 

Javier found Eve’s hand out of sight from the rest of the staff and pulled her with him, around to the back of the bar. Guests were still milling around but they’re all focused on the screen as they started chanting, counting down from ten. 

“A kiss at midnight, cariño?” Javi asked, pulling her into his chest, hands landing on her waist and her cheek, sweeping away a damp curl from her forehead. 

She didn’t reply, instead she smiled at him and cupped her hand around the back of his head and pulled his mouth down to hers. Around them the crowd shouted but the noise fades as he parted his lips and let her tongue in. She tugged gently at his curls, angling her face to better reach him and he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her up on her tiptoes so that he could taste her properly. 

The crowd cheered, loud yells of ‘Happy New Year!” erupted as the ball dropped, but it faded into the background as she let a low moan escape into his mouth and he felt her tongue lick into him. The music kicked off again, people began to dance, clinking glasses, hugging and kissing, but Javier let his hand cup her cheek, stroking his thumb over her soft skin, her body warm pressed up against his. Neither of them paying attention to the man who’s just spotted them from across the club as Patty waved at him, pointing in their direction.  

“Alright, that’s fucking it,” Mason yelled as he grabbed Javier’s shoulder and yanked him away from Eve, “You’re both fucking fired, and you can kiss your pay checks for the night good bye.”

He raised his hands to shove them both in the direction of the staff changing rooms, but pulled up short as he saw the furious look on Javier’s face, Eve’s hand on his arm to hold him back. 

Mason settled on growling; “Get the fuck out of my club, you fucking slackers, go make out on someone else’s dime.” 

“Gladly,” Eve scoffed, her hand sliding down and grabbing Javi’s, tugging him along as he scowled at Mason. 

It didn’t take long before they were both outside the club, back in civilian clothes, their bartending uniforms left behind. 

“So, any plans for the rest of the night, querida?” Javier asked, sticking his hands in his leather jacket, fishing out a packet of smokes. 

“A bodega sandwich and falling asleep on the couch,” Eve replied, shaking her head as Javi offered her a cigarette. 

“I was thinking,” he said, taking a first drag, “you said your New Year's resolution was to not date bartenders?” He tilted his head to the side and gave her a smirk as she chuckled, realizing where he was going with this. 

“Yeah, no bartenders,” she smiled and he grinned back. 

“Well, it seems I’m no longer a bartender…” 

“Thank god, worst bartender ever, Javi.”

“So how about that date, cariño?” 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Special Interest 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, age gap, creep behaviour, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You try to focus on your needles but find yourself distracted by your mother’s churlish cackles. Even with your music on, her performance rings through and Cole’s rocky undertones seep in. Why hasn’t he left yet? Ugh. You really can’t believe she invited him over. Or that your dad would let her.

You give up after having to redo several stitches. What a pair made in hell! Your mother is all about her fairytales and he’s a great panderer. Well, he’s old enough, maybe they should just be friends. You have no obligation to forgive him, not even tolerate him.

You lay down on your bed in defeat. You turn the music up from your phone and try to tune out reality. Billie Eilish can’t sing loud enough. 

As you reach a special reward on your favourite addictive merge game, there’s a knock at your door. You don’t answer as you go for the final match. The thumping gets louder and your mother hollers over the music.

“Dinner!” She barks, “turn that down.”

You get up and pause the music. You open the door and lean against it, “thought I wasn’t invited to dinner.”

“Can you be mature for one night?” She reproaches.

“I am, I’m minding my business,” you shrug.

“Please, honey, I never taught you to act like this when we have company.”

“Oh really, I’ll have to call up Aunt Gina–”

“Don’t say that name to me,” she snaps, “just come have dinner. And try to be nice.”

“What’s for dinner?” You ask.

“Pork chops, baked beans, and a veggie medley,” she announces.

“Fine,” you relent. You’re hungry enough to justify a plate.

You follow her downstairs, tucking your phone into your back pocket as you descend. You follow her into the kitchen and open the cupboard. Before you can slide a plate out, she closes the door, nearly catching your hand in it.

“What are you doing? Plates are on the table. Where we’ll be eating.”

“Mom,” you whine.

“Stop that,” she wags a finger at you.

You hold back a harrumph and keep from rolling your eyes until she turns away. You tramp after your mom into the dining room, keeping your gaze straight ahead. You pointedly ignore the stranger at the table. That’s what he is. You might know him but you have no desire to know that man.

Your father sits across from the intruder and you go to claim the seat next to him. Your mother tuts, “honey, I’m sitting beside your father.”

You pout and look at the other option, right next to… him. You drag your feet around the table and slide into the chair stiffly. You wait with your hands in your lap. You have a mission; eat and dip.

“Well, dig in,” your mother chimes.

You practice your patience well. Your mom will have no reason to reproach you. You wait for the man next to you to serve himself. After all, she sees him as a guest so it’s only right. 

As Cole takes a pork chop between the long tongs, he angles it over your plate, “this big enough?”

Your lashes flick up and you refuse to look at him or the cut, “sure.”

“Honey,” your mother hisses, “Cole, that is so sweet of you.”

“Well, my mom always taught me, ladies first,” he plops the chop down before he takes his own.

‘My mom…’ even you don’t talk about your maternal creator that much. He’s giving a very specific sort of vibe.

Your mother’s toe hits your calf and you wince. Her eyes flare and you clear your throat, “thank you,” you eke out.

“No problem,” he grabs the dish of beans, “how much?”

You weigh your response. You know what he’s doing. He’s trying to make you look bad. Joke’s on him, with your parents, that’s not that hard.

“Half a scoop is fine,” you utter.

He diligently serves you, finishing off with a heaping servings of veggies. Your stomach growls, betraying you just like your parents. You grab your fork as your father fills his plate in turn as he turns his attention on Cole.

“Lifesaver,” he praises, “that back-up was haunting me. Now the wife can’t nag about a broken sink.”

“Ah, it was easy,” Cole assures him.

“Wife says you come from a farm, must be handy,” your dad intones.

“Sure, you just sorta figure things out,” he slices into his pork chop and you poke at a piece of broccoli, “I’m more the green thumb type. My pa’s really the handy one. I just follow his lead.”

“Must be a good man,” your dad nods.

“I’m tryna learn as much from him as I can,” Cole agrees.

“Aren’t you like… forty?” You scoff.

Your mother drops her fork and gasps. Your father looks at you, appalled.

“Well, I mean, how much more can you learn?” You sniff, “probably learned it all by now, right?”

“Uh, yeah, he is getting older,” Cole answers grimly, “I gotta do a lot more of the heavy lifting.”

Your stomach sinks. Why did you have to say anything? You’re stupid and yet his preening was annoying. How did they not see some middle-aged dude who harassed a woman half his age in a bookstore because he thinks he knows better than a girl with a crochet book? Some big farm oaf.

“That wasn’t very nice,” your dad says, “why don’t you take a few lessons and apologise.”

“I…” you stammer and suck in your cheeks. You squint and stare at the joint of wall and ceiling, “sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“You can apologise to him and not the wall,” your dad girds.

You huff through your nose and put your fork down. You turn in your chair to Cole and grit down your agitation. Why don’t they care that he’s invaded your life in the weirdest way possible? No one is that helpful for no reason.

“I’m sorry that your dad is old,” you say tritely.

“That’s not–” your father begins.

“Go to your room,” your mom speaks over him, “now. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“You can’t just banish me to my room. I’m not a teenager,” you face her.

“You’re acting like one so go,” she demands.

“Gladly,” you slap your hands on the table and stand.

“It’s fine,” Cole says softly, making himself sound as pathetic as he can.

“It’s not fine, honey,” your mother insists and waves you out dismissively, “I am so sorry. You don’t deserve that after all you’ve done.”

You stomp out and shake your head. This is why your parents fell for that time-share. You’re the only one with sense and they refuse to see it.

[vivianquill]

Even when he went home that night, Impulse couldn't stop thinking about the mer he'd found.

It was one thing to find him washed up on the beach just outside, but it was another entirely to try and think about what the next while would look like, taking care of the merdude.

Zedaph was still at the rescue, and would be until either he or Skizz could get back. Impulse didn't want to chance anyone else finding out about the literal merman sitting in one of the recovery pools. They'd have to tell Xisuma eventually, probably sooner than Impulse might like to, but, well.

He didn't know what might happen if the rest of the rescue caught word of this, let alone the internet.

Impulse sighed, running a hand through his hair. Who knew that following Skizz down to the beach that fated dayyears ago would lead to-- well. This.

Either way, he needed to clean up, get some food, and then get some sleep. Zed wasn't a stranger to pulling all-nighters, so it wasn't odd for him to stay at the rescue, but still. Impulse wouldn't quite be able to breathe easy until he could see the mercreature again.

In the morning, Impulse grabbed a green tea for Zedaph on his way back to the rescue, handing it off with a bagel to the man as they 'swapped shifts'.

"Anything change during the night?" Impulse asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Nope. You should probably bring it some food though. Try fish, maybe? I bet it'd take that." Zedaph shrugged, taking a sip of his tea, "I'd use tongs though, wouldn't want those fangs to take a bite out of you."

"I'll be careful, Zed, don't worry." Impulse shook his head, "You should go get some sleep."

"Yep. Gotta finish up first, then it's off to bed with me."

"You better." Impulse called over his shoulder as he stepped out, going to grab a pair of tongs and some food for the merdude.

When he stepped into the recovery room, what Impulse found made him pause. Well-- it was more what he was hearing. The mer was chirping. It wasn't s loud that it could be heard outside of the room, but it certainly filled it, bouncing off the hard surfaces. To Impulse it sounded like a slurred mix of a dying fire alarm on fast forward and a baby dolphin calling for help.

Impulse stepped up to the edge of the pool, setting the pail down as he took in the sight.

The mer was curled up the best he could with all the bandages and the cast on his wrist, warbling. His eyes were glazed over, seemingly staring at nothing. His fins were all pinned tight to his body, like he was trying to hide.

The last thing Impulse wanted to do was startle an injured sea creature with fangs that looked like they could bite someone's finger clean off. So, he grabbed a catch pole from over against the wall, and dipped the end into the water next to the merman, nudging it against his tail.

Impulse was instantly glad that he hadn't stuck his hand into the water.

The mer lunged-- grabbing the pole with a screech and a splash and almost yanking it out of Impulse's hands.

He pulled it from the water a moment later, once the mer let go.

Impulse's jaw just about hit the floor, once he saw the bite marks. This particular brand of pole was made to withstand a bite from a shark. But now it was--

If that had been Impulse's hand, he would have just lost at least a couple fingers.

At least.

He was going to have to show this to Zedaph.

Well then. At least he had gotten the mer's attention, it was practically glaring at him now. Was that-- hissing? It was hard to tell with the distortion from water to air, but the way that tail was coiled--

The mer looked like a snake ready to strike.

Maybe feeding it would help with the situation? Impulse took the tongs and grabbed a fish from his bucket, slowly offering it until the fish touched the surface of the water. The mer's eyes narrowed, watching. It's mouth parted slightly-- was it able to smell it in the water? It wasn't reaching up to grab it.

So, Impulse gave the fish a little shake, before dropping it. And just in time, too.

Again, the mer lunged, snatching up the offending object. Impulse watched as it bit down on the fish, before seeming to realize that it was food.

Impulse let the mer eat for a moment, before dropping another fish into the pool. This was progress, at least. If it was eating, that meant it had a chance.

[joonlaksme]

October 31st

Seo Changbin × Footjob

Contains: exhibitionism(?), hints of Changbin being a m, mentions of alcohol and intoxication, afab reader who dresses up as a woman character, a little bit of CBT

Word Count: 1.5k+

Kinktober Masterlist

-

You lay your head back. The small voice in the back of your mind is telling you to leave before you regret doing or saying anything. “I’m not really in the mood to drink tonight, Binnie.” You mumble.

You’re sipping on a glass of water after he suggested some soju and beer. The thought of drinking alcohol after what happened last week makes you nervous. It seems you seriously become a different person under the influence. Thinking about last week has you worrying about how Changbin is feeling.

“Are you worried about something happening?” He picks up a pair of metal tongs, flipping the meat over and pressing it down a bit. Although it seems like he’s teasing you, he’s actually a bit clueless.

You stand up straighter and look at him, pursing your lips. When his eyes meet yours, he can’t keep eye contact for long and his sight adverts back to the ceiling with mood lighting and constellations. It seems that seeing you jogged his memory on what exactly occurred on Halloween day. You dressed up in something provocative. A full body suit of latex with the only skin really showing being your breast, pushed together and shown a generous amount. You could pull the zipper up but it wouldn’t be accurate to your costume like that. A whip was around your waist as well.

The main point was that you had a little too much to drink. You spoke your mind freely, conversing with Minho about your obvious attraction to Changbin. You mostly complained about the blatant signs you’ve been showing him, to no avail. He took them as jokes and maybe would even get a bit flustered before reverting back to the same ol’ Seo Changbin. When you caught the very man you were talking about in the corner of your eye, you couldn’t help stumbling towards him.

He was shocked when you had pressed your chest to his and fluttered your eyes. He got out the words ‘hey’ but he realized it wasn’t very like you, to so blatantly hit on him. Still, he wasn’t getting the message.

The most shocking thing was when you led his hands to take a handful of your breast in a party full of your friends. He wasn’t thinking clearly when it happened, hands still on them. You make him squeeze them, lip between your teeth. It’s not until you whisper something in his ear that he’s snapped out of it. No, this was not like you at all.

He held his breath and stepped away, slightly intoxicated as well, some of it being the alcohol in his red solo cup but mostly by the smell of your perfume.

He had to leave soon after that. You were told about what you did (with detail, from Minho) after sleeping over and with your splitting hangover, you were mortified. What were you going to say to your friend the next time you saw him? You swore to never drink that much ever again. You regretted avoiding Changbin for the rest of the week but you couldn’t handle thinking about what he’d say. Maybe a way to completely reject your crush or maybe he was so oblivious that he would shrug it off as a drunken mistake. That would really hurt.

But wasn’t that what you were doing now? “Listen…what happened that night, it was just a joke-“ and he cuts you off with his own words.

“Was it? I don’t think being dressed as cat woman and making me-“ he clears his throat, “squeeze your tits was a very funny joke.”

You open your mouth for a second and then you lean over. “You’re right. It wasn’t funny. It was wrong.” You guiltily press your lips together.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it or anything!” He gets out, waving his hands.

You grab the tongs out of his hand and take the meat off the grill. You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed seeing Changbin a little flustered. He could be bold when he wanted to, more often than not but when he was like this, you just wanted to tease him.

You slip off one of your flats. You could be bold without the influence of alcohol.

“Would you have preferred if I continued? Right there in the open for all of our friends to see?” You ask, leaning on one of your hands.

Right as he’s about to answer, your foot brushes against his leg and he lets out this squeak. The sound makes you want to laugh but you hold back. The people near you in other stalls look for a moment with confusion before carrying on their conversation. Changbin thinks you touching him under the table must’ve just been a mistake so he carries on to answer your question.

“I’m not really interested in having our friends witness something like THAT-!” Then he lets out another loud noise when your thin-socked foot drags up his leg. He’s wearing those really hot gray sweatpants that he knows you like. “Are you…doing that on purpose?”

You drag your tongue on your lower lip, completing it with this mischievous smile. You watch as he gulps comically.

“Then, what are you interested in?” You carry on the conversation as if nothing is going on under the table.

Changbin shuffles a bit in his chair. At first, he’s hesitant to say what’s on his mind but he spits it out: “…You.” Then he takes a spoonful of rice and meat into his mouth. You reward him with resting your foot between his legs, toeing at the fabric losing hanging from his crotch. It drags down again, caressing his thigh barley and he’s looking down and letting out the lightest sigh. “Are we really going to do this here…?”

“We haven’t been here long but of course I could stop if you aren’t comfortable.” You start backing away your leg but he puts his hand back on it.

“Don’t stop.”

“That isn’t very polite of you.” You finally press the curve of your foot on his crotch. “Let’s try that again. I think you’re missing the magic word.”

His eyes almost burst open. His jaw drops. “I didn’t know you were like this…”

You fake a pout. “That’s not the word.” And you put more pressure on him, feeling him twitch under the pressure.

He shuffles his hips up, “Please-please? I’m sorry.”

You use your finger to motion him to come closer. When he does, you have full access to getting him hard under your foot without gathering suspicion. You immediately get to work, stretching your toes over what you feel is the head and stroking him. His eyes shut almost immediately and his eyebrows dent down. It couldn't be any more obvious that he’s getting a foot job right now.

“Did you like the costume I wore?” You ask, stopping your motions so he can focus on your question.

He’s not stupid. As his eyes subtly open, he acknowledges that he knows you’re playing a game with him. “You kidding? I was drooling over it the whole party.”

You start your movements again and Changbin can’t help the choked out sound he makes. You fake concern as to lower suspicion to whoever may be looking into your booth, on their way to the bathroom. When another person walks by, you get curious and caress the head of his cock. He jilts in his seat and has to bite on his lip, scared he might let out a noise.

“What do you think about what I was wearing while I’m doing this?”

“If I do that, I might…y’know, early.”

“You liked it that much?” And then the heel of your foot is grinding on balls.

It’s meant as a punishment but the way he covers his mouth with one hand and grips the edge of the wooden table has you thinking it was closer to a reward. His arm flexes with his grip and you start to actually get concerned.

“You okay? Should we stop?” You take your hand over the table. He quickly takes a hold of yours and whimpers, intertwining them.

“Don’t. Was really close. Keep goin’.” He whispers with a slur in his words as if he’s already lust-drunk. It’s quiet enough so only you can hear it over the other talking.

Your strokes get more fluid, realizing that he might like it a little more rough than he’s leading on. So you get rougher with more pressure, more swivel, harder grip. You want to absolutely ruin him with this new information but you have to hold yourself back in public. You can’t help but feel a small rush at the thought of someone catching on to Changbin’s heavy breaths and realizing what’s actually going on. Of course, it would be embarrassing if it were to actually happen and Bin wouldn’t actually be comfortable about that.

Then you mouth the same words you whispered into his ear that Halloween night. His jaw slacks and it’s like he’s going to let out noise but instead, he’s silent as he cums in his pants. His eyes squeeze shut hard and he shakes with the impact of his release. It’s when he settles down and his watery eyes are begging you to stop that you do.

You slip your foot back into your shoe and point to the food. “Can you grill this one next?”

Drool is running down his lip as he sits in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss. His look makes you want to kiss him.

-

All likes, reblogs, and comment feedback are appreciated for stories like this. Friendly reminder that reblogs spread more than likes!

All rights are reserved © joonlaksme

[fablesofkitkat]

pov: making onigiri for Takami Keigo

✨slow burn, foodccentric, basically about food✨

synopsis: There's this small diner by the outskirts of Musutafu that Keigo enjoys. Sure, with his salary as a hero within Top 10, he could splurge more than average but there was something that drew him back to the old rickety diner, with worn out tables, shojis and the shinto altar by the wall.

tags: @goodnightlittleme @thunder-skull @milenas-welt @fandomenbylover @asras-sweetheart @talknerdytomexd @02sdoll @soft-lilith @vtte @diabolical-succubi @buttercupmuffin28-blog @nikki152006fanfictions @ramenaddicted @shadowzena43

Artist: @Takoyaki Tech

---

"Are you out of chicken dishes?"

   You looked up to see someone new. A man of average height with a slim and narrow build. He has feathery, ash blond hair, swept messily backward, with some of the front tufts sticking up in arcs above his head, notably thick eyelashes, and some faint stubble on his chin.

   His eyes are golden-brown and rather triangular, with two little black triangles just below his tear ducts, making his eyes somewhat resemble those of a bird. His Quirk is obvious with him having a set of large bright red wings with feathers on his back.

   He wears a black shirt with a wavy golden pattern like a ripple in a pond, over which he has a tan jacket with a high collar, the insides and cuffs of the sleeves lined with white fur, and black gloves. He has a red square-shaped lobe covered by a pair of yellow headphones.

  

   The steam from the grill is making you sweat. You grab a towel from your apron's pocket to wipe your face.

  

   "My menu changes day to day." You gestured to the display glass.

  

   "Grilled sardines?" the bewildered tone got to you.

  

   You put your hands on your waist and raised an eyebrow at the customer. "You got something against sardines?"

  

   "It's like old people food."

  

   Would it be bad if you leapt over the counter and started slapping this stranger for looking down on your grandma's comfort food?

  

   "Don't knock it 'til you try it!" You picked up the tongs and flipped the sardines. But you thought about people having different tastes so you gestured to the display glass once more. "But if it's not for you. . .  I do have 6 different flavors of onigiri."

  

   You watch the customer bend down to peer over the displayed rice balls.

  

   The stranger hummed in curiosity.  "Can I have every flavor?"

  

   "If you got the money."

  

   "I got the money."

  

   You let out an amused huff. "Then you can."

---

   The first time you moved to Musutafu, you were shocked at how awful the food was. Not in the context of taste but more on the assortment of food served in restaurants.

  

   Where did diner food go? Where are the diners? Why are fast food restaurants dominating every corner of Musutafu? Seldom did you find diners who served childhood food you grew up with, but through the years, they've dwindled down til only handful had remained.

  

   "I want to buy 4 tuna mayo onigiri for take-out." The new customer ordered and you looked at the display, sending him an apologetic look.

  

   "Would you mind waiting 5 minutes for it? I'll make you new ones."

  

   "Sure, go ahead." The customer placed their hands in their pockets, shrugging.

  

   You light on the stove and shoved you hands casually in the open fire for a good five seconds. Slowly turning your hands for the flames to lick. You withdrew them away from the stove to cool. Plastic had coated your hands.

  

   There's an impressed whistle coming from infront of you. You meet golden-brown eyes.

  

   "Your quirk?"

  

   You nod. "Nothing fancy." You switch the stove off and proceeded to take out your bamboo mat roller topped with plastic wrap. You sprinkled salt on it and scoop sticky rice from the rice cooker with a flat square wooden ladle placing the rice on the mat roller. "So, you like tuna-mayo? It's the most popular flavor."

  

   "There's no chicken." He explained. Or complained, you could tell.

 

   That made you smile. Your new customer has a taste bud of a child. "Well, no wonder you liked this flavor best." (Amusingly, tuna mayo onigiri is known as chicken of the sea.)

  

   You pooled the rice into a small hill and dug a hole at the center. You reach over a glass bowl containing tuna-mayo filling seasoned with soy sauce. You spooned a generous amount of the filling and placed it inside the hole. You bunched up the plastic and molded the rice into a reuleaux (triangle with curved edges). You unwrap it, take the nori (seaweed paper) out, stuck the nori onto the onigiri like a tape from front to back and lastly, placing it inside a cute onigiri rice paper wrap with sakura flowers design.

  

   "That took you seconds." He complimented.

  

   "I am a grandchild of an onigiri maker." You puff your chest out a bit, flattered. "My grandpa could make them in literal 5 seconds. I'd blink and he'd be done." You prepped for the next one.

  

   "He sounds cool."

  

    You meet his eyes and grinned. "The coolest." Your face falls at the next second and you went back to making the second rice ball. "Cooler if he'd be less stubborn."

   

    "Oh?"

   

    "He didn't want me succeeding this diner." You muttered under your breath.

   

    There was a bout of silence. You hear some diners leaving, the children playing outside, and the customer tapping the counter. You're on the 3rd rice ball when he spoke up, "Interesting name for the diner. Herohero. Your grandpa a hero fan?"

   

    You couldn't quite keep your mouth from splitting into a smile. "He is Endeavor's biggest fan." You rolled your eyes.

   

    "Is he?" He sounded intrigued and a bit challenged.

   

    "He's a legit fanboy. Has his merch here upstairs in his room. My grandma used to joke about him leaving her for the Flame Hero."

   

    "How about you? Who's your favorite hero?"

   

    You're almost done with the last onigiri, fitting it inside the rice paper wrapper. You scrunched your eyebrows in concentration as you answered, "I don't have one."

   

    "You don't have one?" His voice sounded flabbergasted.

   

    You look up and smiled. Finally, you peeled off the gloves and started packing the onigiris inside a paper bag. "I'm not really interested in heroes."

   

    "You don't?"

   

    You shrug, and then punched the numbers on your cash register. "That'll be ¥800 total. They're humans with really good quirks or know how to utilize their quirks."

   

    "They save lives."

   

    "So do doctors and nurses."

   

    "They protect people from villains." He hands over his payment and you give him the paper bag.

   

    "Yeah, I acknowledge their efforts and admire them but not to the point of idolizing them." You give him his receipt. "There's nothing to it really, I'm not interested in them the same way I'm not interested in pop idols."

   

    "Okay then." He lifts up the bag and nodded in thanks.

   

    You bow your head a little and thanked him.

---

   Keigo bites into a torigomoku rice ball. It has an oddly satisfying unique thickness that sweeps his mouth with its filling of chicken, carrot, and onion. Torigomoku. Chicken and Veggies.

  

   Somehow, it makes him think of you humoring him like what a mother does to their child. Gotta put some vegetables in their child's meal somehow. And that's exactly what you did.

  

   "It's good, right?" You beamed a smile at him, carrying dishes to put them in the sink behind the counter.

  

   He was sitting at the counter stool once more and listened to you hum to yourself. "What made you add a new flavor?"

  

   "You 'cause I gathered you like chicken. I'm glad you got to dine here again before I swap onigiri to a different rice dish." You heat your hands for instant plastic gloves.

  

   "But I'm not a regular." Not to mention, it's been a week since he came back here to dine.

  

   You looked at him for a moment, and he couldn't read the expression on your face. You smiled. "When you ate that first onigiri, back then. . ." You hung your head low and started free-washing the plates. "Do you know that no matter how different the taste, eating your first onigiri after a long while will always remind you of your mother's onigiri?"

  

   His eyes flicked to your face as his insides went cold. Keigo stayed silent.

  

   "You had this bitter look on your face."

   For the next two weeks, he avoids going back to Herohero diner.

---

AN: Herohero is an onomatopoeias ( the naming of a thing or action by a vocal imitation of the sound associated with it). Herohero is the sound of flapping plastic which means exhaustion. I thought it was cute as a diner name to nod at the heroes being part of BNHA universe and to relate reader's quirk. I like food. This series will be food appreciation.

---

next chapter is still in drafts ->

[grey-sides]

it's boobies!

Unofficially this is for @chrisbitchtree who made a post about Steve loving Billy's tits. Officially this is for me.

~2700, nipple-play (mild, Steve's new to this, okay), blowjobs

Steve’s first argument to Robin against his potential bisexuality was that he was a boobs man. Loved fondling tits, squeezing them, putting his mouth on them, watching a girl’s nipples pebble up and get sensitive. Boobs. Boobies. Best of the breast. 

After she had gotten done screaming at him to stop saying boobies and describing how he would motorboat Farrah Fawcett, she had pointed out that not just girls had nipples. That everyone had nipples and everyone’s nipples could get hard and some guys had bigger tits than girls. 

Steve had just laughed, ignoring her pointedly because he had never seen a nice pair of tits on a guy before. Which was a lie, but Steve was weak and foolish and hadn’t realized. 

It serves him right that the next time he’s smacked in the face with the reminder that guys do in fact have nipples and potentially have tits, it’s because of Billy Hargrove. 

Fresh from the pool, hair still wet and clinging to his tank top. His nipples are visible through it because the water has turned it sheer. He should participate in a wet t-shirt contest, he would win. And. Well. His nipples are rock hard? And his stupid pecs are curving under the tank. Shit.

Steve flushes and thinks about sticking his head into the ice cream cooler. Maybe his entire body because he would make a nice hazelnut chocolate or vanilla chocolate chip. But Billy’s approaching the counter and he can’t ignore this. 

He plasters a fake smile over his face, keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Billy’s face and not his nipples. Or his dick which is showing through his dumb short shorts. 

“Harrington,” he drawls, leaning on the counter like he owns the place. A couple stray sprinkles stick to the hairs on his arms. “What’s good here?”

My ass, Steve wants to say but where the hell did that come from? He looks around for a moment and shrugs. “Lots, but it was much better before you walked in here.”

Billy rolls his eyes, drags himself over to lean against the glass of the ice cream cooler. He breathes on the glass, draws a dick with his finger. 

“Hey! You can’t do that!” Steve snaps, grabbing a rag and leaning over the glass awkwardly to wipe it away.

Billy smirks, licking his lips like a big cat. “You got anything dairy free? Trying to watch my figure.”

Steve glares at him, but he’s probably going to be a paying customer. He tucks his rag back into his apron and surveys the day’s flavors. “Strawberry sorbet, that’s about your only option.”

“I’ll take it, just a small cup, sailor,” Billy drawls, pushing himself up to lean on the counter again. He rests his chin in his palm and watches Steve flip his scoop out.

Steve is well-practiced, makes two perfect spheres with the sorbet, drops it into the cup expertly. He gestures to the row of toppings. “Chocolate sauce or anything?”

Billy has a toothpick in his mouth. Steve isn’t positive how long he’s had it in his mouth. “Sure. Two cherries too.”

Two cherries is against company policy, but Steve also stopped wearing his hat three days ago, so he probably doesn’t have room to argue. He drizzles the chocolate syrup on top, perfect rows, hand steady. 

Steve risks a glance at Billy as he fishes out the cherries with the tongs. He has his shirt pulled up, nipples on full display while he wipes the sweat or water or whatever off his forehead. He drops the tongs directly into the jar of cherries. 

Steve grimaces, puts the cup down on the counter so he can dig it out, getting cherry juice all over his hand. Billy snorts, turns around to survey the mall. It’s quiet today, mid-afternoon, the same ten pop songs have been playing all morning.

He gets the cherries on the cup and rinses his hand off, walking over to ring Billy up. “A dollar, twenty five.”

Billy picks up his cup, grabs the spoon and sticks it in his mouth. “Thanks, Harrington.”

“A dollar twenty five,” Steve repeats, staring hard at Billy. 

“Must have forgot my wallet,” Billy replies, stepping backwards, with his treat. “I’ll pay you back later.”

“Hargrove-!” Steve snaps, ready to climb over the counter to grab him. 

But Billy turns and walks off. He doesn’t run, but he moves fast and Steve is left to grumble and dig his own wallet out. Asshole.

***

Steve’s heading out to the employee parking lot, hoping he can get home and get in the pool. His feet hurt from standing all day which is really not something he ever anticipated. He’s an active guy and he’s grumbling about sore toes.

He looks up as he gets close to his car and frowns because Billy’s leaning against his car. The Camaro is parked next to Steve’s car, but Billy’s leaning against the beemer because he’s an asshole.

“What,” Steve demands when he gets up close, staring at Billy with irritation. His hair is dry and he’s changed into a black tank top. He still has shorts on, but these are dry too. His lips are as pink as the strawberry sorbet Steve served him. 

“I’m here to pay you back,” Billy replies, stepping away from the car with a smirk. He climbs into the Camaro and gestures at Steve to get into his car when he doesn’t move.

Steve scowls, but climbs into his BMW, he’s not sure what to do, if he’s supposed to follow Billy or Billy is going to follow him. 

Billy honks at him after a couple minutes, so Steve puts the car in gear and decides he’s supposed to go home. He turns the radio on, to relax a bit and not think about Billy potentially murdering him when they get back. 

Billy drives too close, practically tailgating him the entire ride back to Loch Nora. But as they get close to Steve’s house, Billy pulls away and Steve tries not to feel disappointed. Did Billy really just use him to get to Loch Nora so he can fuck some girl? 

Steve parks in the driveway, all the way to the right like his dad always tells him and heads inside. He takes the steps up to his bedroom two at a time and glowers at his reflection in his mirror. Stupid fucking sailor suit. Stupid fucking Billy Hargrove. Stupid.

He jumps when the bell rings and bounds down the stairs to see who it is. Standing at the door is none other than Billy Hargrove, cigarette perched on his lips as he leans against the wall outside the door. 

Steve tugs it open and scowls at him. “What? Did you get lost? Lisa is three houses down.” He points in the right direction, already moving to close the door. 

“Nah, I came to pay you back,” Billy replies, putting his foot in the door. He wedges it open enough to slide inside, looking around the house. “Nice digs.”

Steve doesn’t reply, crosses his arms as he follows Billy into the house. “What do you want?”

Billy half looks over his shoulder. “To pay you back.”

“So give me the two bucks, it’s whatever, man.” Steve holds a hand out. The faster he can get this over with, the better.

Billy ignores him, walking further into the house and looking around. He bypasses the living room and kitchen, heading for the stairs. “Bet I can figure out which room is yours.”

Steve sighs as he trudges after Billy. This is going to be a whole thing if Steve doesn’t put a stop to it soon. “Hargrove, just give me the money and get out of here.”

Billy pauses on the stairs, one foot half raised into the air. “Steve.”

He doesn’t add anything else, but it makes Steve stop. Because Billy never calls him Steve, only Harrington or one of a million potential dumb nicknames. “What?”

“Let me pay you back.”

Billy continues up the stairs, past Steve’s parent’s room and down the hallway to his bedroom. He pushes the door open, slinks inside while Steve trails after him. He hates this. Feeling off-balanced, like he can’t figure Billy out. 

When Steve gets into his room, Billy is sprawled on his bed, shoes on because he’s an animal. Steve swats at his foot and Billy laughs as he sits up to shuck off his sneakers. 

“Your bedroom leaves a lot to be desired. Can’t believe King Steve lives like this,” Billy chuckles, looking around. 

Steve refuses to be embarrassed about his room. Most people- girls, who come in here are too distracted by other things to care. “Can I have my money now?”

Billy looks at him lazily, flops back on the bed. He curls his fingers in the hem of his tank, pulls it up and over his head. He licks his lips, laughs a bit at Steve. “You know, I’ve always been more of an ass man.”

Steve makes a face, puts his hands on his hips as he stares at Billy. “So? I don’t fucking care.”

Billy drops his tank top on the floor, drags his fingers up the center of his chest, over to the right side. He circles his right nipple, huffing out a soft moan. “Saw you staring earlier.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat. He licks his own lips, looks away. “You were making a mess in the shop.”

Billy moves his hand over to grip at his left pec. His jeans are already starting to tent. “Think you were gonna make a mess if I spent much more time there.”

“What?” Steve asks, cheeks flaming as he looks up at his ceiling instead of at Billy fondling his own chest. 

“You’re obsessed. Wanna get your mouth on these bad boys?” Billy asks, voice husky as he cups both his pecs. 

Steve drops his eyes to Billy, feels his heartbeat pick up. He takes a step back, has to deny, has to hide what he’s thinking. “No. I want my money.”

Billy pushes himself to sit, brushes his thumb along his left nipple, makes it hard and Steve’s jaw aches. He does want to get his mouth on those bad boys. “I won’t tell. Come on, show me what you were thinking about in the shop.”

Steve licks his lips again, takes a step closer to Billy. His heart is racing, he feels like he’s just finished a championship game. “What do you get out of this?”

Billy smirks, looks down at himself, the flush on his chest. “My tits sucked, duh.”

Steve nods, once, twice. He does a little half turn and pushes Billy back onto the bed. He’s wearing sweats now, a t-shirt, his sweats aren’t doing anything to hide how aroused he is. “Fine. We don’t tell anyone.”

Billy laughs, low and long as he falls back onto Steve’s pillows. His curls pool around his head and he lets his hands fall away from his chest. “Perfect. Knew I pegged you right.”

Steve licks his lips and presses his hips to Billy’s. He rolls them slowly, stares at Billy’s face for a moment before ducking down to tentatively lick over his right nipple. His skin is salty, musky, he smells like cologne. 

Billy moans above him, voice hoarse in the back of his throat as he throws his head back. He drops a hand in Steve’s hair and Steve is already too far gone to yell at him about it. 

Steve bites down on his areola, leaving teeth marks in the skin around his nipple. He sucks it into his mouth, laves his tongue over the bud. He rolls his hips down against Billy, sliding their dicks together. 

Billy laughs, delirious with it. He tugs on Steve’s hair and when Steve pulls back enough to look at him, his eyes are rolling back in his head. “That’s it,” he breathes. 

Steve blows cool air over Billy’s right tit, watching goosebumps dot the flesh as his saliva dries. He groans, feeling his dick kick in his sweat. He dives back down to bite at the left pec next. 

“Fuck, Harrington,” Billy praises, voice gone deep with his pleasure. He keeps rocking his hips up against Steve and gets his hands between them to open the button on his fly. 

Steve reaches down to tug the jeans down, tossing them to the side too. He continues nipping and sucking at Billy’s tit, watching the skin turn red with his ministrations. He pulls back to pull off his own shirt, letting it fall to the floor too.

“Got an idea,” Billy says suddenly, staring up at Steve. 

Steve looks at him curiously, wipes a hand over his chin because he’s drooling. Billy nods at his sweats and Steve scrambles out of them. Commando because his dick deserves to breathe. 

Billy nods a bit and pushes his pecs together. “Come up here, pretty boy.”

Steve stares at the picture Billy makes like this. It takes him a minute to get his act together and he quickly scrambles up the bed. Oh. Oh no one has ever let him do this before. 

He works with Billy to get his dick between Billy’s tits and starts rocking in little aborted thrusts. He’s too big to move all the way, but the sounds Billy’s making indicate it’s doing it for him too. 

“Fuck, cum on my face and tits,” Billy groans, his hips keep rolling against Steve, but he’s not really getting anywhere. 

Steve just grunts, puts his hands on either side of Billy’s to get a little more pressure. He’s been so worked up licking and biting and sucking Billy’s pecs, it doesn’t take long. Steve cums with a cry, shooting straight onto Billy’s cupid’s bow and then down over his chin and chest. 

Billy opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out to catch it. Steve lets go of his hands so he can pull his dick out and wipe it along Billy’s nipples, gets a line to stretch between the two of them. Steve slides back, dragging his dick along Billy’s torso as he approaches his cock.

Steve licks his lips and dives in, sucks the head into his mouth. He tongues at Billy’s slit, uses a hand to fondle his balls. His other hand sneaks up to twist Billy’s right nipple.

“Steve,” Billy pants, rocking his hips up so his dick gets forced a little further into Steve’s mouth. “Fuck.”

Steve hums around him and pulls back just in time to get a matching face full of cum. He licks at it too, closes his eyes so it doesn’t get into them. He feels filthy and wonderful and his head is ringing when he flops next to Billy. 

Hargrove breathes hard beside him, reaches over to drag the cum out of Steve’s left eye. He licks his thumb clean and grins crookedly at Steve. “Good enough to make up a buck, twenty-give?”

Steve laughs, puts a hand on Billy’s chest. “You get free ice cream for a month!”

Billy snorts, wraps his arms around his waist as he laughs. He’s practically curled over with it and he shakes his head when he gets himself under control. “You’re an easy lay, Harrington, I’ll give you that.”

And Steve is, but he smiles anyway and leans up to lick a path clear on Billy’s face. He bites at his earlobe when he moves away, tugging on his earring. 

Billy grunts and looks over at him. “You gonna be ready for round two soon, sailor?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Steve teases, reaching over for his Scoops hat and dropping it on Billy’s face. He’ll have to lie and say he dropped it in the toilet or something because that thing isn’t leaving this room without getting covered in cum. 

[after-witch]

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you. 

Word Count: 7,592

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, humiliation, degradation, mentions of eating disorder behavior, improper use of household cleaning products, Overhaul is a mean man 90% of this fic is just Overhaul being an asshole to you

There are going to be bruises on your shoulders. Fingerprint shaped bruises from the men holding you steady, afraid that you'll try to sprint off--maybe afraid that you'll try to spring at their boss, disobedient, unruly possession that you are.

You know that Overhaul won't like it when he eventually sees those black-and-blue fingerprints marring your skin--he might kill them for it, or worse. They're digging in too hard, but you don't warn them to ease up lest they find themselves on the wrong end of Overhaul's hands; they brought you back to this place, after all, and they deserve nothing but your hot, raw contempt.

You could run. You could slip out of their grip, if you put your mind to it. Your clothes are wet and the medical table that you're sitting on is slippery from the rainwater that's dripped out from your soaked clothes. But Chisaki Kai--no, Overhaul, you remind yourself, for the energy he’s exuding now is very much that of a foreboding boss--is standing in front of you, and you'd never make it to the doorway.

"Leave us," Overhaul says, not bothering to move as the men gripping your shoulders release their painful hold and swiftly leave the room. He tears off a sanitizing wipe from the ever-present canister on his desk and wipes down the doorknobs that they touched, before locking the door. An unnecessary precaution, given your nerves, given your state, given your realization that your escape attempt was a massive fluke that would never be allowed to happen again.

You numbly watch as he gathers up supplies from around the makeshift clinic he'd created in the small suite of rooms he allowed you to exist in. The canister of disinfectant. Medical-grade soaps. Sponges. A bucket. Needles, needles, needles... you remember the feel of the syringe you'd stolen in your hand and distract yourself from the fear of what he's going to do to you by retracing the steps of the past day.

**

You got farther than you thought you would--really, you did. At every stage of your plan, you expected Chisaki to suddenly reveal that he knew every step you'd taken so far. That he'd catalogued every act of false obedience to lure him into relaxing the rules, that he saw you swipe the syringe of tranquilizer from the clinic when he'd left for a moment to grab a fresh pair of clothes for you, that he knew you asked to sit with him at his desk only to sneak a glance at his calendar, so you could sweetly plead for an afternoon in the garden when he would be busy, when he would surely ask a highly trusted subordinate to watch over you.

A highly trusted subordinate who knew all about your weeks of good, sweet behavior and who was none the wiser when you'd jabbed him with the syringe, plunging the medicine, the same kind your captor once used to 'calm you down' when you were having fits, right into the man’s thigh. 

You didn't hesitate: you'd dipped your hands into the man's pockets, pulled out his wallet and ran. You barely remember anything until you were in the forest--you vaguely remember using the key card to open the gates surrounding the base, you remember the fear that at any moment you would hear an alarm sound; but from there, everything was a blur as you sped into the forest wearing only the soft day shoes you'd been given to go outside.

You made it through the forest, though not without bumps and cuts and sore feet and a dimly throbbing ankle that was thankfully only turned. You ran until you reached a small town, one you'd never been in before. You buried your first instinct deep, deep, deep: do not contact the authorities. Who knows what connections Overhaul had, especially in a town so close to where he operated? So instead you waltzed into a little corner shop and made a beeline for the bathroom--where you promptly vomited out your breakfast as all of the anxiety and fear and adrenaline caught up with you in an instant.

You remember staring into the bathroom mirror afterwards, your face cold with splashed water. It was then, staring into your pale and anxious face, a face you hadn’t been allowed to see in a mirror for ages, that you felt freedom slamming back into you. You could do what you wanted, now. You were going to get your life back. You could make your own schedule and have your own hobbies back and eat what you wanted and--your stomach had gurgled, as if on cue. You had to get something to eat. But how would you pay?

The wallet you'd pilfered felt heavy in your pocket, and you opened it without a second thought. No cash. But a credit card. It would do, until you were able to get some cash of your own. You wandered back into the shop and even now, you can still feel how struck you were by how cozy, how nice, how different it felt. Just a small general store with big open windows and soft music in the background, and an old woman behind the register who immediately asked you if you needed any help finding this or that.

You smiled--a real smile, how nice that felt--and shook your head and loaded up a basket. A first-aid kit, a large water bottle, a toothbrush and toothpaste... then came the snacks. Candy. Chips. Soda. Things you hadn't tasted in so long. You even grabbed a pointless fashion magazine. The old woman had glanced at the name on the card and you offered a sheepish smile, a fake one that made you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her: "My boyfriend sent me to do the shopping. He's no good at this stuff." She'd smiled and nodded, oh I understand dear, before packing up your order.

You stepped out into the sunshine--you can't pretend like you remember how it feels, right now, shivering from the damp rain on this table--and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled crisp and sweet and clean. Not the sterile cleanliness of your captor's clinic, but truly pure--real. There was a slight tinge to the air, and you spotted grey clouds on the horizon. Not an omen, no: just another sign that you were outside, you were in nature, you were free. The smell was the promise of thunder, of electricity, of cool rain.

It also smelled like... well, lunch. Or more precisely, you smelled the vague scents of the little pizza shop a few shops down.

And here is where you made, looking back, your biggest mistake. You should have headed to a bus station. Or called for a taxi. You should have gotten the hell out of there right that second. But your mind flashed back to Overhaul's little calendar, the words printed neatly in the little square for today: he would be away until the evening, which meant you (surely, surely) had a few more hours before he came back and discovered your escape.

He’d ordered no one to bother you and your now-unconscious guard in the garden, so if no one saw you run out, then an alarm certainly wouldn’t raised for a while. You had time, didn't you? Time to grab a meal? You could always get it to go, and you could even ask an employee inside about buses or taxes. Yes, it was fine--you would get a few slices to go and hop on a bus and leave forever. More than that, it was practical. You needed energy, and the junk in your bag--while undoubtedly delicious--wasn't going to be enough to sustain you for long.

The door to the pizza place dinged when you entered, and you almost teared up at the normality of it. It was a buffet style place, with rows of pizzas under yellow-cast lights and rows of red booths and people lifting slices onto their plates with shared tongs. Unusual for a small town, but maybe it was a remnant from a more bustling time, when American-style pizza places were all the rage. For a moment, your thoughts had turned back to your captivity: Overhaul would have never set foot into a place like this--nor would he have let you. Germs, germs, everywhere. And you loved it.

You paid with the card, but there was no need for excuses this time--the young man behind the register didn't even check for a name or signature, much less ask for identification. You asked about a to-go box and he'd shrugged, mumbled out an apology--they didn't do that here. You have to eat inside.

For a moment, the rational part of your mind screamed: get the hell out of here, then! But your stomach growled, and hunger beckoned, and damn if that row of glistening pizza slices didn't make you want to eat. And eat.  And… eat. You shoved repressed thoughts deep down, your heart hammering all the while, and took a tentative step towards the buffet. Thunder rumbled as you debated. You could be out of here in... 30 minutes? Enough time to eat--to binge, your mind whispered, you can now--and maybe get it out after? Yes, it would be fine. (It would not. Future you, the one sitting on the table and watching in increasing anxiety as Overhaul finishes up his tasks, wishes she could tell you.)

You should have seen the start of the rain, sudden and relentless, as a bad sign. Instead you ignored it and filled up a large cup with diet soda that spilled a little when you forgot to let go of the button. You ate without thinking, not even really enjoying the taste of the first greasy pizza slices you’d had in ages.

You were on your fifth slice when the restaurant doors dinged, but the sense of small town charm was overrun by the immediate realization that you were caught. You were fucked. The air thickened--were you the only one to notice?--as two men in slim suits entered the restaurant with an air of immediacy. You were spotted in a second, if that. You thought about running.

But then you thought about the bored teenager behind the register and the old man cutting up his wife's pizza slices because she had trouble chewing and the little girl stacking up pepperonis while her mom chatted on the phone and you resigned yourself. You didn’t want anyone else to get hurt…even if it meant giving in. You didn't struggle, couldn't struggle, and let them lead you swiftly outside where the torrent of rain soaked you immediately  as they pushed you down the block, where an unmarked car waited. You glanced up helplessly as the cloudy sky and rain streamed down your face before you were unceremoniously pushed into the backseat.

Overhaul was sitting inside, staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

**

Your backpack drops with a thump next to you and you flinch out of your memories.

"Let's see what you bought with that stolen card during your little adventure."  His voice is deceptively calm. He must be furious with you, you think. And you can't believe you didn't think about credit fraud alerts before you used the damn card.

The noise of the zipper is thunderous and you scoot yourself back on the exam table, pressing against the wall to put a little more room--even if it's only inches--between you and your captor. He begins to pull everything out of the bag, one by one, and seeing it all lined up makes it clear what type of lecture is coming.

A few bags of chips, a bottle of soda, bars of chocolate, all junk, junk, junk. All food he would never permit you to eat, and certainly not in such quantities.

"Disgusting," he murmurs, before tossing each item into a trash bin kept against the wall, one by one. You cringe at the sound of each bag, each bottle, hitting the bottom of the trash. You didn't even get to taste them. He stares at the trash, eyes narrowed, as if the food itself was worthy of his venom. "Full of unnecessary sugars and fats and oils. Eating so much of this will make you sick. We've talked about this."

You say nothing. You press your lips together. You won't give him the satisfaction of argument. You won't let him pretend like he has any right to lecture you on what you eat, and certainly not what you eat after you've escaped (however briefly) from his clutches.

"At least you didn't have time to ingest them during your ill-planned escape, hm?" He replaces his previous gloves--tainted with the thought of germs on the junk food bags, no doubt--and your stomach flips at the sound of the medical gloves he's snapped on in their place. "Which is more than I can say for the pizza." You never knew someone could say pizza with such a ridiculously nasty tone, but you've learned a lot of things during your captivity.

"You weren't content with this junk hoard," he says, gesturing towards the trash while keeping his eyes firmly on you. "You had to gorge yourself on greasy pizza from a dirty buffet, too? We are going to clean your mouth out, by the way.”

You hate the way he says gorge--you hate the way he says greasy--you hate the anxiety that comes with wondering what he’ll do to ‘clean’ your mouth. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. The hate makes you answer defensively, despite your earlier resolution to stay quiet. You can't help yourself, in a lot of ways.

"I was hungry," you say, still feeling defiant.

"No one working on their fifth slice of pizza is hungry," he answers, simply. You feel diminished, but not enough to shut you up.

"So? It's not your business what I eat anyway.” A familiar tightness is springing to your throat. You don't want to cry in front of him ever again, so you clip the words out, fighting to retain control.

He presses a fist to his forehead in a sudden, rather surprising show of frustration. "Not my business? Not my business? It's my business to take care of you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?"

The fullness in your stomach, the cold rain soaking you, the remembrance of the wind and branches lashing at you as you ran hours before, all these freedoms have made you feel bold. Or maybe you're succumbing to the effects of an adrenaline crash and you just can't control your mouth.

"I could have been free. You can’t--you can't just keep me here. You can't just kidnap someone and decide you know what's best for them."

There's a long, steady pause as he stares at you. His expression--what you can see from his eyes--is blank, and you almost wonder if perhaps you've stumped him.

"I can," he says, lightly. Easily.

Fucker.

He sighs, and you get the distinct impression that you’re a nuisance, something to deal with, something he’s having to deal with instead of doing far more important things. "You’re showing a severe lack of appreciation for all the work I do to take care of you."

You don't know how to respond to that. "You kidnapped me.” It’s all you can think of--the bare truth.

He doesn't speak at first. Then he lifts something from the supply tray he's set up--a blue hospital gown, thin and short, and tosses it towards you. You catch it instinctively, feeling the thin, feather-light material in your fingers. He tosses a towel, next, and you hold it against your damp chest. He turns around.

"Change."

You don't want to. You don't want to. But you've never pressed your luck on what would happen if you refused to get dressed before, afraid that he might do it himself, and that fear overrides any thoughts of outright rebellion. For now. You slide off your wet clothes and push them towards the end of the table, then use the towel to dry off your skin. There are scratches and bruises, including a nasty looking one that's already turning green on your ankle. Your feet are swollen from running on the hard forest floor with your thin day shoes.

When you're finished, you clear your throat, and he turns back around. He tosses your wet clothes right into the trash--damn, you liked that shirt--and wipes off the table with a separate towel. You sit, legs dangling off the table, and wish he'd just get the punishment or examination or whatever it is he has planned over with. You can feel the coldness of the table through the medical gown, and its thinness makes you feel even more helpless. Weak. You want to retain that feeling of freedom that you had earlier in the day. Even choosing to return without a fight, choosing to avoid hurting the innocent people in that town, made you feel bold.

He stands in front of you until you force yourself to look up, to get it over with. He's swapped out his mask for a medical one.

"Have I ever hurt you?"

You hate this.

"No," you admit, voice tight. "Not physically," you add spitefully, because fuck him for trying to make himself sound like a decent person because he kidnapped you but didn't happen to hit you.

"Do I take care of you?" His tone is firm, commanding. It leaves no room for silences. Instead, it makes your stomach feel light, makes your heart feel like it wants to race.

"I can do that on my own," you counter.

"Can you?" He says, voice dripping in condescension.

"Yes," you spite, bile rising into your throat. "I can take care of myself."

He reaches back and grabs the little stool he keeps in this room, rolling it up to rest in front of the table and in front of you. He sits down and cups his hands together, resting them on his thigh. He leans forward. An easy gesture. Like he wants to have a conversation. But something about his movements sends out warning signals. Big, glaring, flashing warning lights that scream DANGER.

“You can take care of yourself.” It’s a statement, yet the way he says it is brutally mocking.

“I can,” you insist, your voice cracking just the slightest bit under his gaze.

"So, where would you live?" He watches you intently and it takes a moment for you to realize what he just asked you. He isn't offering you freedom, no. But maybe you can win an argument, just this once, and forcibly stop his delusions that he's "taking care of you."

"Anywhere," you say, but he looks unimpressed. "An apartment," you correct. "Like my old one. Doesn't have to be big." Your heart pangs with nostalgia for your old place, for your independence, for your life.

"Ah." Overhaul brings a gloved finger up to his chin and rests is there, nodding, as if he's seriously considering your words. "And how will you pay for rent at this apartment?"

You can't resist the snarky tone. "A job."

He rests both hands on his thighs. "Tell me, how much did you make at your last job, again? No--tell me, how long did you hold your last job?" You cross your arms defensively around your waist as he continues. "If I recall correctly, you were fired rather quickly from that one... and the one before."

You squeeze your waist, hoping for the tiniest bit of comfort from the gesture. "I... it wasn’t my fault.” You feel like you’re under a magnifying glass. “The first time. And the second, well, I was looking for something better, anyway."

He raises his eyebrows, curious. "Looking where? At the bottom of a bottle?"

Your entire body tenses.

"After all," he continues, voice almost taking on a syrupy sweet tone. "Your fridge was so well-stocked with them. Hmm. Do you think it's responsible to spend so much money on alcohol when you're behind on rent payments?"

"No," you say, voice tighter, "But--"

He doesn't give you a chance to finish. He stands, and you immediately squeeze your arms again. "And how much were you spending on other luxuries? Those clothes you kept carelessly shoved in your closet... they were a name brand, weren't they?"

Your throat is dry and your mouth is dry and you lick your lips. "There were sales," you insist.

"Ohh," he says, his voice lifting in mockery. "And I bet there were sales on the jewelry, the trinkets, the--" his eyes drift upwards, an implication of his disdain, "--figurines."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I'm allowed to buy things that I like."

He begins to pace. Not aimlessly, no, nothing with him is ever aimless. He paces until he stops in front of you, turning to face you for effect.

"What happens if you're late on three rent payments? Remind me of the policy that decrepit building you called an apartment complex had."

You squirm on the table. "I was only behind on two--"

"What happens?" His voice is firm. You can't avoid it.

There's a pause before you murmur, unwillingly. "You get evicted."

"So." He takes another step, and turns back towards you. "Do you think it's responsible to spend money you don't have on luxuries, when you're behind on rent?"

You want to run. Maybe you should have run at him earlier. Getting tossed into a solitary room after attacking him might be better than this interrogation.

"No," you admit. You swallow, dry and thick and a bit painful. "Okay. I'm not great with money. I bought things to make me happy because I was stressed out about---life. It's not that big a deal. I--I didn't get kicked out, anyway."

He sits again, but keeps himself upright, the air of faux casualness replaced with an air of command. "How did you catch up on your rent? Tell me."

You hate him. You stare at him, hoping he'll end this, but he simply stares at you until you blurt out the words. "You paid my landlord. Anonymously." You stare down at the floor, at the drops of water still there from earlier. "I didn't ask you to. I would have figured something out."

"I'm sure."

He stands, and you stare at the wall until you hear him roll the tray of supplies towards the table. Your body trembles of its own accord when he grabs your arm firmly and wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top. You sit in silence as the cuff gets tighter then mercifully deflates.

He tsks at the number, and jots it down on the pad resting on the table. For once, you're not tempted to peek.

"I need to take some blood," he says, and you stick out your arm in automatic, habitual compliance before your brain even realizes it. He grips your wrist firmly while he swipes your arm with an anti-bacterial agent.

"How much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, voice nonchalant.

You stare at him, incredulous. He's never brought up weight before. He’s always been careful to avoid details about weight, nutrition--calories. The most he would do is point out that you need a well-rounded diet with the right vitamins and nutrients, and ignore your questions about sauces and cooking oils and grams, all attempts to find out something that could give you an ounce of control over what’s going into your body.

"I--I don't know.  You don't let me look at the scale when I step on it." He knows this. He knows that he's forbidden you from seeing the number, because he knows about your past, knows your tendency to get obsessive and strict and focus on food and weight and worth.

"Why don't I let you look at the scale?"

Your stomach feels like it's twisting.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter on your tongue.

The casual tone in his voice when he replies is far more biting than any cruel insult. "Yes, you do." 

His words are punctuated by the harsh medicinal smell of the next wipe. But you're in no mood to appreciate that he's still choosing to numb your skin despite your earlier transgressions.

The tears you felt building earlier begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to cry, you don't want to cry, you don't want to cry.

“Why don’t I let you look at the scale?” He repeats, firmer, more insisting. He winds a band around your arm and taps at your veins.

Your arm looks fatter, like this. You swear it does. You look away to avoid your arm and the needle and his gaze.

“Because, um, I sometimes have problems with food. Or weight. Or whatever.”

“You have an eating disorder,” he tells you, all business as he plunges the needle into your skin; there’s only the ghost of a sting as he begins to slowly draw your blood. But you barely feel it, you can only feel the impact of his words, blunt and hateful.

"You were going to throw up in that germ-infested hovel. Eat until your stomach was distended, then head into a bathroom--which I'm sure the staff hadn't cleaned in ages--and stick your unwashed, greasy fingers down your throat until it all came back up. Am I correct?"

You can't tell if you feel woozy because of the needle or the way that your heart is racing at his words. Throw up. Greasy. Disgusting. You're disgusting.

"Stop it," you say, voice muddled with humiliation and anger.

He pulls the needle out, and quickly presses a bandage to your skin. He keeps a finger there, firm and pressing. He looks up at you, now, as he continues his onslaught.

"And then what? Let me make an educated guess. You were going to get on some filthy bus and open up all the junk you bought earlier? Perhaps," he muses, as he rips off a piece of tape to keep the gauze in place, "you could have asked the bus driver to stop at a public bathroom for a vomit break. And you'd probably make sure that whatever flea-ridden hotel you found along the way had a scale in the bathroom so you could keep track. And another one of your delightful," he practically spits the word out, "cycles would have started, hm?"

"Stop it," you repeat, voice breaking. "I wasn't--I wouldn't have--"

"You were going to," he says simply, interrupting. "Thankfully, we got there in time. Although I'm sure now you will endure a stomach ache after your reckless indulgence. A lesson, perhaps, though not the exact one I would inflict myself."

As if on cue, your stomach rolls and clenches. You’re keenly aware that you’re going to have digestive problems tonight, and the thought of being at his mercy while you’re dealing with them threatens to send you over the edge.  Could you get even more disgusting? The thought of how you look right now, stomach no doubt bulging, hair disheveled and damp, covered in ugly bruises and cuts--combined with the fear of spending the night on a toilet sends you over the edge.

You press your knuckles against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut and try to force the sobs down. Your body begins to tremble, even more so as he lifts your leg. Without warning, he begins to unceremoniously scrub it down with a sponge dipped in disinfectant.

It stings and your eyes feel like they might pop at the sudden pain. You hiss at the feeling of the liquid on your cuts and try to pull away, to no avail. Your legs feel like jelly in his grip.

“That hurts,” you whine. 

“It can’t be helped,” he tells you, holding your leg firmly as he scrubs the sore bottom of your feet. Any sensitivity you had there is overruled by the soreness and pain from running, from the stinging aches that remain in your cuts. “I have to clean every cut or you may get an infection.”

He sets your leg down and lifts up the other, and you cringe before he even begins to move. You can’t help but whimper as he scrubs your leg, and the helpless stings of pain only increase when he moves on to your arms.

“Please,” you say, feeling low, nearly flattened. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”

He pauses, and the seemingly genuine concern in his eyes (it’s not, you remind yourself, it’s not--you think of the shop and the pizza place and the old man cutting his wife’s food, that was concern, that was care) has you feeling sorry for yourself.

“The stinging will go away in a few minutes. You chose to run away, you can certainly deal with this minor consequence.” He retains his grip on your upper arm and he swipes the sponge across your shoulders, briefly pushing the fabric aside as he does so. He pauses when he sees the blooming fingerprints on your shoulders, but says nothing.  You wonder if those men will survive the night.

There’s a a cut, thin and long, dragging from your collarbone down across your chest. He dips unceremoniously below the gown, touching you in a spot he normally avoids. The feeling of him so close, touching you--not quite on your chest, but close enough--only intensifies your humiliation. You whimper again and try to pull away, but his grip offers no room to move.

“I can’t--” You don’t finish. Your throat is so tight and you hate it, you hate that you can never talk about anything with him, never argue with him without clamming up with tears and a thick throat.

You bring your hands up to your hair, tugging on it until it prickles. Your breath starts to come in short bursts, your chest having as you pull on your hair and will yourself to be anywhere but here. For a flashing moment, you wish you’d never tried to escape. If you didn’t, you’d be getting ready for bed right now. Things would be--not okay. Never okay. But you wouldn’t be here, on this table, cold and stinging and in pain and utterly despondent from having your failures shoved in your face. But then you remember that if he’d never kidnapped you, you wouldn’t have had to try to escape in the first place, and the wish fades.

He remains silent, and instead simply keeps a steady, firm grip on your upper arm until your breath slows, until you can control yourself. Your skin feels at once numb and prickling in anxiety and adrenaline and emotions coursing through you.

Overhaul gives your arm a squeeze that is, perhaps, meant to be reassuring. “Are you suitably recovered?

You nod. Your stomach feels sour. You want to ask if you’re done, if you can just go sleep or get sent (you dread the idea) to solitary confinement or whatever it is he has planned in the wake of your escape. Anything would be better than this room and this soft, thin gown and his bright blue surgical gloves and your failure hanging in the air.

He extends his arm out and you pause for a moment before you grasp it, holding tight as you get off the table and stand on wobbly legs. You’re loathe to touch him, but you’re even more loathe to fall flat on your face on the hard floor.

He speaks before you get a chance to ask if you can change out of the medical gown.

“Now, we’ll go to the bathroom.”

Your knees suddenly feel like they might drop out from under you. “The bathroom?”

He nods, and pulls himself away from your weak grip as he begins walking towards the door. You follow without thinking, pausing when he stops to slide his medical gloves into the trash before slipping on another pair.

“We’re not finished here,” he tells you, and you swear his voice is almost giddy as he turns his head to meet your questioning face. “I told you earlier, we’re going to clean your mouth out.”

He can’t mean--

You take a step back, and your knee buckles. He’s quick--he catches you before you fall, but doesn’t let go. His pulls you upright and pulls you along. Your legs have no choice to walk--walk or be dragged--and you struggle for words as he leads you out of the clinic. Before you know it, you’re back in your room (familiar, warm, the same as it ways this morning) and led swiftly into the attached bathroom.

He pulls you in far enough that he’s able to shut the door behind him, trapping you inside. As if you wouldn’t be trapped by his mere presence. For a moment you wonder if he was bluffing, trying to scare you into submission, but by the time you take another breath he’s running the sink water and tearing into a new box of bar soap.

Your voice catches as you finally speak up. “You--you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” He doesn’t even face you as he speaks. Instead, he turns on the tap and fills a paper cup with water before setting it on the sink’s edge. Next comes the bar of white soap, which grows slick underneath the water. He turns off the tap and lets the excess water drip off, before turning to you, soap bar in hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips press together automatically, and you shake your head. No, no, and no. This isn’t happening.

He sighs, and again the feeling that you’re annoying him creeps under your skin. Why does it bother you that you’re annoying him? It shouldn’t bother you at all, but somehow you feel a pang of regret at how much has changed in less than 24 hours. 

“If you don’t open your mouth willingly, I will open it for you.” He takes a step closer, but your legs feel heavy now, rooted to the spot. It isn’t like there’s anywhere you could run, anyway. “I don’t want to do that,” he continues, voice slightly softened. “Cooperate and open your mouth.”

What choice do you have? You could protest, you could argue, you could leap into the bathtub and make him fight for what he wants. You could keep your mouth shut tight and force him to find a solution. But he is stronger than you, in more ways than one, and he would get his way in the end.

So you make the only choice available to you. Your entire mouth shakes and seems to fight against you as you slowly open your lips in compliance. You feel stupid, standing here with your mouth hanging open.

You can’t reflect on the feeling for long, as he wastes no time in shoving the bar inside your open lips. You can’t help but whimper at the intrusion, but he doesn’t let up and begins methodically scrubbing at your tongue. At first, there’s no taste--then the built-up slick of clinical soap makes itself known, and you take advantage of the soap slipping out of your lips to press them together again, denying him entry.

“Open,” he orders, soft and firm.

And you do, heaving your shoulders in an unreleased whimper. What else can you do but listen? He continues to scrub, this time moving the bar into the side of your mouth to scrub at your teeth. The clammy, greasy feeling of soap coating your teeth makes you curl your wide open lips downward. You must look ridiculous, in all respects, lips gaping in an unpleasant frown as your captor mercilessly soaps the inside of your mouth.

“Do you not like the taste?” His eyes glance over at your frown, and the mockery in his tone is more than blatant. 

“Uhh-uhh,” you mumble, open-mouthed, shaking your head. The position you’re in--Overhaul scrubbing into your mouth, your shaking body, the dim feeling of your bruises and cuts from earlier--makes you feel so painfully exposed. So painfully helpless.

He hums and rests the soap against your tongue. Before you can attempt to move your tongue, lessen the feeling of the taste of the soap against it, he gives you a command.

“Bite down.”

Your teeth sink into the soft bar, keeping it in place, and your whimpers grow stronger at the humiliating order you’ve just obeyed. Could you sink any lower?

You watch him through tear-brimmed eyes as he moves to stand in front of you. You know what’s coming before he even speaks and when he does, it’s no surprise.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

Back to this, again.

You shake your head, mumble around the soap: “No.”

“Are you capable of being on your own?”

You hesitate, and he merely jumps to another question, one far more pointed.

“Have you held a single job for longer than a year?”

You want to protest, but any attempt at complicated speech is marred by the soap--the weight of it, the taste, and your need to keep it steady in your mouth.

“No,” you admit, hating the feel of the bar as your lips press against it with the effort of speech.

“Would you have been evicted if I didn’t pay off your debts?”

“Yes.” Tears sting at your eyes. You want to wipe them away but you’re afraid you’ll get soap in them, somehow.

“Are you responsible enough with money to hold a job, maintain an apartment, and buy yourself the necessities for life without someone else stepping in?”

The soap somehow tastes even more bitter. “No, I can’t.” Your tongue pushes up against the soap at this, and you resolve to keep it to one-word answers only.

“If we didn’t intercept your little outing, would you have attempted to throw up at that restaurant today?”

You shake your head, but it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie--and he knows it’s a lie. So you nod, weakly. “Mm-hmm.”

“Have I been feeding you healthy meals? Have I been ensuring that you don’t engage in disgusting self-destructive behaviors?”

He has, but that’s not--your mind wants to argue, but you’re so tired and sick and your stomach hurts and the taste of the soap is too much. So you nod, instead.

He nods in response, and you pray that he’ll take the soap out and end this. Instead, he lifts your chin with a single finger, making you keep eye contact as he speaks.

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your words garbled around the wet soap bar. He releases your chin and it’s these words, this final question, that make you break entirely. Your shoulders ache from bruises as you cry, hunching over slightly and watching as some drool-laden soap droplets fall on the floor. “Yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, mechanically, crying around the bitter soap that’s digging into your front teeth.

Satisfied, he takes hold of the bar and waits for you to release it, then tosses it with ease into the trash. You blubber and spit, only succeeding in releasing a trail of soapy drool down your chin. Your tears are hot and stinging as they roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth, you try to say something, but all that comes out is soft cries punctuated by your attempts to spit out the soapy film.  

“Look at you,” he murmurs, bringing a gloved hand up to your cheek and wiping at the tears. “My poor thing. You can’t even speak. You can’t even articulate yourself. How could you ever hope to make it on your own?” His words are soft and cruel and you merely cry harder, humiliated and helpless.

Your throat is sore. Your stomach hurts. You want your warm nightgown on. You want to be in bed. You wish your stomach didn’t hurt so much from eating junk. You wish you weren’t covered in cuts and bruises. You wish you’d just enjoyed the garden and went back inside. You wish you’d never done this at all. You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid.

And you finally say so, all of it, blubbering, bits of soapy drool dribbling out of your mouth as you cry and admit your faults out loud.

After your wrought-out apology dissolves into meaningless whimpers, Overhaul finally grabs the glass of water he set on the edge of the sink, and you gratefully swish the lukewarm liquid with earnest. You lean over the sink and spit, body trembling, then fill the cup again and repeat the gesture again and again to get rid of every bit of white soap stuck in your mouth. Even as you spit, you realize that the taste isn’t going to be completely gone anytime soon--it’s stuck in your mouth like a bad memory.

You jerk when his hands are suddenly on your back, rubber gloves sliding up and down the thin medical gown covering your cold, helpless body. But he merely keeps rubbing, gentle and soothing, while you swish and spit, and cry and cry.

His hands leave your back only to grab a washcloth from the built-in shelves across from the toilet. You watch as he wets the cloth and you stand silently, allowing him to wipe up the drool and soap from your chin, your neck, even a bit on your chest where it dribble-dropped downward.

When you’re all cleaned up, he fills up a cup with mouth wash and silently hands it to you. You gratefully swish it for as long as possible before spitting it into the sink. The soap taste is still there, but lessened somewhat by the overpowering mint of the mouthwash. He gestures to your toothbrush and you pick it up, and begin mechanically brushing your teeth, stopping when the 2-minute timer flashes on the bottom. You instinctively grab your floss without having to be told and make quick work of that, too.

He opens the door to the bathroom, but gestures for you to wait. You do, standing numbly, wishing that he let you have a mirror so you could see your own state. But he doesn’t, and you can’t, and so you wait until he returns with a bundle in his arms.

It’s your pajamas. A soft, pink nightgown--he didn’t pick the soft blue one, tonight, and you’re grateful to avoid any reminders of the medical gown you have on--with matching socks and underwear. You nod and accept the bundle meekly. He turns around and you make quick work of the medical gown, tossing it in the trash yourself before you get dressed for bed.

“M’done,” you mumble, though you quickly realize speaking makes the lingering soap taste stronger. You follow him silently out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, which is just as you left it that morning. The only thing different is you. Subdued, humiliated, helpless.

Overhaul pulls the cover on your bed and you sit down, numb and chastened. You pull your legs up and tuck them under the soft comforter. You’re forcing yourself into the routine you’ve been following for the past few weeks, but the secret thrill you once had of obeying with ulterior movies is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a heavy stillness, the knowledge that you failed in more ways than one. The occasional roll of your stomach reminds you that the night may not be over, bedtime routine be damned.

But you ignore it for now, and you lean your head back on your pillow as he pulls the comforter towards your shoulders, tucking you in. Rather than leave immediately, he sits next to you on the bed, looking down at you with an obsessive, possessive expression in his eyes.

You force down an instinctive flinch when he suddenly begins to stroke the top of your forehead, moving up to pet your hair softly. His gloves are gone. While not completely new, it’s rare--rare enough that the feeling of his bare fingers is still an unusual sensation.

You close your eyes. It usually makes him leave faster. Your heart begins to pound as you hear him stand, as you sense him leaning in, as you feel the ghost of his breath against your face.

“Sweet dreams. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

What a silly thing to say, you think. Your dreams are never sweet anymore.

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

So this is a personal one for me to ask and if you're not comfortable with it don't mind it; how would the tmnt boys (seperate) react when the reader confesses that they're autistic after the boys got curious when she had some peculiar, behavior or stims. The reader would be stressed, because she has a crush on the tmnt boy in question and she didn't want them to find her weird or just stop interacting with her. When she's met with confusion instead, because the boys never heard of it, cue this weird conversation where reader tells them to the best of her ability what it is and the boys just keep asking questions. Also some general headcannons with it maybe?

Okay so I'm actually really happy that you asked me this because I feel like ASD isn't portrayed a lot in any type of media. My ADD and ASD have a lot of overlap so I hope I can capture what you're asking of me!

Now let's get into it!

TMNT Headcanons

The boys reacting to an autistic reader

Leonardo

he wasn't really sure what was happening the first time you reacted

one minute you were standing next to him doing dishes and the next you were attempting to claw your skin off like an angry cat

Leo tried not to look annoyed as he watched you rub your hands against your shirt until your flesh started to turn red

you looked like you were crying but he knew you weren't

but your face was starting to turn purple and your cheeks were puffy from the effort of holding your breath

"Y/N? You need to breathe."

You shot a glare at him, scathing eyes meeting his now very concerned expression

your own softened and you clutched your arms to your chest, heaving oxygen into your lungs until your face became a normal shade again

"Are you okay?"

The words were stuck in your throat and you weren't sure if you should nod or shake your head

so you gave him a half-hearted shrug

he frowned back at you but turned to finish the dishes on his own

when he questioned you about it later he couldn't help but be curious

"Well actually it's uh- it's kinda a sensory type of thing? There are certain textures that I can't stand touching do I avoid them but if I come into contact by accident my brain just kinda explodes and I shut down."

"How exactly does that work though?"

"I don't really understand it much but like- you know that feeling you get when you think there's a bug on you and there's not but it really really feels like it?"

He nodded

"Yeah, it feels like that. And anytime I touch something that triggers that reaction it takes FOREVER to get the feeling off my skin. That's why I usually wear gloves when I do dishes. Guess I just forgot to grab 'em today."

He was sympathetic

and god, you were so embarrassed

lucky for you, Leo's not an asshole

"Well thank you for explaining it to me, you really freaked me out earlier. I'll talk to April and see if we can keep a pair or two at the lair just in case you forget again."

Consider your heart melted

you couldn't even find the words to thank him and holy shit was your face red

"Hey y/n?"

"Yeah Leo?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me- us that you were autistic?"

Did you rip the band aid off now or make something up? Which would ,technically speaking, be less catastrophic in the long run?

"I uh- I really like you and I really didn't want you or the other's to look at me differently..."

wow, you liked him? miss ma'am you have saved this boy a world of anxiety and damn does he thank you for it

"Thanks for telling me... and y/n? I really like you to."

Awh fuck yeah, best possible execution of band aid-ripping-off ever

Donatello

Donnie wished he could act surprised when you finally told him

he really wanted to, it would've made you feel better for sure

but he sucked at lying and he didn't want to make you feel like he thought you were an idiot

because that was so far from the truth

after going through extensive research on Mikey's behalf when he suspected he had ADHD Donnie had stumbled across many different websites that discussed the symptoms and overlaps between both disorders

to make a long story short, Donnie knew that you had ASD and he was waiting for you to tell him

it would probably come off as rude if he brought it up in conversation right?

he didn't want to risk it

but that didn't stop him from keeping an eye on you and your behaviors

he was a man of science, of course he was going to analyze you

not in a weird way or anything, just as a curious sort of precaution

but the longer you were involved in the turtle's lives the more noticeable your stims and meltdowns got, Donnie did his best to cover for you without making you suspicious of him

eventually he'd come up with something that he hoped would come across as a friendly gesture and wouldn't set you off or scare you away

it was game night at the lair and you, as always, were perched on the arm of the sofa, a large grin plastered on your face

inside your head was exploding but you were masking it pretty well if you do say so yourself

but Donnie was, well... donnie was donnie

so when he noticed you starting to rock a little more visibly he removed his attention from commentating the game and grabbed a pair of headphones from the side table

you were beyond confused when he passed them to you but your face revealed everything

"They're noise cancelling, try them on."

holy shit it was like putting your head underwater, everything was muffled

not in the way normal headphones did, you quite literally couldn't hear anything at all, just a calm amount of nothing

you nearly started crying when you realized that Donnie had figured you out on his own

but you'd never been more relieved about anything in your life

Raphael

he wouldn't admit that he was mesmerized by your presence

you practically radiated calm

his complete opposite

it was his favorite thing about you, because despite your quiet disposition and calming aura you weren't afraid to call him out or rebut any of his insults

this was not something you expected him to appreciate nor was it something you thought would make you catch feelings

but damn if you didn't

he'd been sitting in on yours and Donnie's little experiment for an hour or so now, watching you both exchange quiet whispers and inside jokes that you always seemed to lag on

then you slipped up

not bad, nothing detrimental to the project, just the same mistake that you'd already made ten times over

you might as well have exploded

"Y'N, you just have to move thi-"

"I KNOW DONATELLO. I FUCKING KNOW AND I JUST CAN'T DO THIS BULLSHIT!"

you set everything down gently enough to avoid breaking it before turning and storming out of the lab, waving your hands like they were on fire

Raph and Donnie exchanged a look that sent the larger red turtle following after you

when you calmed yourself down enough to talk you kept your gaze locked on the wall, explaining that you couldn't make eye contact when you were upset

he might not be the smartest brother, but Raph's no dummy, he put those pieces together pretty quickly after you told him that one small detail

he wasn't upset that you didn't tell him and you'd personally never been more relieved

your heart nearly splattered into the stratosphere when you finally gace him your own explanation

"yeah, I like ya too."

you grinned so wide you were sure your face would split open and your entire body rocked side to side with excitement

he thought that was pretty adorable too

And he did stick around to offer a bit of support when you apologized to Donnie for screaming at him

Michaelangelo

to be frank it probably shouldn't have taken so long for Mikey to realize that you were autistic

the similarities between your own personality and his ADHD were so in sight it was near painful

it was his turn to make dinner that night and you'd made sure that you came over early to help him set up, you knew how side-tracked he'd get and you were the poster child for solid routine

what more perfect matchup existed?

trick question, there isn't one

you were on one side of the counter cutting vegetables and he was on the other throwing said vegetables into the mixing pot

the music was at an ungodly level of loud so your only means of communication were screaming over it

"MIKEY."

"WHA?"

"YOU GOT THE-"

"YEAH."

"AND THE-"

"UH HUH."

"COOL, HAVE YOU SEEN THE-"

"TONGS? NO, THE SKEWERS. YEAH, THEY'RE IN THE OTHER DRAWER."

"THANKS."

the two of you went about your previous tasks, thinking nothing of the conversation that had just taken place

at least until you'd begun washing your knife and cutting board

that's when Casey walked in, looking both perturbed and annoyed at the same time

"Alright, which one of you knows telepathy?"

Mikey exchanged a glance with you and you returned it with a raised eyebrow

"The hell you mean brah?"

he looked at the both of you like you were the ones that had grown four extra heads before speaking again

"You literally just had a conversation with like five words and somehow just knew what the other meant? What's up with that?"

you glanced at Mikey again

"Holy shit, did we?"

"I mean, not really. You used your hands."

now all three of you were confused but it quickly became two when Casey shook his head in defeat and left the room

"You know I think he's right."

he blinked first and your staring contest ended

"But you used your hands-"

"I got autism Mikey, one does not simply not use their hands as forms of speech."

"You're-"

"Yep."

was the silence laughing at you? could it do that? it was kinda rude

"Huh, that actually makes sense, that's not mean is it?"

you shook your head no

"You're just me but fast."

Mikey agreed with that, pestered you with a few more questions, and went back about working, as did you, you saw no reason to address it further

but your cheeks burned red

"Yo- Y/N that actually explains why everyone else thinks we're a thing."

you didn't know if you could choke on air or not but you did it anyways

"Are we?"

he gave you his signature grin

"If we are then Raph owes April a hundred bucks."

you returned his smile

"Oh this oughta be good."

I'd like to preface this by apologizing for my near three week absence. Life got crazy and my writer's block hopped on a train, went through a school zone, killed seven pedestrians, and committed tax fraud before tumbling off a cliff never to be seen again.

But on the bright side- I got my SAT scores back and started some scholarship applications. Super happy with that. School's out in a few weeks so I'll be able to write more (hopefully).

Anyways, I hope I got this one down okay. I may have hyper analyzed the request so I might be a little off. But I really enjoyed doing this one and I hope you like it!

-Mars 🌠

[nicolewoo]

Sharing

Pairing: Dom Roman Reigns X Sub Reader, Dom Dean Ambrose X Sub Reader

Warning: SMUT. Sharing. Double penetration. Whipping, spanking, riding crop,.. Just know it’s smutty. You’re warned.

Requested by: Startwithaheart. Thanks for the great idea. I hope I did it justice.

“Where’s Y/N?” Dean asked looking out over the ocean from my back deck.

I handed him a beer and opened my own. “She’s upstairs doing something.”

Dean took a big swig of the beer I’d handed him, letting out a loud burp after. “You two still doing ok? Isn’t her contract about up?”

I shook my head, intentionally looking at the ocean to avoid looking at him. “Yeah yeah. Things are going great. We’re both eager to re-sign.” This was the time. I had to ask before second guessing myself. “But there is one thing....” I let the sentence trail off when the awkwardness of this conversation hit me again.

Dean looked at me, motioning for me to continue. “What kind of thing?” He turned toward me a bit. When I wasn’t quick to answer, he continued. “Run it by me. Maybe I can help.”

I took a deep breath before turning to him. “Y/N has one fantasy that I can’t fulfill on my own.”

Dean processed the information quickly. “Ah, your baby girl wants a three-way?” He nodded as if the information didn’t surprise him. “You want some help pickin out the right girl?”

“The thing is, she wants another guy, another dom to join us. She wants both of us to dominate her.” I paused hoping he’d just volunteer, but he didn’t. I couldn’t look at him for the next part. “She wants you to join us.” Dean was stunned into silence. I knew Dean preferred open relationships. That was no secret, so why didn’t he just agree?

“Ro, man. This is YOUR baby girl. I know how much you love her, and I know how jealous you can get.” He looked back out at the ocean. “This is a bad idea. I’d be worried our friendship couldn’t make it through this.”

I looked Dean in the eye, letting him know I was serious. “I’ve thought about this a lot. She told me about this fantasy when we first got together, so trust me, I’ve thought about how it’s going to feel. Hell, she and I have talked about it a ton. It boils down to this. We wouldn’t trust anyone BUT you.”

He took another swig of his beer. “You guys talked about me specifically?” His eyebrows raised on surprise.

“Yes, and we both agree on a one night thing.... just a special re-signing gift. Will you help us?” I practically begged.

———————————

I came down the stairs freshly showered and wearing a sundress. I’d fixed my hair and makeup both to look my best and to give the guys time to talk. Now, I was shaking with nerves as I descended. Both men looked at me. When I looked at Dean, I couldn’t tell how the meeting had gone. His stoic face hid any emotion he felt. It only made me more nervous.

Dean stood and met me at the base of the stairs, blocking my path. Standing one step higher than him, I was slightly taller than him. He reached his hand out and I took it. Did this mean he agreed? Lifting my hand up to his lips, he kissed my knuckles lightly. The simple little kiss answered my question. “Y/N. Is this what you want?” His stare was smoldering, his eyes taking in my whole body as he waited for me to answer. I couldn’t speak so I nodded yes. “Not good enough princess. You have to say it out loud.” He stepped closer to me and wrapped an arm around my waist. I nodded again, and tentatively said yes.

Dean pulled me harshly against him, and I felt his hard dick against my thigh as he pushed a knee between mine a fraction of a second before he pressed his lips to mine sweetly and finding me willing, he slid his tongue in my mouth. His taste flooded my already lustful thoughts. My body yielded to his dominance, pressing desperately against him as my hips rolled against his thigh trying to find relief from the desire building in my core. When the kiss ended, Dean stared into my eyes.

“You got a playroom Ro?”

Roman neared us now, and I scanned his face for any sign that he wanted to stop this. Instead, he looked ready; the tent in his pants showing his desires. “Take him upstairs baby girl. Show him where we play.”

I turned quietly, but Dean kept his arm around my waist. He pulled me tightly, roughly against him, rutting his cock into my ass as he locked his lips on the back of my neck. I moaned at his touch, but he pulled away much too quickly, giving my ass a swat almost hard enough to knock me over. I yipped at the pain, and quickly recovered.

The closer we got to the play room, the harder my heart beat. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to do this. I was actually going to fulfill my deepest fantasy. I was as scared as I was excited.

I led Dean and Ro upstairs, and I could feel Dean’s eyes following my every move. My mind spiraled out of control for a minute. Do I look good in this dress? Is Dean going to like my body? How harsh would he be? Would he like the way I taste? As we neared the door I waited for Dean to enter first while I lagged behind to be reassured by Roman for a second.

“You can still stop this, baby girl. Is that what you want?” I shook my head no. “Then what is it? Tell daddy.”

I cast my eyes down to the floor, knowing he wouldn’t like my next answer, but I still needed to tell the truth. “What if he doesn’t like me?” I had tried to whisper, but as soon as I said it, Dean turned around.

“Ah, Doll. Look at me.” He took my face in his hands forcing me to look at him. “You’re a knockout baby. I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw ya, but Ro doesn’t like to share.” He kissed me passionately, snaking his arms around me and pulled me against him so I could feel his rock hard cock. I melted into his kiss. His kisses were tougher than Roman’s. There was an urgency to them, like he needed to devour me soon or he’d explode. Roman was never in a hurry. He took great pride in making me wait until I begged him to fuck me. What other surprises would this night bring?

“Take your normal place, doll.” Dean said and motioned me to come into the room. I did as directed and stood in the center of the room. “Clothed? Standing?” Dean asked Roman.

Ro shrugged. “I like undressing her.” He walked over to a table with a couple of glasses and the whiskey Roman liked. He filled them, handed one to Dean. “Have a seat,” he said, and they sat, both of them just openly leering at me. Roman knew just how uncomfortable I was the first few times he did this. He knew that having Dean here would stir up that discomfort and heighten my arousal.

They sat quietly, sipping their drinks for a few minutes before Dean downed his drink with a hearty “Ah” before he stood. “Enough of that. Mind if I....?” Dean trailed off but motioned to me.

“Yeah. If you’re ready to play, go ahead.” Roman said it so nonchalantly I was surprised. He had promised that he was ready to accept this, but I had expected a little hesitation at sharing me. Before my mind could process the thought, Dean was kissing me so roughly, so passionately it wiped the thoughts out of my head. He grabbed and pulled at me roughly, my arms, my waist, my ass. He was everywhere. Just as fast as he started, he stopped. My head was spinning trying to process everything.

“Let’s get this dress off.” Dean pulled the dress over my head, dropping it on the floor and pushing it away with his foot. He wolf whistled as he surveyed my matching bra and panties in a pale pink. “Look at you, doll.” He walked around me, drinking in the sight of me as he trailed two fingertips over my body. When he reached my bra, he trailed his fingers over my already hard nipples. I inhaled sharply as a pang of need caused my core to clench looking for relief. “You’re just perfect. Bet you’re already wet for me. His hand flattened now, sliding toward my pussy and finding my underwear soaked. “I thought so.” He kissed me again as he brushed his fingers over my clothed clit. I gasped and bucked my hips toward him. “Good girl.” He grumbled between the kisses he was trailing down to my neck. I couldn’t help but smile, and noticing a change in my body language, he glanced up at me before turning to Ro. “A praise kink huh?” He looked amused. “I can handle that.”

He slid an arm around me, pulling me close as his fingers toyed with my nipples, squeezing and pulling lightly at first then harder and harder. It hurt so bad, I squeaked out. He immediately stopped the pain but ran the tip of his fingernail over my sensitive nipple. Need roared in me again, shooting straight to my pussy. I was panting now. Dean bent to lick my nipple. Even through the fabric, his tonged was hot and wet, and I didn’t want my bra in the way of it anymore. I whined with need and pressed my thighs together tightly. “Did you want something pet?” He slid his hand into the back of my underwear, grabbing a handful of my butt cheek.

He pressed his thigh between mine. I couldn’t help rolling my hips trying to get friction where I needed it the most. “What’s the matter, baby girl?” I hadn’t noticed Roman get up, but he came up behind me, brushing my hair back and kissing my neck. Dean started kissing the other side as his hands grasped my hips, guiding my pussy across his thigh. I moaned and rolled my hips again. “Oh doll, you’re just a needy mess, aren’t you?” Dean asked and laughed when I moaned out a yes. “Let me see.” His hand slid into my underwear and between my mound and his thigh. “Ahhhh you’re all wet” he exclaimed as he started circling my clit with my fingers.

 I couldn’t help my reactions. I panted, whined, bucked my hips. They’d barely started, and I was already craving a much needed orgasm. Roman kept his lips near my neck. “Baby girl, are you ready for more?” I nodded overly excited.

It took Roman a fraction of a second to open the clasp of my bra, and Dean trailed kisses from my neck to my shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses as he slowly slid the straps off me. The bra fell to the floor and was quickly kicked out of the way. Dean turned me around before sliding his fingers inside my underwear and pulled them down to the floor too.

Roman picked me up easily, freeing the cloth from my feet and placed me back down. He knew I loved when he manhandled me, and I let out a little squeak of excitement that made him chuckle.

Dean peeled his shirt off letting it fall to the floor. “Where’s the toys?” He kicked his shoes off.

Roman motioned to the dresser. “The 3 drawers on the right.” He scooped me up and dropped me on the bed so hard I bounced.

I giggled as I sat up on my knees and held my arms up to Roman. “Again!”

“Not right now.” He started to turn away, and I quickly frowned.

“Again.” I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted at him.

He turned back to me brows raised. “Now you’re going to be a brat?” The word brat caught Dean’s attention, and he turned to watch us. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

I looked from Roman’s stern expression to Dean’s amused smirk.

Looking defiantly into Ro’s eyes, “Again.”

In a fraction of a second, Ro had flipped me on my stomach and spanked me HARD: right cheek then left. I screamed out with each searing stroke. He hadn’t spanked me this hard since he’d tested my limits when we first got together. He grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head up to see him. “Do you have anything to say now?” He growled down to me.

“No daddy.” I said quietly and politely.

He released my hair. “I didn’t think so” he huffed out.

Dean approached me from the other side of the bed. He grabbed another handful of hair, causing my already sore scalp to sear in pain. “See ya later, doll” he said just before Roman slipped a blindfold over my eyes.

Dean flipped me now, without the fun bounce, and both men started to shackle me to the bed frame. “Too tight?” Dean asked as he tightened the strap on my wrist.

My inner brat now subdued, I answered “No sir.”

“That’s more like it.” Ro said. He leaned down and kissed me passionately.

I felt Dean sit on the bed next to me and stroke my hair softly. “That’s a good girl.”  He slid his hand over my body finding my breast and playing tenderly with my nipple. He leaned down, taking my tit in his mouth, his tongue licking furiously over the nipple. I moaned and tried to press my legs together for relief from the desperate need inside me, but I couldn’t with my legs shackled to the bed.

“Dean, she’s ready.” Roman’s comment wasn’t meant for me, but I wanted to know what he meant.

“Ready for what?” I moaned.

“Shhhh. Just relax baby doll.” Dean whispered to me. “Daddy Dean is gonna take care of you.”

I felt as he moved to the foot of the bed trailing his hands down my body as he went. As his hand slid over my mound, I bucked my hips and mewled out in need.

“What’s the matter baby girl?” Roman’s amused voice whispered in my ear.

My response was more of a pant than an answer. “I neeeeed….” Dean’s hands slid from my feet slowly up my legs. He peppered kisses over my thighs as he went. I couldn’t finish my sentence, a whine interrupting me.

“You need? What do you need?” Ro teased.

“Daddy!!!” I cried out as Dean’s finger slipped over my clit.

Roman shushed me while he ran his hand over my hair. “Is Daddy Dean making you feel good?” I knew he could read my body language. He knew just how horny I was getting. I needed relief. My daddy wouldn’t make me wait too long for relief, but what would Daddy Dean do?

A split second later, Dean licked a strip across my folds eliciting a moan from me. My head swam in desire. I bucked my hips up to meet him, and I heard him moan when I did, the vibrations making his licking even better. He grabbed my hips hard, holding me mid-air to get me exactly where he wanted me, and then, he devoured me. I wanted to help hold myself up, but his talented mouth was the only thing I could focus on. His mouth and Roman’s tender kisses. We fell silent, Dean focused on my pussy, Roman teasing my nipples and kissing me and cooing out praises to me.

Minutes later, an all-encompassing orgasm racked through my body. Dean slid a finger into me, easing a bit of the clenching as he brought me gently down from my orgasm. “Whoa Whoa Whoa!” Dean stopped his ministrations. “I didn’t tell you you could cum, did I?” He pulled the blindfold up so I could see him.

Shit. “I’m so sorry Daddy Dean. I couldn’t help it. You were making me feel too good.”  Roman would have been flattered and let me off the hook, but the look on Dean’s face told me he had other plans.

He turned suddenly and went back to the dresser, grabbing a couple of things from the drawers before returning and putting the blindfold back on… with one hand behind his back hiding what he picked. Suddenly, a terrible pain radiated through the skin of my chest. It was a cat -of-9 tails. Normally my favorite toy, but Daddy Roman never hit me this hard. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t. I was ready to call yellow when the next hit came. The third though was not as hard, and relief washed over me as I realized the worst was done. “You gonna cum without permission again, doll?” Dean’s menacing voice growled in my ear.

“N…no… no sir.” I stuttered out as a tear ran down my temple.

“I didn’t think so.” Dean kept his mouth close to my ear, taking the lobe in his mouth and suckling sweetly before biting down hard on it, which made me cry out in pain.

Roman grumbled. “Hey, not so hard.” He was telling Dean.

The cat of 9 hit my chest again, but much lighter than before. This was closer to what I was used to. “She’s ok. Aren’t you?” he asked me.

Ro lifted up my blindfold a bit. “You ok?” he asked.

I nodded as I swallowed. “Yes daddy. Just not used to it.” He looked worried. “I’m good daddy. Just need a few more orgasms.” I smirked up to him, which made him chuckle.

“She’s fine.” He laughed as he put the blindfold back on.

Dean grabbed a handful of my hair and lifted my face up to kiss me roughly before tapping the soft head of his cock against my lips. I opened obediently and stuck my tongue out as far as I could. “Fuck! You look so hot like that.” He said before sliding his cock slowly in my mouth. The moan that escaped his mouth comforted me. He liked how I sucked his dick. He wasn’t as long as Roman, but his girth was daunting, and I struggled a minute to adjust. As I fell into a rhythm, he released my hair, allowing me to take him as I wanted, and damn he tasted so good.

Roman kissed a trail down my body, stopping to lick and suck my nipple gently on the way. The tender touches from both of my daddies was so opposite the harsh punishment I’d just gotten that it made my head swim even more.

The lower Ro kissed, the more desperate noises I made with my mouth around Dean’s dick, and I knew the vibrations had to be pleasing him, but I couldn’t see him. I could only judge the effect I was having on him by his hands, the praises he cooed down to me and the throbbing of his dick in my mouth.

Roman’s finger slid into my pussy, moaning when he felt how wet I was. Sliding another finger in, he went straight to my g-spot. He knew it would make me cum. I knew it would make me cum too, but I had no way to stop it. I started tapping feverishly at Dean’s thigh, trying to get him to pull out of my mouth, but he didn’t stop right away. He thrust a few more times into my mouth while tears steamed out of my eyes.

Roman must have interceded because Dean finally pulled out. “What’s up doll?” he asked.

I gasped air so Roman answered. “She needs to cum.”

“Again?” There was a hint of amusement in Dean’s voice.  

Ro laughed back. “In her defense, the g-spot is the fastest way to get her to cum.” He continued to stroke inside me just the way I liked as I cried out desperately.

“Please. Daddies! Please! May I cum?”

Dean laughed at my desperation. “She’s so fuckin cute when she begs.” Ro agreed.

“Should we let her?” Ro asked.

A sudden strike to my stomach made me yip. Ah, the riding crop. Another of my favorites. Either Dean and I had similar tastes or they had discussed toys earlier. “If only you’d asked before you came last time.” He teased evilly. “No. Not yet. You’re gonna have to wait a while baby.”

Roman stilled his fingers before pulling them out very slowly. “No! No! No!” I cried desperately as my core clenched trying to find some friction, some relief.

“Yes,” he said firmly.

“Darlin’, The next time you cum is gonna be on my cock.” Dean said before kissing me and playing with my nipples. He grabbed my hand, pulling it to his hard dick. I didn’t need a command to start pumping him. I was rewarded with a long low moan from him.

Ro began peppering kisses over my legs, my thighs and my hood, but he never touched where I needed him the most. I whimpered and tried to buck my hips, but he held me firm.

The men fell silent for a second, and I wondered what was happening when a faint sound from Ro clued me into the fact that they were whispering…. Planning what they were going to do. I focused on stroking Dean, knowing he wasn’t going to let me cum until I earned it this time.

Dean removed my blindfold and both men un-shackled me. “Come over here.” He laid down beside me and pulled me on top of him. “You’re gonna ride me now.”

They didn��t give me any time to think before four hands grabbed at my waist and hips and guided me down onto Dean’s dick. Being shorter and thicker than Roman, he filled me in a way I wasn’t used to, and as he was sheathed to the hilt inside me, we both moaned in relief.

“So fucking tight!” Dean pulled me down until I was face to face with him and kissed me passionately while I began to rock back and forth. “That’s it Doll. Ride me good.” It didn’t matter what Dean said now. I was so lost in the feeling of him inside me, I could hardly think of anything else.

Once I’d found a rhythm, I sat up, reveling in the feeling of him being so deep. Roman came behind me, holding my hips to control my pace. He pulled my hair back and began kissing my neck. “How is my baby girl doing?” He purred in my ear. My moan was the only answer I could give. “Good girl.” He wrapped his arm around me and started playing with my nipple, twisting and pulling it gently. The combination of the sensations drove me over the edge. I came with a wild scream; my entire body went limp as waves of pleasure rolled through my body. Roman began cooing praises to me; telling me how good I was doing, how sexy I looked, all the things he knew I wanted to hear.  

As the lustful haze in my head faded, I noticed that Dean wasn’t making a sound, and he wasn’t moving. I looked down to see him staring at me, eyes glazed in desire. “Dean? Are you ok?”

His huge smile answered before he could. “I’m wonderful, doll. Wonderful. Just enjoying that tight pussy squeezing my cock.” He pulled me down to him and kissed me passionately before starting to move his hips again. I wanted to roll with him, but my legs were like jelly. “Just relax. I’ve got ya.” Dean grabbed my hips and began bucking inside me. He was rough and fast and my body was already sensitive. He was all I could concentrate on.

I knew Roman was still in the room, but he wasn’t near me. A few minutes later when I felt his hands massaging my ass cheeks, I knew where he’d gone. A well lubricated finger slid in my ass gently. My head snapped up at the feel. Full. So full, and I knew I was going to get fuller. Dean pulled me in for a long kiss that made my head spin. “Look at me.” Dean said, and I did.

Roman slid a second finger in after the first. This. This was what I wanted; what I craved. What I was both excited for and scared of. Dean held my gaze as Roman pulled his fingers out. “It’s time for you to cum baby girl.”

“Wha…?” Before I could finish my sentence, Dean flipped me on my back, pulled my legs over his shoulders and started pounding mercilessly into me. He was fast. He was rough. He bit and grabbed and pulled and pounded into me like a wild beast.

“You heard Ro. It’s time for you to cum.” Dean’s voice took on his dominant tone as he wrapped a hand around my neck. “Cum all over Daddy Dean’s cock.”

My ears started ringing, my eyes going dark around the edges. I exploded the second he removed his hand from my throat. Relief rolling over my body in a warm tingly wave of pleasure. Dean didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. Another orgasm started just seconds after the last. “That’s it doll.” He cooed to me.

He slowed down now. Like someone hit a switch, he went from mercilessly fucking me to making love to me. He kissed, nipped, sucked and caressed. After a few minutes, I saw him look over at Ro and nod. He grabbed my waist and rolled us until I was on top. Roman’s hands grabbed my hips. “Did Daddy Dean fuck you good, baby girl?” I nodded. “You ready for more?” I nodded again. “Ok baby, I want you to just relax. Dean and I will hold you up. All you have to do is relax.” He kissed my neck before sitting up and pressing the tip of his cock to the entrance of my ass. Dean stopped all movement, letting me adjust as Roman slowly slid in. “You’re doing great baby.”

Dean kissed me deeply as Joe slid further and further. It got so quiet in the room, all of us holding our collective breaths to see if I could handle both of them. Before I knew it, Roman said “That’s it. I’m in. Are you ok, baby girl?”

“Yes.” I said. “You can move now, Dean.”

“You sure?” he smiled up at me. I was only ½ way through a nod when he bucked into me. “Fuck! That just makes her tighter” he said to Roman who chuckled.

“Like she’s not tight enough as it is?”

Dean laughed softly, staring at me the whole time. “No kidding.”

Dean moved slowly, gently while Roman stayed still sheathed inside my ass. After a few minutes, Roman started moving too. The sensations were overwhelming, and I came again and again. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. I became a being made of pure sensation. Dean’s face turned red, spots of sweat dotting his forehead, and the groans from my Samoan daddy told me how good he felt.

Dean came with a loud roar, bucking into me so hard that Ro pulled out of me on one thrust. Roman waited a minute and then pulled me off Dean, who turned to face me. Roman left and I heard the shower turn on for a few minutes while Dean and I laid silently kissing and caressing. “You did it. You did so good for us.” He whispered as he kissed my forehead.

“I did it.” I sighed out. I could feel my eyes drooping. I needed sleep, bad.

“You’re almost done.” Roman said as he climbed into the bed behind me. He smelled clean and wet and like my daddy. “How do you want me baby?” He kissed my shoulder as he pulled me tightly against him.

“Just like this.” I could fee his hard dick pressing against my slit, and realize that like this, I might be able to find the energy to move my hips to meet his, so at least I’d be contributing something. I tried lifting my head off the pillow but couldn’t.

Ro slid into me with great care. He kissed my neck now as he started to move. I tried to help but ended up being all off rhythm. “It’s ok, baby girl. You don’t have to do anything.”

Dean returned after his shower, climbing into the bed in front of me. He smirked mischievously at me as he reached up to play with my tits. “Is your daddy making you feel good?” he teased me. I nodded at him, feeling another orgasm building.

“Can I…?” I started, and both daddies said yes at the same time.

I fell, slowly slipping into the abyss of ecstasy as both men touched me, kissed me, praised me. Roman came a couple of minutes later. I laid on Dean’s chest recovering while Roman regained his breath.

“I know you guys said this is a one time thing, but if you EVER change your minds, I’ll be happy to do this again….” Dean kissed my forehead, leaving his lips there as he said “and again and again and again.” We all laughed. 

@mindofasagitarius   @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole​

@startwithaheart

[jay4firefic]

so i know you’re probably not gonna check this soon but i just found out i didn’t get accepted in med school and im a little sad so if you could write some kelly x buck fluff i’d really appreciate it shdhhfs

Anon I am so sorry, I can't even imagine how much that must suck. I hope this bit of Buck and Kelly's first Christmas from Grow As We Go, the next installment of Chicago: 9-1-1, helps distract you for a little while. (also, I don't know if you're a dog person, but just in case I've included a picture of my brand new puppy Donut at the end)

The smell of bacon and coffee finally pull Buck out of a deep, dreamless sleep, hours later than he usually wakes up. Not that it’s possible to tell time from the muted gray light filtering through the floor to ceiling windows, dulled by heavy clouds and fat, perfect snowflakes that stick against the glass before melting. For once the stupidly huge converted warehouse is warm enough that Buck doesn’t shiver when he stretches and throws back the down comforter, though he still pulls a pair of wool socks from the bedside drawer - put there just for him, when Kelly got sick of hearing him whine about having cold feet - and slips his feet into them before daring to step on the always-freezing concrete floor.

The clock beside the bed catches Buck’s attention. It’s ten, the latest he’s slept in months. Ten in the morning on December 25th, in a warm apartment, with the smell of bacon and the hum of soft music drifting in from the next room, and Buck realizes suddenly that this is the first time he hasn’t woken up alone on Christmas since - maybe since Maddie stopped coming home for the holidays nearly a decade ago. He’s distantly aware that he should probably be sad about that fact. A normal person would be sad about that, right? But mostly Buck just feels warm, and sleepy, and hungry enough that he finally levers himself out of bed and pulls on a faded CFD sweatshirt of unknown provenance.

As soon as he opens the bedroom door, Kelly looks up from the stove and smiles over his shoulder. His hair - longer now, at Buck’s request - is still ruffled from sleep, and he’s either brave or stupid enough to be cooking bacon shirtless, wearing only a pair of sweatpants that pool around his feet in a telltale sign they actually belong to Buck. Kelly nods toward the full coffee pot where it sits beside a steaming waffle iron before turning back to the stove, but Buck bypasses it in favor of sidling up to Kelly and sliding his arms around him from behind.

“Thought I dreamed you,” Buck says, his voice still sleep-rough. He nuzzles the side of Kelly’s neck, smiles into the kiss he presses there when the faintest shiver ripples through the other man, then hooks his chin over Kelly’s shoulder and peers down at the stove.

“Do you dream of me often?” Kelly asks as he reaches out to pull a waffle from the iron and pour another cup of batter into it.

Buck is glad that Kelly can’t see his flush staining his cheeks in this position, because the answer is a resounding yes, but the dreams don’t usually involve Kelly waking him up and half-carrying him to bed solely for the purpose of sleeping like he did last night. “No comment. Don’t burn the bacon.”

Kelly laughs but lets it go, letting himself be pulled into the rhythm of a now familiar argument. “I like it burned.”

“You only like it burned because you can’t cook it any other way.” Buck waits until Kelly is distracted by the waffle maker again to steal the tongs off of the counter beside the stove and reach around him to grab half the bacon out of the pan while it’s still perfectly crispy and uncharred. In response Kelly grumbles and takes the tongs back before shrugging Buck off and shooing him away.

“Stop complaining and eat your waffles.”

So Buck does, filling two oversized mugs of coffee - black, two sugars for Kelly, an endless pour of sugar for himself to make it thick and sweet - before snagging a stack of waffles from beneath the dish towel keeping them warm. There’s already syrup and butter and a can of whipped cream sitting on the bar in front of Buck’s favorite stool, the one that sits right over a heating vent so that he can hook his feet around its legs and warm his frozen toes. Even with no time to plan Kelly has thought of everything. And unlike the rest of his mediocre-if-edible cooking, the waffles are fluffy and amazing like always.

Buck groans around the first bite, then demolishes the rest of his plate without another sound except the scrape of utensils. He only looks up when Kelly slides another waffle onto his plate and settles onto the stool next to him, sitting close enough that their shoulders brush and their elbows bump as he cuts into his own breakfast.

“Merry Christmas,” Kelly mumbles like an afterthought around a mouthful of bacon.

“Merry Christmas,” Buck echoes. He looks down at the remains of his breakfast, then at the man beside him - the man who offered him a place to stay and then drove home in the middle of the night, in a snowstorm, without being asked, to make sure he was alright. Who made him coffee and cooked his favorite breakfast and turned the heat up too high just to keep Buck warm and-- Buck swallows the lump in his throat that feels like I love you and instead says, “This might be the best Christmas ever.”

But maybe that was the wrong thing to say, too, because Kelly pauses with his coffee halfway to his mouth and looks at him with furrowed brows. “Ev, your apartment flooded and you spent half the night passed out on my floor after trying to salvage your books.”

“Yeah.” Buck shrugs one shoulder, glances over it to see that his books are still scattered on the floor like a constellation around the humming space heater. Kelly must have left it on despite turning on the vents. He looks back at Kelly with a smile. “But I had Christmas dinner with the Herrmanns before it did, and I knew I had somewhere to go even before I asked you, and you made my favorite food. You know what my favorite food is. I’ve...never had that before.”

A shadow passes over Kelly’s face, there and gone before Buck can decipher it, and he leans in for a sticky, syrup flavored kiss. When they break apart Kelly briefly rests their foreheads together and Buck goes cross-eyed looking at his soft smile. “You always have a place to go now, okay? You never have to ask, and you can stay as long as you want.”

[hieludoboi]

Okay okay hear me out,,, Todoroki x a nb!reader,,, He finally actually confessed to them and the reader is just like cannot accept that Todoroki Shouto actually likes them. They're in total disbelief

A/n- Reader’s just standing there like “Me? Oh. That’s right, who else here is named Y/n” and Shouto’s kinda just standing there like ‘....’

A/n- Also! Just the thought of Pro Hero Todo getting like a scone or something sweet every morning before a patrol (I headcanon Shouto liking sweets, just idk, something about it just works for me) and slowly falling for the baker at his favorite bakery

A/n- I did a little research for how to write non-binary readers and such, and I feel like it’s kinda difficult to write for them unless specifics are given! Some non-binary individuals are masculine, other’s are feminine, some go by they/them, some by she/her or sometimes by zie/zim. I didn’t feel like it was right for me to write for these individuals specifically until I do a bit more research and learn to properly write for them!

A/n- Non-binary is a blanket term encompassing a whole list of genders/identities that don’t exactly follow societal gender norms! Sometimes non-binary individuals have gendered pronouns, sometimes they don’t! Since you didn’t specify I’m going to label this as a more gender neutral thing! 

A/n- Update, I researched like two hours and I still don’t understand. My brain very fried no work from online classes brainrot but not by bokuto by staring at screen all dy. Someone pls give my pigeon brain examples on how to properly write for nb! readers rn or I’ll pull out the glock >:(

Pairing- Pro Hero! Shouto / Gn! Reader

Summary- So he was serious? 

Warnings- not really?

It was a mundane Tuesday morning. The sun had yet to rise, slowly peaking over the city’s skyline, yet somehow getting lost among all the trees and towers. As with every morning, Y/n started off their day by preparing for their day. A quick shower, followed by washing their face and brushing their teeth. Before they knew it, they were trudging out of the house and making their way to the bakery to prepare for the morning rush.

Y/n was quirkless in a society plagued by quirks, an average day to day citizen if you will. They didn’t mind, in fact, life even seemed a bit easier when they didn’t have to worry about controlling some strange and odd power. The rest of the world, however, couldn’t begin to fathom how they even managed to lead a life without a quirk. 

Stifling a yawn, they made their way to the front door, unlocking it before closing it and locking it behind them. If the day went as planned, which normally it didn’t, they’d have scones, muffins, and croissants all out and freshly baked by six. Bear claws, donuts, and danish pastries would be out by eight, all the rolls and loafs would be done by ten and by eleven they could hopefully get started on the sugary sweets that their younger costumers seemed to enjoy so much. 

Their morning dragged on as usual. One by one the rest of the employees pooled into the back kitchen, kneading dough and making batters to pour in to tins or mold into shape. Grunting, Y/n picked up a tray chocked full of scones and made their way towards the display cases, setting the tray atop the display and carefully arranging the scones inside. Looking up at the pretty light blue clock, Y/n hummed. Their day rarely went as planned, but they could always count on Shouto coming in once the clock hit six-thirty. 

“Waiting on Mr. Pro-Hero?” Y/n turned around, feeling the heat begin to seize the apples of their cheeks. Sputtering, Y/n turned around, ignoring their coworker and instead focusing on arranging the last of the scones.

“Come onnnnnn! How are you so oblivious!” Y/n huffed, quickly standing up before thrusting the empty tray into Hina, their coworker’s, hands. “Y/n. He likes you!!” Hina groaned, following a wordless Y/n back into the kitchen. 

“Hina. No he doesn’t!!” Y/n mocked Hina as they slid a tray of muffins into the oven. Hina grunted, pulling out a giant bowl of risen dough before letting it fall onto a flowered counter top. “Besides, he’s rumored to be dating Creati,” Y/n pointed out, dusting their hands off on their apron.

“They’re just ru-” Hina rubbed her temples, watching as Y/n made their way towards the front at the sound of the little bell ringing. When would they stop being so oblivious?

--------------------------------

Nothing seemed to go right that morning. While on his usual morning patrols, Shouto had run into Momo. While it was a welcome surprise, the situation was not. They had run into each other while battling a lowlife villain with a disastrous quirk. Damages were not kept to a minimum, and all Shouto wanted to do after being chewed out by local authorities was to go bite into a delicious scone at his favorite bakery. 

“This could have gone better,” Momo sighed, rubbing her temples as they both surveyed the damage they had done to the small plaza. Shouto nodded, he couldn’t agree more. “We should probably go out west, right? If there were robberies here, there’s bound to be some in the shopping centre,” Shouto nodded, Momo had some nice ideas. 

“We can stop by a bakery there too, I know a place that makes some nice scones,” Shouto explained as they walked, a subtle smile on his face at the thought of the baker that awaited him every morning. “What time is it?” SHouto asked, turning to look at Momo. 

“Oh, it’s around seven-thirty, why?” This morning could not have gone any worse for Shouto. First, he has to stop villains at the crack of dawn, and now he’s going to miss out on scones? Admittedly, they didn’t sell fast, but the bakery didn’t make a lot of them either. 

“No reason,” Shouto shrugged. He hoped he wouldn’t miss Y/n.

-------------------------------------

Y/n sighed, watching as the seconds ticked by on the clock overhead. It was eight already. Shouto was never late, ever. The man had a thing for punctuality, and even when everything was going wrong, Y/n could always count on seeing their favorite customer before the sun fully rose.

“Pretty boy ain’t here yet?” Y/n stood up, turning to look at the smug grin on their co-worker’s face. Curling their lip and rolling their eyes, Y/n went back to slouching over the counter, resting their chin on their palm as they zoned in on the glass door ahead of them. “C’mon boss! Cheer up, we’ll never make any sales with a grumpy face up front!” Y/n frowned seemed to become deeper, rooting itself in their brows and lips. 

“And I suppose having a super buff woman who looks like she can pop your head off with a squeeze of her biceps at the counter will allure customers like nothing ever could?” Y/n teased, grinning as Hina flexed her biceps. 

“Children adore me. They see me and are amazed by the ‘big muscle woman’,” Hina gloated, wiggling her eyebrows while continuing to pose behind the counter.

“Yeah yeah, go help Kohaku before he breaks an arm trying to knead the dough,” Y/n grumbled, pushing Hina into the kitchen so they could focus on the sales upfront. Kohaku liked decorating cakes, but every once in a while he’d have to knead dough while Hina helped Y/n arrange things up front.

Picking at their nails for a minute or so with boredom, Y/n’s head instantly popped up as soon as the bell on the glass door chirped. Their eyes instantly attatched themselves to the blue suit before them, almost completely ignoring the red latex that stood beside it. 

“Shou! I was starting to think you’d... never get here,” Y/n’s voice was filled with excitement at first, immediately dying off at the sight of Creati, who stood right next to him. Offering the pro hero a pleasant smile, Y/n grabbed their gloves and tray, their tongs hanging off a little hook on the display case.

“What can I get for you two?” Y/n asked, the bright smile that usually reached their eyes seeming to drown before it could fully rise. Shouto frowned a bit to himself, wondering where the usually happy and bright baker he had grown so used to had gone. Was he maybe reading too into it? 

“Oh! I’ll a pumpkin walnut muffin! They look so good!” Momo praised, delicately pointing to her preferred muffin through the glass case. 

“Thank you, made the recipe myse-”

“And we baked them!” Y/n winced at Hina’s booming voice, opening their eyes as soon as it died out. 

“Sorry about that, you’ll come to find that this bakery comes alive after a certain hour,” Y/n explained with a giggle, placing the muffin on the tray they held. “And you, Shouto?” Y/n asked, tilting their head a bit as they awaited his answer. 

“The usual,” Shouto made sure to offer them a grin, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit as he watched Y/n set the tray on the counter. 

“Lucky you, I made sure to save one just for you!” Y/n hummed happily, reaching for the last scone before placing it on the tray. Shouto could feel the shy smile subtly spreading on his face, did they really save on just for him? 

“I’ll pay, it’s the least I can do after you helped me out earlier today,” Momo said, turning to give Shouto a smile. 

“Right, thank you, Momo,” Shouto gratefully accepted his scone, waving goodbye to Momo as she left the shop. Shouto preferred to eat his scones at the shop anyway.

“Are you not joining me today?” Shouto looked up, a confused look on his face as he watched Y/n fidget behind the counter. They would always snack on a danish pastry and sit with Shouto before he had to leave again. It was routine at this point. 

“Oh! Right, sorry,” Y/n muttered sheepishly, snagging a pastry from the display case before heading over to Shouto’s usual spot by the window. For the umpteenth time that day, Shouto could feel himself frowning. He wondered what was wrong. 

“S-so you and Creati?” Y/n asked, taking a small bite from the sweet bread that sat in their hands. Shouto looked up, eyes widened in surprise, midway through a bite of his scone. Was that what this was about?

“She helped me stop some villains this morning, that was all,” Shouto explained. Y/n hummed, nodding their head as they started to pick at the jam filled sweet in front of them. “Oh, uhm...” Shouto mumbled, his brow furrowed as he began to search his pockets. Where had he left it?

“You okay, Shou?” Y/n giggled, amused by the way his face had contorted when he began to search for his little mystery item. 

“Yeah, fine... Oh! Found it,” Shouto muttered, pulling out the small box that had resided in his pocket since the day prior. “Here, for you,” Shouto mumbled bashfully, sliding the velvet box across the table to Y/n.

“For me? Shou... That’s sweet, but you didn’t have to,” Y/n explained, gently sliding the box back to Shouto. Accepting gifts felt odd, especially if they were from Shouto. They could already imagine what ridiculously expensive gift sat inside.

“Please, open it?” Shouto asked, sliding the box back across and making sure to set it in Y/n’s hands this time. Y/n gasped, eyes wide as they felt the heat rush to their face. Open and closing their mouth in a flustered fit, Y/n finally decided to delicately pry open the box, eyes tripling in size at the sight of the gold chain anklet studded in pearls that sat in the box. 

“Shouto... No, I can’t accept this,” Y/n insisted, shaking their head profusely, shutting the box and trying to put it back in Shouto’s hands.

“You can, and you will. Can we go out sometime?” Y/n could feel their jaw drop to the floor. First the anklet and now he’s just asking for a date like it’s a regular Tuesday?

“M-me?” Y/n asked, looking around the shop, the confusion settling in their eyes, locking their mind in some sort of fuzzy haze. 

“Yes, so, will you?” Shouto asked once more, amused by their cute little reaction.

“Uh, sure... Sure...”

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at seven,”

“But we don’t close untill-”

“THEY’LL BE READY BY 4!”

“Hina-”

“I SAID YOU’LL BE READY BY FOUR DAMNIT!”

“I’ll be ready by four!”

[tsukishimacanrailme]

Don’t be so sour, dough

(part 1)

pairing: miya osamu x baker!reader

warnings: bad writing maybe idk  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

word count: 2k (huh)

It’s a Tuesday evening when a rowdy crowd of grown men enter your family's bake shop and it’s only two minutes later when an even bigger crowd of people flocked around the entrance; phones out and cameras flashing. Though the bake shop was popular, it didn’t usually have a wave of people come in near 2:00pm. 

Peeking out from behind the counter to the mass of people, you raise your eyebrow.

“Sorry about that,” someone spoke. “They’re probably here because of us.”

With a laugh, you turn back at the group of, by the looks of it, 8 people. One of them, the one with bright orange hair, was eyeing the supply of melonpan through the glass in awe. The rest were taking peeks of the bread supply, searching through for what they wanted.

“It’s all good. Not much to do around here anyways,” you smile, “What can I get for you all today?”

“Ah! I want the one with the custard filling!” a man with white hair yelled, bounding up excitedly to the counter. “Omi-kun wants one too!” 

The man, ‘Omi-kun’, you guessed, nodded his head. “Seperate bags, please.”

As you reached into the display to grab the two pastries, another man spoke up, “Sho-kun and I want the melonpan.” he smiled politely while you slid the bags on the countertop toward the group. The orange haired man nodded excitedly in response. 

“Anything else?” you spoke, looking back at them. 

A blonde man walked up to the front, “Uh, anything you recommend? I’m not good at this kind of thing.” 

“I like the brioche myself. It’s a type of french bread. Would you like to try some?” you ask. 

The man shook his head, “Ah, it’s not for me. It’s for a person who likes any food, really. But I’m sure he would like to try the uh,” he blanched. 

“Brioche,” you supply.

He nodded this time, “Yeah that.”

Grabbing the bread with a pair of tongs, you stuffed a slice into a paper bag and slid it across the glass display towards him. 

“Will that be all?”

The tallest man of the group looked around and stepped forward, “It’s on me guys,”

The group cheered from behind him.

                                                       ~~~~~~~

A day later, the white haired man returned, this time tugging along a man with glasses. They both plopped themselves in line behind the old woman who you were currently ringing up. 

“Hello again,” you smiled, waving goodbye to the woman, “back for more?”

“Mhm! Your custard bread was so good I had to get more while I’m still in town.” he smiled excitedly, pulling the man behind him forward. “I also want this guy to try it.”

The man with glasses bowed his head, “Good morning,”

“So will that be two pieces of the custard bread then?” you say, reaching into the display with a pair of tongs. 

“Make it four please! Oh, Akaashi, Sho-kun says that the melonpan is to die for. Can we get that too?” 

“Of course Bokuto-san,” He nodded. 

You smile as the two interact, placing the bags of pastries on the counter in front of you. “That will be $17.50.” 

The man, Akaashi places twenty dollars in front of you. “Keep the change. Atsumu-san said that this place is worth his brother's praise. I have high expectations.”

Bokuto spoke up, “He’s the blonde man from yesterday!” 

“Ah,” You nod, “that’s good then. I baked the brioche myself.”

Bokuto’s eyes widened, “You should check out his store sometime! It’s called Onigiri Miya, it’s like 10 minutes away from here. If you like onigiri, he's definitely your best bet. Right Akaashi?”

Akaashi nodded but paused when he looked behind him, “Bokuto-san, we’re holding up the line,” he said, collecting the bags. “Have a good day.” he smiled.

“Bye,” Bokuto waved, “I’ll be back in like three weeks!” he called walking out the door.

                                                        ~~~~~~~

It was only after your shift had ended when you found enough time to look up Onigiri Miya. Sendai wasn’t the biggest of places so it wasn’t a surprise when it was only 12 minutes away from your family based shop. Picking up your phone from the console of your car, you dialed a friend.

“Hello?” they answered on the third ring. 

“Hey,” you call, “have you ever heard of a place called Onigiri Miya?”

They hummed from across the line, “Oh yeah, I love that place. It’s like right next door to the paint store I used to work at. I used to go there all the time after my night shifts. It’s open from like, 8:00am-9:00pm. Why?”

“Well, these two customers came in today and recommended it. Pretty sure the owner is a close friend or something. Is it really that good?” You said, starting your car. 

“Yeah, it’s super good actually. Really great prices too. Actually, since it's like 8:19pm we could totally meet up and go there right now. See how good it is for yourself.”

“Actually that’s not a bad idea. Meet you in fifteen?” 

“Of course.”

Twelve minutes later, you were parked in front of the establishment, waiting for your friend to pull in. Two minutes later though, they knocked on your window and the two of you headed inside. 

As soon as the bell above the door chimed, a voice came, “Welcome in! I’ll be up there in a second.” 

“Ah, I think you would like the okaka onigiri. It’s the first thing I got when I was trying this place out.” They said. 

You hummed in recognition as a man walks out from the kitchen in the back and up to the counter. He really did look like his brother. 

“Sorry about that, how can I help you guys today?” He spoke, smiling politely.

“It’s all good Osamu-kun. I’ll take two salmon onigiri and my friend here will take the okaka onigiri.” they spoke.

“All right then. It’ll be out in about 10 minutes or-” The bell from the door chimed. “Oh, sorry Samu, didn’t think you would have customers at this time.” Blonde man from the other day spoke, walking in. He smiled sheepishly at you when his eyes flashed in recognition.

“Holy shit,” Your friend whispered.

“Hey, Samu! This is the girl from that bakery I was tellin’ you bout’! The one with the, uh-”

“Brioche,” Both you and Osamu spoke.

“Yeah, that thing! Wasn’t it good?” He smiled, waving at you. You smiled in response.

“Tsumu, no offense, but why are you here again? You could’ve waited until after closing time to come bother me.” Osamu sighed. “I have customers.” 

“I totally would’ve but the team bus is leaving in like 20 minutes. I just wanted to see you before I headed off.” Atsumu protested, rubbing his neck. 

Osamu rolled his eyes, “Yeah yeah, get into the kitchen you goof. If you’re going to be here for the next 10 minutes at least make yourself useful.” 

Atsumu mock saluted and headed into the kitchen, pushing the door open with so much force, it hit the wall behind it and left a resonating ‘smack’ in its wake. 

“I said make yourself useful! Not to destroy my stop, you dumbass!” Osamu roared, storming into the kitchen himself. 

Your friend turned to you with wide eyes, “The Miya Atsumu walked into your store and you didn’t tell me?” 

You turned to them, confused, “Who?” 

Your friend looked gobsmacked as you looked at her questioningly.

“He literally plays for the MSBY Jackals. The V-League? Does that ring a bell?”

You shrugged, “I don’t really know, there was a whole group of people that showed up with him at the time. I was more concerned with that than with the fact that he’s a professional athlete.”

“Oh my god, I literally hate you right now.” Your friend gasped. “They’re based in Tokyo so they aren’t even here that often and they chose to go to your store.” 

You blanched, “Is something wrong with my store?” you questioned teasingly. 

Your friend shook her head, “No it’s just the fact that you didn’t tell me,” they pouted. 

Well the next time a professional athlete walks into my shop I’ll be sure to tell you.” You spoke, rolling your eyes with a laugh. 

The kitchen door slams open again startling you from your stance and almost making you fall over. Your friend gasps loudly, letting out a loud “Shit!” while trying to calm her breathing.

“Atsumu you shit head! Stop slamming the door open or I’ll shove my foot up your ass while making you pay for the damages!” Osamu yelled, pushing the door open far more gently than what Atsumu had. 

Atsumu smiled innocently, “Here you go,” he said, placing a plate in front of you. “It’s on the house for my brother's favorite bread maker.” He winked.

You let out a laugh, “Thank you,”

“All right that’s enough out of you. I’m kicking you out now.” Osamu stated, rubbing his hands on his apron. “Leave before you’re late for your bus you idiot.”

Atsumu sighed, “Yeah yeah, I’ll call you when I get home. I’ll see ya’ later then.” 

Osamu glared at him and Atsumu put his hands up in surrender. Your friend giggled from behind you.

He left the restaurant and the bell chimed for the final time when Osamu turned to you.

“I’m sorry. Tsumu doesn’t really know how to be an adult. Truly amazing if you ask me.” Osamu bowed his head in apology.

You waved him off, “Oh, I really don’t care. Family business and all; I know what it’s like to fight with people like that.” 

Osamu smiled in relief, “Still, sorry. He doesn’t know when to stop.” 

“Ah,” Your friend gasped, jumping up. “I totally forgot to pick up my brother from his friends house. Sorry, y/n I have to leave!” they said, pulling out a $10 dollar bill from their pocket. 

“Here Osamu-kun! Bye!” They yelled, grabbing their onigiri and running toward the door and into their car.

“That was totally deliberate.” You stated, staring blankly at the spot her car was previously in. 

“Totally,” Osamu laughed. “Here,” he spoke pushing the onigiri towards you. “Try it.” 

Grasping the plate in your hands you grabbed the Onigiri and took a tentative bite. 

“Holy shit,” You spoke after swallowing, “oh my god, that’s good.”

Osamu sat down across from you and started taking off his apron, “Did you ever doubt it was?” he teased.

“No, no, no, it’s not that I just-” you spluttered, taking in the muscles of his forearms. Was it legal to have muscles like that while owning a restaurant?

“Relax,” He laughed, “I’m just teasing. I’m glad to know that the person who made the most bomb bread I’ve ever tasted in my life likes the onigiri I make.” He winked. 

“Oh please, this is probably the best thing I’ve ever tasted period.” You claimed, taking another bite. 

“You flatter me.” Osamu sighed, looking up at you from where he set his head down at the table. His cheeks were flushed a light pink and his eyes were half lidded from exhaustion. His long lashes fluttered whenever he blinked, and his gray eyes twinkled from the yellow lighting in the restaurant. 

“Oh,” you spoke, breaking eye contact, “it’s past nine, I’m probably bothering you.” You stated, standing up. “I should probably head out anyways.” 

“Ah, it’s that time already, huh?” Osamu stretched, his shirt riding up just a little. It gave you a nice peek at the abs that he was harboring and you flushed. He smiled at you when he stood up. 

“I hope you come again.”

“Yeah, definitely. As long as you come to my store sometime.” You spoke slyly, looking back at him from the door.

He smiled at you one last time, “Have a good night,” 

You smiled back as you headed out the door, “You too.”

[devils-servent]

And the were roomates

summary 

Mika and the boys are quarantining together, and it's great...till a good ole game of truth or dare gets outta hand and it all goes up in flames. The tension is real.

This exsists because of a post @elvingleaf made, thats here, that post was a normal statement, then i came along and well this....

also @lovedoglover9987 and @loveisafunnything its done~ 

this gets spicy...

“This is fine, this is fine,”  is what she kept telling herself over and over. Face bright red as she sits between these Demons. All eyes in the room were staring at her, basically undressing what was left of her. They could smell Mikas' arousal.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Mika and the boys were quarantining togething due to the virus. The boys all had time off work and she only had to do some school work after being laid off from her part time job at the pink lady cafe.

Mika and the boys lived together for years now anyway so it wasn’t too hard but… due to social distancing in public and the closing of bars and nightclubs the need for energy had become...frequent. Not to mention their presence had become more frequent, mika was usually home alone. Ya know?  But the consistent eye candy wasn’t a big issue.

But Mika wasn't quite used to their constant presence, usually there would always be some time alone for mika. No hot shirtless inubi waltzing around the place like they owned it.  

Still the boys were nice about it, asking to cuddle with her and watch a movie, have mika sit in their laps while they did something or even just hold her hand. Just little things throughout the day not taking up much time. Just like it used to be before the boys got used to the outside world.

At first…

You see her college work got overwhelming at a certain time leading Mika to spend a lot of time in her room and away from the boys. It also ruined her sleep schedule. So the simple energy grabs were not as frequent and they moved to...well they moved to....they moved to make outs...lots and lots of makeouts and hookups.

Which is fine in theory.... Theory, see those said makeout left mika...frustrated.

Like when she was walking into the library with the intention of swapping a textbook and was startled by james’ sudden movement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“James are you okay--” she asked as he rushed toward her, his long strides intimidating Mika slightly as he slowly pinned her to the wall holding back his golden glow.

His enthrallment took her off guard and forced a heated, painful, arousal through her body letting a small moan slip out and James to give a smug little grin.  Still his lips quivered, a little desperate, breathing in mikas increasing forced arousal, breathing in her sweet scent, her body sagging under his height as he spoke,

“Miss may i-”  

He was cut off with a kiss, a long kiss. A make out session, if you will. Her body pushed itself up against James, not having felt another's sexual touch in a while. Her body molded with his as the kiss turned sloppy, desperate. Bodies grinding against eachother fuling the heated haze they both created.

Or the time Mika and Matthew were cooking, kitchen cupboards are a good thing to rest against in a feisty kiss she concluded. A perfect place to have someone between your thighs… His hands pulled mika closer to the edge of the counter as he knelt between her thighs, face buried between them, tonge teasing her folds and lips suckong her clit as if his life depended on it.

As is a bathroom sink, well not the actual sink. But her back against the cold mirror towel slipping down due to her arched back, as Sam kissed up her neck. Warm lips contrasting the cool mirror she was being pressed against. Head tilted back on the steaming mirror giving access to the sensitive parts of her neck.

Or even the gazebo post, cool nights were amazing weren't they? Perfect for contrasting the waves of heat That coursed through her body with an incubus on either side.Both relashing in her moans, and the energy seeping off her like heat to an oven. Not like she wasn't as hot as one.

~~~~~~~~~

Point is she was and is the boy's energy source, well main source,  for the foreseeable future. Not that she really minded. But it was hard, it was like their enthralment bleed off of them 24 hours a day. Being around them sometimes made her become flushed.

A part of her was glad her school work picked up,it helped clear her mind. Release the fog of need that shrouded it.

The other part craved their touch. It missed fingers tracing her curves, hot breath in her ears. Panting in her ears. The crescendo of moans that would reverberate through the halls. The shaking limbs, the desperation that ran through her veins she missed the feeling of an orgas crashing though her body drowning her in bliss.  

Even the thought could get her worked up....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now there they are, it's a friday evening and all of them are stuck in a competitive game night with remnants of the pizza they’d all had ordered, with a few slices left in boxes around the room. The pizza boxes...well they sat on the couches instead of them, with Mika sat on the floor head in Damiens lap as he played with Mikas baby hairs. Erik sat on Mika’s, left Matthew to the right with Sam by Mathew's side and James in the one free arm chair.

They did this each Friday since this disease had surfaced, the game night, not the pizza eating. It was James' way of ‘keeping the morale’ also known as not becoming hermits to any games console or internet reaching device. But all of them were bored. They’d been doing it for weeks and it was starting to become repetitive.

Sighing sam reached for his phone, “it's not even 9 pm, so I can't even go to bed yet”

Damien chuckled at his brother's annoyance. they all had played everything from monopoly -which got stopped due sam getting huffy at james owning a third of the board-  to uno which damien had unsurprisingly won.

Perking up matthew smiled, “lets play truth or dare”

An unceremonious grown erupted from Mika and sam caused Erik to chuckle at the pair of them and their whining, ”It won't be that bad Sam, hehe, princess”

Matthew nodded in agreement “and besides we've never played as a group,or...or at all actually?” he questioned getting a nod from damien.

“I'll play,” Damien offered, his hand playing with Mika's hair as Erik smiled in agreement.

“As will I”

“I see no harm, Miss?.'' James said, giving a smile, as he joined all of them in sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace.  Mika followed suit leaving only Sam's opinion.

“Ugggg fine, how are we deciding who chooses who or whatever” he tried to whine but Sam was interested, all of you could tell.

Mika shrugged, muttering that she “doesn't think this will end well” as Daimen chuckled above her sitting her beside him and earning a mini glare as he took away the comfortable spot in his lap--

“Pass me that empty bottle Sam?” Sam tossed the bottle to Damien as he set it on the floor between them,

“There who ever spins it gets to ask who it lands on truth or dare.”

“Oh like spin the bottle then?” Mika asked and was given a nod as Erik piped up, ’Would You like to play that instead?’ and was shot down by James for obvious reasons.

“Let's play,” Matthew reached for the bottle as sam piped up,

“We aint playing no kids game. You gotta ask hard questions and whoever doesn’t answer-”  He shot out of the room only to come back with a bottle of vodka and some shot glasses,

“takes a shot, OR,” he silenced james’ incoming argument “ they take off a piece of clothing.” he smirked at Mika, the fuckin pervert.

Mika could pretend she was surprised but he always was a perv. Taking any chance he got to slip his wandering hand up her skirts while they’d be watching a movie or even just eating dinner. His fingertips would trace the edges of her skirts and shorts. Hands would dip in to the waistband of her sweatpants and he’d always try to---

“The person either drunkest or nakedest has to do whatever the most clothed/soberest person says for 24 hours. Deal? “

Mika shrugged and the other brothers nodded. James added that they cap it at two shots and all of them reluctantly agreed. Upset at the thought of a cap on getting hammered.

Mika had a decent tolerance (technically the lowest in the room though, fuckin demons ) and had the most clothing on in the group, wearing a baggy hoodie over a shirt and skirt, and rocking a pair of taco socks. Mika’d be fine in comparison to the rest of the group. She was basically the most dressed. Besides this wasn't a question she wouldn't answer...

Agreeing to the spicy terms Matthew spun the bottle and it landed on-

“Sam! Truth or-”

“Truth pipsqueak,”

Matthew looked at Sam and gave an impish grin, “Ugg I was hoping for dare but...Share with everyone the DELIGHTFUL nickname You used to get called, ya know back in the plains”

Sam glared and immediately reached for the shot only to have it snached by Mika. “No no no, Sammy share this because i've gotta know”

He looks delightfully pissed, both at the situation and at being called Sammy,

James surprisingly egged it on  “Sam it wasn't that bad” followed by Eriks sinister chuckle.

He growled and rolled his eyes “Its, ugg fine i used to get called fuckin handlebars alright, it’s not-- what are You laughing at doofus”

Mika wheezed into her hands as he gave a grumpy look, body rolling back, Mika curled on the floor and Damien patted her on the back muttering, “breathe” through his own sniggers.

Coming back to her senses, Mika sat up, looked Sam up and down before muttering “handlebars huh?” Mika knew it was from his demon form, but man she never made that correlation. It did make sense though....

Mika offered an innocent smile ”You didn't have to tell us Sam, You could have stripped a little.” Mika winked, getting a frustrated huff as he spun the bottle.

~~~~~~~~~

The game went on for a while before the questions changed pace, started by Sam (obviously) who didn't like how sober and clothed Mika was, oh and his brothers...they qualify for the sober part.

As his spin landed on Mika as he chuckled darkly. “Finally, truth or dare doofus”

Every bone in Mika's body told her to pick truth so the word truth left her mouth. Sam grinned. That grin makes mika shudder internally.maybe she shouldn't have…

“Hoped you would. What’s your wildest fantasy?”

Mika’s cheeks heated up and Mika gulped, forcing her mind to stay as blank as possible, there was no way she was saying that, not to the people involved. No way. No way. No---

James grinned as he drank some tea and Erik grinned at Mika. Matthew looked shocked at his brother as Daimen looked at Mika in curiosity...mainly. Every Person in that room had varying degrees of lust in their eyes, well not People per say...they were truly acting like lustful little demons.

Sighing she reached for her hoodie, pulling it of and placing it on the couch, “umm yeah...No thanks”

Erik smirked, “wow princess, we’re wounded. You don't trust us?” Mika stuck her tongue out at him and spun the bottle having it land on-.

“Truth or dare Damien?” she spoke head tilted to the side and he tilted his to match,

“I'll say umm, truth too.”

“Fuckin lame asses” Sam felt he needed to comment.

“Sam we all know we’ll only pick truth for most of the game anyway we want dirt on each other, But Damien, Who’s the most frequent person you’ve ever fantasized about?” Mika asked gently as his eyes wided and he went a glorious shade of red.  

“I...fuck it was...nope im not doing it” he pulled of his shirt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And with that more rounds went by with questions like that were definitely not okay to ask as Roommates, however they were asked and ended up leaving all of them in various states. Mika with 2 shots, two missing socks and a missing shirt added on to her hissing hoodie. Earning the comment “nice bra princess” from good ol’ erik.

Not like he could say much, with questions that he wouldn't answer, meant he was 2 shots down and only in pj pants, his socks and shirt discarded. James followed a similar path being left in his black sweats and one sock, with 2 shots, he didn't take too kindly to masturbation questions, that's all she would say. Matthew had taken off his undershirt but left on his shorts and jacket, he however was 1 shot down. Damien in a similar strife to Matthew has only one shot down, he's only missing his shirt socks. Then there were handlebars,  Sam, he was left in his sweats and was two shots down, in hindsight, Mikas questions really were not the fairest of questions...were they?

It all led up to this glorious question from James after Mika picked Truth, “miss since you've had so much fun asking inappropriate questions , I’ll ask you one...”.

What? The’d already been asking some inappropriate questions to her, She--

“Miss” James smiled, to call it an evil one would be an understatement. “When was the last time you masturbated?”

Matthew snorted at her embarrassed face as Sam coughed...Mika was screwed, she’d already had all of her two shots, it was answer or be in her underwear, There was no way she was answering that.

Mika jolted up off damiens lap, having him on her right hand side now as she covered her mouth in surprise.

Truth is, it had been a while. Mika tended to do it when all the boys were out of the house and due to the virus...it's been months. She was a little frustrated but mainly held it together she could just use the boys but she liked getting herself off. Not to mention he had not hooked up with any of the boys in a while. They mainly just used makeouts. Mika longed for something to be inside of her.

That question however...it threw Mika off her game.

Daimen laughed from beside Mika ”It's really been that long, has it?”  Fuck, Damien idly smiles at her panic as Erik looked Mika up and down his gaze was hungry...All their gazes were hungry?

“How long has it been princess…”.

Mika signed a little embarrassed at the question before standing up and grabbing the waistband of her skirt untying the bow with the intention of pulling it down but-

“NO NO NO- “ Sam interrupted sating at Mika, “you wouldn't let me drink earlier so this is payback, tell us doofus,”

Mika scared incredulously at him before he smiled idly at her, just waiting… she sat back on the floor in an embarrassed heap, making sure she was looking at anywhere but the boys as she mumbled her confession, “A couple months ago,”.

“Pardon me miss but i don't think I heard that-”

“A couple of months ago,” Mika confessed face burning, looking up to see lustfully surprised gazes.

“And why would that be miss?”

Mika found Herself standing up with the intention of racing out the room. But she was quickly grabbed and lightly pulled into Eriks lap, his head on her shoulder and his one arm around Mika and his hand on the other side of her head forcing her to look at james.

He spoke into her ear, “and why's that princess?”

Mika squirmed in his lap, the feeling of him in her ear made her core go mental. It rumbled from deep within Mika.  not to mention they way he had her sat her legs were a little open one lowered glance and---

Damien found himself answering for Her. “She doesn't want us to hear her, so she does it when we're not home, or sometimes when we're asleep.” Mika blushed and pulled at eriks arm. He just grinned against Mika's ear.

Matthew smiled, “what were ya thinking about huh?...Tell us the fantasy you think about...” He teased all the boys and sat a lot closer to Mika than before.

Eriks hold relaxed but Mika found herself staying in his lap. His touch did not help the burning in her core but it was nice. Mika shook her head as Sam's eyes flashed a bit gold,

“Not gonna tell us are you doofus?” His voice came from beside Erik, his hand was making his way up her leg and teasing the waistband of her skirt before dipping underneath it.

“What's your biggest fantasy Princess?”

Mika moaned out as Erik breathed on the shell of her ear, James and Matthew sat in front of Mika as Damien sat to eriks side.  The rim of each pair of  eyes tinted gold, they aren't even trying to hide the arousal in their eyes or voices.

They watched her red face as James spoke, “you've been a little bit of a mess huh miss? Well, we’ve wanted this for months. Do you want us? Heh, want us to fix the frustration you've been trying to hide from us?”

“This is fine, this is fine,”  is what Mika kept telling herself over and over. Face bright red as Mika sits between these Demons. All eyes in the room were staring at Mika, basically undressing what was left of Mika. They could smell Mikas' arousal. It poured off her body

All movement around Mika stopped as they awaited Mikas answer, Mika nodded weakly, captivated by the promises within James' words.

“Yes” Mika nodded as James pulled Mika upward, Sam moved the boxes off the couch as Mika was pushed into Damiens lap on the wide armchair.

His lips kissed over the one side of her neck as Matthew kissed the other, Sam sitting in front of Mika opening her legs as his hands traced the outside of her underwear.

Erik knelt in front of her and spoke slowly lust in his voice, “well im disappointed, we're glad to help you, you could've said something sooner.” he smirked and held her knees and his hands began to trail fingertips up her thighs.

Mikas breath hitched as Sam's fingers pushed into her underwear, putting pressure on Mikas clit as he moved in slow circles varying pressure.

“Eriks right you know” James' voice appeared from behind her, he seemed to be leaning over the back of the chair, his head by Mika's ear.

“you know we would help...we’ve helped before...individually anyways”

Mika moaned out  at the implication of his words. It was true all of them had hooked up before. They had all bedded her separately even in the odd threesome but never together not all at once. Could she take it?

She snapped out of her mental spiel as lips connected with the skin on her breast, a little moan escaped her as she whined. And james continued talking,

“You know miss, as much as we admire your work ethic...it left us starving… and that's not too good is it?”

Mikas back arched into the chair, as sam sucked hickeys on her inner thighs, his and erik's hand the only reason her legs weren't wrapped around someones head. She could feel her core pulsing in desperation, she wanted more… needed more. Mika whined at the teasing touches, lips ghosting over her skin.

Mika moaned into James' lips as they connected, back arched in an attempt to keep the connection. James teased her bottom lip with his tongue before they deepened the kiss. Mika barely realised the hickeys being sucked on her skin or the pesky finger opening up her bra. Feeling the warm air hit her nipples, Mika moaned at the feeling of somebody's breath on them, their teeth grazing it lightly and suking it as it got hard in his mouth.

Mika cried out in desperation as all touches left her body, her lips parted and eyes heavy with lust, the boys hungry gazes could be felt all over her. She barely realised they were all smirking at her needy state. Her chest heaving, she looked around at the boys before mumbling a small “please” and movement picked up again.

“Your room Mika? Damiens voice was lewd; a husky snarl as he began to stand up.

“Wait...Wait...mnh...” Mika tried to protest but she was already getting picked up by Sam. Breasts pushed against his bare chest as he walked with her in his arms. Heavy breathing and full looks were shared between you as Sam used his super speed to speed away from the rest of his brothers.

His lips briefly connected with mika before he threw her on her bed, watching her bounce before crawling on top of her, his arms cageing mika beneath him. Their initial kiss was rough, his chapped lips moving quickly against her soft ones. Pulling away his voice a lust ridden growl.

“If we weren't starving to taste you again” he moaned, “we’d tease the hell outta you~”

His knee coming between mikas clothed core and moving against it, the small amount of friction heightened mikas arousal. She found herself grinding down against his knee, hips rolling involuntarily back and forth, back and forth. Milking the friction she was getting. Before he pushed his knee into mika and smirking as the moan she let out.

Pulling her in his lap he leant against the headboard as his brothers strolled in, mika turned to look at them only to have her head snapped back by sam and she was kissed again, she showed no resistance to this whatsoever, in fact she was the first one to close her eyes and part open her lips. he pecked her once, making sure she wouldn't back off, then went in for a deep kiss. he found her tongue and it willingly danced with his.

She broke off the kiss to breathe, only to moan when a pair of hands pinched her nipple from behind her and her back arched into them. Head on his shoulder she saw Matthew's evil little smile as she was led down the middle of her bed on her back.  

All the boys stared down at her, her hair splayed around her like a halo and her red tinted face.

"You look adorable mika" Damien said and kissed her again on her neck, lingering this time... kissing, licking, drooling and suckling on the same spot. Mika immediately reacted to the hot and wet sensation on her neck, arching her body for a second as her clit throbbed and her breathing shook.

"Please don't stop..." she gushed while she kept shaking and moaned.

The moan of pleasure from mika made damien groan into her neck, in turn making mika moan, blind to whatever was happening anywhere else in the room mika laid in bliss.

She couldn't help it now, moans coming out involuntarily, he heated haze becoming painful to lingerie. She felt like an over cooked meal.

His lingering, messy kisses on her neck, cheek and ear continued but he also dragged his hand down her soft body to her inner thighs and fully flipped up her skirt exposing her wet underwear. She jolted when his gentle fingers rubbed her hard little clit through the thin cloth of her briefs, she squeaked and moaned but didn't resist.

Nor did she resist when she felt her legs get lifted up and her skirt come off and get thrown, feeling the cooler air brush against her underwear.

Feeling eyes on her body as she arched her back, Pretty soon her briefs were soaked in arousal, she blushed intensely knowing that someone's fingertips were covered with the fluid seeping through her panties but she still wished this could go on forever.

But of course it couldn't, just a couple of seconds later she felt tingles on every nerve ending as her entire body tensed up. Hips involuntarily rolling into the movement of somebody's fingers, Her pulsing core cumming and cum easily went through her already saturated panties, she went limp and breathed out the longest sigh. She still wanted more.

As the high-pitched breathing from Mika winded down, Sam lifted his fingers, they dripped with her cum once or twice.  He smirked as he smelled them, then licked them making eye contact with mika as he did. Infatuated with her taste he then greedily sucked anything left on his fingers.

“Sam” she breathed.

"Was that good?" Matthew asked, a voice coming from her side barely recognizable due to the lust shrouding it..

"Yesss..."

“Good because we're not done yet….” and with his words Erik pulled off mika panties and threw them across the room, giving a smile at the sugar she made when the air touched her sensitive core.

Mika felt her legs go over his and Sam's shoulders, heaving her exposed to the pair as James lips wrapped themselves around her nipples, Matthew looked up at her as if looking for approval again before he began his assault on her breasts, James didn't care for such mannerisms in bed. she nodded to Matthew,  Then he looked for the pink, perfectly round nipple and licked the tip, making it harden in his mouth, and pressed his lips around it. He suckled, licked and drooled all over the aureole, making even Mika moan as she stroked his hair.

Matthew was in heaven always loving his mouth on mika's tits, and she was enjoying it as much as he was. He traced his finger up and down her stomach, aiming to keep her moaning as much as he could. To return the favors to the pair, she stroked the head of his penis very gingerly with the tips of her fingers, sliding his foreskin back just before its limit and then pulling it over the glans again.

Mikas' breath escaped her as she felt a mouth on her folds. Not knowing who it was due her head being cradled in damiens lap, tilting her head as much as she could while being led down, she was the other red head between her thighs.

Erik started out slow, with his tongue coated in saliva, licking from the bottom of Mika’s pussy to her clit. As soon as he reached the top, Mika moaned out at the slight change in pressure, Erik ignored the whines and beggs and kept licking her pussy with long strokes of his wet tongue, focusing on her clit sneaking a finger in or two just to stretch her out a little bit.

When Erik was satisfied with how much wetter Mika had become, he started licking in between mikas pussy lips and all the folds of her hooded clit. Erik was in love with the taste of Mika's pussy and couldn't help but keep licking everywhere he could taste the sweet flavor. He soon found that the flavor was best inside of her pussy, Not like he didn't know that already, he just loved to tease her.

With more vigor, Erik started digging his tongue deep in her pussy searching for more of those soft ridges that produced wonderful moans. He could vaguely hear mikas horny rambles and begging, from what he could hear she was getting close.

He started flicking his tongue and quickly eating out Mika. he saw Mika grip the sheets hard. His face was filled with more of her pussy as she bucked her hips into his face, using him for her own orgasm, Not like he minded, and suddenly Eriks mouth was flooded with mikas juices.

“Ah~ UZAERIS”

Mika found blanked for a few seconds and found herself in James' lap, back to his chest and legs spread out for everyone to see, Erik appeared at her side as their lips connected, she could taste herself on his tongue, and his lips. Her own juices painted his mouth as she kissed him.

The kiss was broken by a moan, the blunt tip on Matthew's cock running up and down mikas pussy, dipping into her dripping hole only to pull back out and smirk. Mika moved to roll her hips only to have Damien hands drab them and hold them down.

“Mika~” matthews voice teased, “what do you want mika~”

Mika groaned her body aching for more and the enthrallment of five incubi definitely wasn't helping.

“Say it mika” Not damien too~

She shuddered as he teased once again mikas words spilled out with no filter, “pleasejustfuckmeyouknowiwantitplease!!”

And Matthew's hips crashed into mikas and her eyes rolled back as they did so, her body moaned uncontrollably as she was pounded by him. Back shifting all over James' chest, her moans were unavailable as his hands traced her nipples, one hand coming to pinch it as Erik sucked a hickey on her breast.

Mika couldn't concentrate on anything, her body enjoying the attention everywhere, her breasts, her neck, her clit. she didn't even realise when she clenched around Matthew's cock.

“Zecaeru~..zecaeru….ugghuuuu… ZECAERU~” mikas body tried to pull his cock deeper as she came around it, the pulsing feeling as if it was dragging him into her body further. Matthew on the other hand kept at his pace fucking her though her orgasm and the few after shocks

She felt herself melt into James' chest as she came down from her high, but alas, Sam's hands pulled her off of his brother's chest and she landed face down ass up in front of sams cock.

James groaned at the sight of mika, all her holes just there offered to them, James' hands pulled her waist up to his cock as he shuffled closer and entered her. Mika, becoming more and more sensitive, reached back to grab his hands to slow his pace, but ultimately having her mouth stolen by Damien who made her face him instead.

He tapped his cock against her lips as she opened them, relaxing her mouth around it. She felt a soft tingle at the back of her throat, and it soon became numb to damiens cock.  Mikas eyes were rolled back as Damien fucked her mouth and james her pussy.

She had no clue whose fingers were on her clit but, the fast movement they were making had mika moaning around damien and it wasn't too long before mika felt herself cum around james cock damien pulling out just in time for her to moan out,

“RAESTRAO”

Mika collapsed on the bed, heavily breathing and did not fully register her body in damiens lap and his cock at her entrance. Her legs open over his thighs, his cock teasing her entrance he pushed his hips up and watched her eyes roll back. Mouth agape.

Their lips briefly met, her soft ones touching him in a hazy rush before a loud moan was forced out of her by her ribs being roughly grabbed from behind. His body jolted up and down his cock as he fucked her. Hand sat loosely in her hair, just to keep her steady. As he guided her up and down his throbbing cock her pulsing pussy made it pleasurable for the pair of them.

Mika soon began to tremble and moan, fingers digging into the nape of damiens neck as she rutted against him desperate for her next orgasm. Sam's fingers on her clit as she rolled her hips up and down. All suddenly coming to a stop as she came over damiens cock.

“Ahhh ahah, Izroul~” she moaned contentedly.  

Her body pulsing, she craved more. In the back of her mind she was becoming exhausted but her pussy was aching.

For seconds Her mind went completely blank when Sam finally put his cock inside of her. The thick, smooth tip slowly but firmly entering her, brought waves of sensation to her core. As she arched her back against his chest.

As he pushed it in more, she could feel how his cock was stretching mika out bit by bit even with how wet she was. When his tip inevitably hit all mikas hidden spots that she forgot even existed, her moans became louder.

"Oh yes..." his slow movements allowed mika to let out a coherent moan.

Not long after that, her whole body jolted up with Sam's rough thrusts, just moving quicker and quicker until mikas berthing was erratic and her words a jumble.  What she thinks is james’ fingers rub her clit as she comes all over Sam's cock body twitching, shaking helplessly.

“Uhhhhh Aomaris!~”

Mika acknowledged the fact she was shifted of fo sams cock, Moaning at the new cock at her entrance she saw erik smile up at her,

“Last time now princess, i think i'll be cumming right it HERE”

As he said here he thrusted up into mika, hand on her hips as he rolled his into hers. Head tilted back as she moaned out, hands coming to tease her breasts, a hand on her clit and what she knew to be sams cock in her mouth.

The hands pinching and circling her nipples, one hand would grope her breast and the other would pinch her nipple.

The fingers on her clit moved in quick circles, fingers that specifically touched her clit applying more pressure than the others as it moved.

It took all of sams control to not fuck mikas face, her tounge running under the ridge of his head and teeth kightly dragging on the sensitive nerve here and there.

Room filled with moans and groans from each person until mika clenched around eriks cock causing him to also freeze mid thrust,

“Ghghghgh,~” mika moaned out head pulled off of sams cock and tilted back.

Erik buried his cock deep into mika as he came inside of her, Sam cumming all on her face, and neck and James Damien and Matthew all over her bare chest.

Mikas' chest heaved as she was pulled off of eriks cock and laid on her bed.

Mika smiled in bliss as the boys looked down on her, all of them struggling to catch their breath mika included.

Sam brushed her hair out of her face as Mika tongue out.

“Ugg how are you even awake” he smiled at her cum covered face,

Mika shrugged as she reached up and scooped some of his cum on her finger, watching it drip before she smiled at it and put it into her mouth. Sam's breath hitch as mika sucked on her fingers innocently, causing the others to watch incuriously.

Mika feeling all her eyes, and in her semi drowsy state decided to tease a little bit, dragging her finger up the valley between her breasts and sucking the cum off of them.

A groan escaped them as mika moaned at the taste,

“Don't play these games mika” surprised at the use of her name she smirked innocently.

“And why not Raestrao?”

Mika binked as she felt james fingers inside of her curling up to her g-spot as his thumb worked on her clit,

“We will drain you mika~ have you begging for Mercy”

Mika cried out as her sensitivity increased with a brief round of enthrallment as she came all over James' fingers, now hers and Erik cum leaking out of her. Her body shaking relentlessly she cried out before she passed out in a sweaty come covered heap.

~~~~~

She awoke to soft sheets, and the light trickled in through the open balcony doors. Shedding herself of the remaining glimpses of sleep, her eyes were still shut as she soaked in the warmth of the covers before letting her green eyes see the sun's rays.

She basked in them for a while, the warmth soothing her aching body, pushing the cover off she saw her bare thighs and stomach, littered with marks a reminder of what she could assume was the evening before. Her skin felt as if it were glowing and she was truly surprised at the very little aches and pains.

her muscles felt weak, unlike her energy. She let out an exasperated sigh, groaning as she laid back in the soft puffy blanket, What time was it? How long had she been asleep? Did she have clothes on?  Well she knew the answer to the last question.

Her bedroom door clicked open as she looked to the culprit or should she say culprits,

“Morning~” still as bubbly as he usually was, Matthew bounced into the room and sat beside her.  Soon everyone else walked in too, James carrying a plate of breakfast and damining a glass of water.

“We thought you might need it miss” he smiled, his appearance looked soft due to him in his sweats.

All the boys were in pjs and mika sat naked, well minus her blanket. Mika smiled as she bit a piece of toast, her blanket cover shifting slightly as all the boys sat on her bed with her, all just basking in each other's company.

Running his finger though Mika's hair from behind her, Sam smiled before asking, “hey doofus?”

“Mmmhmmm” mika mouth full of food,

“You never did tell us your biggest fantasy”

Mika looked back to see sams glowing golden eyes, quickly turning from him she looked around only to find everyone else's eyes the same color…

“Ah fuck me…”

.

.

.

“Again princess?”

“As you wish~”

“Really doofus?”

“We dont mind~”

“haha, really that's it~”

Mika paled “Damien i swear~”

______________________________

HONONRARY TITLE "Mikas quarantine orgy".

[krsnbgirl]

Fly High! || Kageyama x Fem!Reader || Part 5.5

Summary: You head to Ukai’s store to have a conversation. He learns about some of your past and what your future goals were before coming to Karasuno. You both also come up with some new ideas that can help during practice. 

Pairing: Kageyama Tobio x Fem!Reader

Genre: Rom-Com, Slice of Life, Sports

Warnings: Ukai smokes a cigarette (?)

Chapter’s Word Count: ~1.4k

Author’s Note: Side chapter to learn a little bit more of your past as a volleyball player and some of your new responsibilites as their manager! It’s just a cute little small thing I decided to write to help with the context of the story. Hope you guys like it! <3 Part 6 should be up by the end of this week! 

Taglist: @misnmatchedsox​ @monviemoo​ @love-beyond-words​

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 5.5 || Part 6 || Masterlist

It was a cool morning when you waved goodbye to your mom and skateboarded towards Sakanoshita. The temperature was just right and with the weekend in full effect, the streets were bustling with families and friends enjoying their time off. You smiled to yourself as you turned the corner and cruised through different alleyways to cut the time from being on the main streets. It felt nice to finally have a clear mind and a set goal for yourself. For the longest time, it was as if the path in front of you was endless. Whenever you thought about volleyball, flashbacks of your last game constantly plagued your mind. But recently, thanks to all your new friends, your mind was filled with all the new memories you were able to make with the sport. Just like how Tanaka and Nishinoya would always fanboy over Shimizu and you would have to be the one to drag them away from her. Moments with your fellow first years: Hinata always coming into your classroom to hang out with you, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima grouping up with you during free periods to go over the class material, and Kageyama constantly asking you for critiques whenever you helped him practice with Hinata. Sugawara would always check in on you to make sure that you were keeping up with school and Daichi would check in to make sure that you were having your meals. Asahi would try his best to help you with carrying the water if Shimizu was busy with Takeda and Ukai, reassuring you that it wasn’t a hassle and that it was his way of hanging out with you during school hours. 

You smiled to yourself and leaned your head back, enjoying the warm sun rays that were beaming down on you. It was a blessing in disguise to be dragged into their world, no your world, once again. You had missed the feeling of the ball in your hands and feeding off of the hunger and determination that radiated off of the players in the gym. The new found warmth you felt whenever you were with them felt like a new beginning for you. And maybe that’s what you’ve been needing for the longest time: a clean slate from your past and a fresh mind to fall in love with the sport all over again. Stretching your arms, you hummed your favorite song and smiled widely when you saw the store’s front right in front of you. 

Skidding to a stop, you kicked your board into your arms before going into the store. You passed by the aisles to try and find Ukai, but he was nowhere to be found. With a shrug, you set your skateboard on top of one of the empty tables and decided to pick out some snacks. 

“Oi Coach! Where are you?” you asked as you skimmed the shelves of chips in front of you. 

“In the back! I’ll be right out, kid!” he yelled back. 

“Osu~” you replied back and grabbed your favorite bag of chips before heading towards the refrigerated section in the front. 

As you grabbed a cold bottle of Ramune, Ukai emerged from the back room and ruffled your hair. 

“Thanks for coming out kid, I know this isn’t your ideal way of spending your weekend, but I needed your help with the boys.” he said as he grabbed his notebook and pen from behind the counter. 

You smiled and waved it off. “It’s fine, coach. I’m glad I can help.” 

The two of you sat down at the table and you set your skateboard on the floor. You leaned against the back of the chair and crossed one leg over the other as he mirrors your actions with his arms cross against his chest. 

“(L/N) (F/N). Chidoriyama’s infamous female wing spiker and pinch server. Currently on hiatus due to a torn ACL.”

You chuckled and raised an eyebrow at the older man. “Yes, that is I.” 

“How did you get into volleyball?” 

“My dad; he used to play during his high school and university days. When I was younger, they wanted to figure out what kind of extracurricular activity to put me in. My mom put me in dance while my dad put me in volleyball. I didn’t like how stuck up the kids in my ballet class were, so I dropped it and just had more fun with volleyball.” 

“And how long have you been playing?” 

You grabbed your chips and opened the bag. Ukai shook his head when you offered him some and you shrugged before answering. 

“Hm...probably since I was like six or seven? My dad started off with just receiving and then when I got good at that, he taught me serving before putting me in weekend classes.” 

“That’s a long time kid, I’ve seen some of your plays recently and I can see you be a lot of help with the team. Well, that is until you’re ready to personally become a part of the girl’s team.” 

“The girl’s team?” you asked more to yourself then towards him as you munched on some of the chips. 

“C’mon, I’m assuming you’ve dreamt about making it big. It’s just a matter of time until your body is back in top shape.” 

“Coach, I barely told you last night that I agreed to be manager. Let’s take it one step at a time, alright?” you laughed and he sheepishly smiled back at you. 

“Yeah, you’re right, sorry I was getting ahead of myself.” Ukai laughed and then cleared his throat. “So what do you think of the boys so far?” 

“Hm…” you started as you tried to gather your thoughts and opened your bottle of Ramune. “I think they’re okay so far. Some of them still need to improve on their receives, Kags and Shoyo still need to improve on their quick combo, and overall the team dynamic needs to improve. We just need to nitpick and note down the smaller aspects of it for their next training camp.” 

“True, that’s what I began to notice as well. We can start off with different drills and solidify on the current struggles for now. Then after the camp we can get down to the finer details.” 

You nodded your head in agreement and said, “Yeah, that sounds like a solid plan for now.” 

He sighed in relief and relaxed in his chair. “Thank god you’re here, kid. It gets stressful sometimes being the only one coming up with plays.” 

You laughed as Ukai’s typical grumpy face relaxed and got up to toss your trash away. “No prob, coach. Glad I can use my expertise again.” 

“Ah, that reminds me, I need you to come up with different plays the boys can try out. I want to add more towards the second year since we’ve been focusing too much more with our starting lineup.” Ukai said as rested his arms behind his neck. 

“You got it coach.” you smiled at him and gave him the ‘okay’ sign. He watched as you picked up your board and motioned towards the door. 

“Well if that’s all you needed…” 

“Ah, wait!” he said while getting up from his seat and went towards the counter. He rummaged around for a paper bag and grabbed the tongs that was hanging off the handle of the heater for his family’s infamous buns. 

“Compensation for coming out today. Your snacks are also on the house.” he cheekily smiled. 

You gasped and smiled excitedly, jogging towards the counter and watched him fill up the bag. 

“What was your next goal if you weren’t injured?” he asked. 

You played with one of the wheels of your board and pursed your lips. “I...was supposed to go to Niyama High with my libero and captain.” 

“Niyama?! Why didn’t you follow through?” 

Silently, you motioned towards your knee as your expression deadpanned. 

“Oh, right.” 

You rolled your eyes and smirked. “C’mon coach, don’t tell me you’re getting old already and having short term memory.” 

He clicked his tongue and whacked you on the head with the rolled up newspaper by the cashier. You laughed and grabbed the bag he slid towards you. 

“You know I’m kidding, but anyways, it’s as cliché as it can be. I needed a fresh start and Yu-nii suggested I go to Karasuno. He’d show me the ropes and I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Would you ever consider transferring back?” he asked as he lazily sat down on his chair behind the counter and took out a cigarette. 

You immediately shook your head as you made your way towards the door. He lit it up and blew some out, settling into his usual routine at the store. 

“Nah, the team is family now. So that means Karasuno is my home. But don’t tell the boys I told you that.” you smirked before saluting at the older man and exited the store. 

[downwiththeficness]

A Need So Great-Chapter 10

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count:

Warnings: Alcohol, smut, unprotected sex

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape @revolution-starter

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

The bathing suit still fit. Eva was glad of it, she hadn’t had time to go out and shop for a new one.  A cherry red halter top paired with high waisted bottoms, she’d purchased it a year or so previous on a whim and only worn it a handful of times.  Being a consultant for the DEA didn’t lend itself to lounging by the water. She threw on a soft cotton cover up, stepped into her sandals, and grabbed the fifth of vodka sitting on her counter before walking over to Steve and Connie’s apartment.

The sun was shining brightly that day, as it did most days. And, like most days, the humidity was high. Eva could feel the heat rising from the asphalt as she crossed the parking lot and made her way down the street. When she got to their door, she shifted the vodka to the crook of her arm and knocked.

The door opened and Steve welcomed her in with a wave of his hand.  He was wearing swim trunks and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt, his hair wet and slicked back. She shuffled inside, putting the vodka in the freezer and heading out through the back door to a rectangular courtyard. The pool was encircled by a black metal fence about waist high. She spotted Connie standing next to Javier at the grill, setting down a plate of uncooked meat. She caught sight of Eva and smiled wide beneath her shades.

“C’mon,” she yelled, waving her hand wildly, “We have the pool for about four hours—til the sun goes down.”

Eva returned the wave, passing through the gate and over to where a few lounge chairs were situated, towels hanging over the back. Umbrellas provided each lounge with some shade from the sun.

“Okay,” Eva said, motioning to the courtyard, “Someone in housing definitely hates me. My shower barely works and you’ve got a fucking pool.”

Connie rolled her eyes, “Yeah, with a schedule so tight and political it could run for president. It took two months of sending brownies to the landlord just to get a half day booked.”

Eva squinted at her, “You have to book time?”

Nodding, Connie gestured for Eva to sit on the lounge chair opposite her, “I know, right? There are families here who have standing appointments months out.”

Steve, having followed Eva outside, called out, “What Connie isn’t telling you is that I slipped a stack of money into one of the brownie pans last week. Only way we got the permission.”

“Can’t you just...jump in?”

Connie’s eyes went wide, “Oh, Jesus. Saw someone try to do that the first week here. The guards fucking swarmed them, hauled ‘em out. Haven’t seen them since.”

Sounds about right, Eva thought. Everything seemed to be a quid pro quo down here. She’d seen a couple agents pay off their informants only to turn around and expense it to the department. Money could buy literally anything here.

“Let me tell you what happened yesterday at work,” Connie sighed, turning to lay back on the lounge, “I started at the NICU four months ago and I thought I had a handle on it. But, oh no, one of the other nurses has been taking my reports and shredding them. So, now my boss thinks I just don’t turn in my work.”

“No way,” Eva blurted out, scandalized.

“Yes, way,” Connie confirmed, pushing her sunglasses up on her nose, “So, I started making copies and locking them in my desk. But, I found out one of the maintenance guys has been letting her into it and she’s been taking my copies.”

Eva rested her head on her palm, mouth curling, “What’re you going to do about it?”

Connie smirked, “A little Ipicac in her morning coffee.”

Brows hitting her hairline, Eva’s mouth dropped. Connie was a forceful woman, could be outright domineering when she wanted something, but this was shocking behavior for her.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Its harmless. Just a little vomiting during the staff meeting.”

“Does she know you did it?” Eva’s voice came out as a whisper, as if she was trying to keep the story secret.

“Nope,” Connie shook her head, blonde hair falling over one shoulder, “I was pretty slick about it.”

“I’m sure,” Eva confirmed. “One question: How is the behavior going to stop if she doesn’t know it was you who did it?”

Connie shrugged, “Every time one of my copies goes missing, I’ll do it again. She’ll get the picture eventually. I also had Steve get me a false bottom for my desk. I’ll have a third copy waiting, just in case.”

The smell of meat wafted over, a welcome change from the chlorine. Eva glanced at Javier and Steve, both of them staring at the grill intently. Javier was fidgeting with a metal spatula, forearm wiping at his brow.

“Is that a guy thing? Standing by the grill and watching food cook?”

Even though Eva couldn’t see Connie’s eyes behind her shades, she could tell that the other woman was rolling them, “I guess. Every man I know does it.”

“Same here,” Eva said, eyes squinting. “I mean, they’re not even talking.”

Connie laughed a little, reaching into the cooler and handing Eva a beer. She popped the top for her and grabbed one for herself, “I suppose it could be worse.”

“Could be fireworks.”

Brows raised, Connie asked, “Is there a story there?”

“Ah,” Eva edged, “When I was a kid, my parents used to have this block party on the fourth with this huge fireworks display.  One of the neighbors built a potato cannon that they primed with hairspray. One year they shot roman candles out of it.”

Jaw open, Connie took a few seconds to reply, “Did...someone get hurt?”

“Oh, no,” Eva clarified, dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand, “A window got knocked out, but no one got hurt.”

A while later, Eva was fanning herself with her hand, sweat falling down her neck. In the late afternoon, the sun beat down on them. Even with the umbrellas above, Eva could feel her body fighting to keep itself cool. Standing, she pulled off her cover up.

“I’m getting in,” she declared, “I can’t take it any more.”

Connie laughed and stood with her, “I’ll go with you. Nice suit, by the way.”

Eva thanked her, returning the sentiment. Connie was wearing a canary yellow one piece, the thighs cut high to highlight her muscular thighs. She threw off her sunglasses and pulled her hair atop her head into a tight bun. Eva wished she’d thought to bring a hair tie. She’d never really been concerned about the way her hair curled in irregular little ringlets and waves before, but knowing that Horacio would be stopping by afterwards made her a little self conscious. With a little effort, she shrugged it off and darted out to the edge of the pool, jumping in.

The water was cool, a shock to her body as it enveloped her. Eva felt the air rush out of her lungs as she  sunk beneath the surface. Her feet touched down and she kicked hard, breaching the water with a sharply indrawn breath.

Wiping the water from her eyes, she laughed at Connie, who had used the ladder to drop daintily into the pool.

“I haven’t done that since I was a kid,” she said, her cheeks hurting a bit with the force of her smile.

Connie nodded enthusiastically, “We had a pool, too. Above ground. Mom would make us wear pool floats the whole time we were in it.”

Eva shook her head, “I suppose there’s something to be said for safety. I was an only child, so my parents let me do whatever I wanted, mostly.”

“Are they still around?”

Eva swallowed, her eyes falling to the water she was swishing between her fingers, “No, they died a long time ago.”

“Oh, my God,” Connie gasped, “I’m sorry. How did it happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It was an accident,” Eva explained.  

It was the same explanation that she’d given a million people before and would likely continue to give. A plane crash. No survivors. They were headed to a little resort that Josh had booked for their anniversary.  Eva could still remember what her mother’s face had looked like when Josh handed her the tickets—excited and charmed. It turned her stomach.

Connie read her expression and approached slowly, arms pushing through the water, “Was it… was it because of your husband? Because of the things he did?”

Eva had been as honest as she could about the things that had occurred in her marriage, had told Connie about the way she learned to cover bruises, about how she used the work to give her purpose even though she knew it resulted in the destruction of people’s lives, about how he hurt her less when she did a good job.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Um, I tried to run away—had a passport and some cash hidden. I can’t prove it, but I think he killed them to make a point.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eva,” Connie breathed. “That’s horrifying.”

Eva blinked at Connie, trying to smile, “It was a long time ago. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“That’s not something you make peace with.”

She was right, Eva hadn’t made peace with it, not really. It had taken a long time for her to stop feeling guilty and to place the blame solely on Josh. It was part of the reason that she was able to kill him that night. She’d channeled all that rage into the fight, and she’d finally come out the victor.

“I got him back, though, didn’t I?” She said, chin lifting.

“Yes, you did.”

They swam for a while, until the food was done. Steve called out to them, a pair of tongs clapping together in one hand. They ate off paper plates, beers fresh from the cooler dripping condensation onto the cement below.

After wards, Eva laid back on the lounge, feeling sleepy. She kept a beer next to her, drinking from it lazily. One arm thrown over her head, she stretched her legs out long, enjoying the sun and relaxation. That’s how Horacio found her. Eyes closed, half shaded by the umbrella, suit drying out on her body. She heard him walk up and sit on the lounge next to hers.

Eva opened her eyes and smiled, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

She sat up, swinging her legs around so that she could face him, “You get everything done at work?”

He nodded, “Got some paperwork in the truck I need to finish. I parked at your place, I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s no problem, you park there most of the time anyways.”

That was very much the truth. They hadn’t spent many nights away from one another, almost all of them at her place. Horacio told her that he liked her apartment better than his house because it was cozier. Eva could see why. She’d finally gotten to see his house, and it was sparsely decorated, indicative of a man who lived at work and only slept when he had to.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

Another nod, “Since its a Saturday, we order take out for the guys.”

Eva started to reach out to touch him, but the first two fingers of his right hand lifted quickly, stopping the motion.

“There are a lot of eyes here.”

Right. Although he hadn’t explained in detail, Javier had let it slip during a meeting that Carillo had a literal bounty on his head. In his fight against the rise of drugs in the country, he’d ruffled a lot of feathers. And, that made anyone associated with him vulnerable. When they were in public, he kept a distance between them and, outside of rare occasions, he didn’t touch her. The longer they were together, to more strict he became about it. Eva was still adjusting.

Eva pointed to the swim trunks he was wearing, “Did you go home to change or did you wear this to the office?”

Shooting her a sardonic look he asked, “What do you think?”

“I know, I know,” she replied, “God forbid you show up anything less than immaculate.”

It was probably the only point of contention between them. He always got up early to get dressed for the day. Eva argued constantly that he could go in one day without going through his entire routine, his coworkers wouldn’t notice. He argued back that he was supposed to be setting an example and that meant ironing his undershirt. She hadn’t yet managed to convince him to sleep in with her, his internal clock kicking in like….well, clockwork.

Now, though, he was wearing teal colored swim trunks and one of his more casual polo shirts. His hair was still combed back from his face, the curls tamed by the pomade he kept next to his aftershave on her bathroom counter. He’d taken a little extra time to shave that morning.

Eva gestured towards the cooler, “Go get yourself a beer. Relax for two seconds.”

She watched him as he rose and sauntered over to the little cooler by the grill, greeting the others along the way. Connie stepped over and sat next to her, leaning a little into Eva’s space.

She handed Eva a fresh beer, saying, “So… you guys are good?”

Eva nodded, “Yep.”

Connie stared at her.

“What?”

“You like him.”

Eva snorted, “Of course I like him. We literally discussed this a few days ago.”

“No, I mean you really like him,” Connie clarified, “You do this thing where the more you want something, the less you talk about it.”

Looking at her with a flustered expression, “What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?”

Connie took a swig from the bottle in her hand, “I don’t know, maybe admit that you like him more than you let on and you’re afraid that its going to self destruct because you’re both working dangerous jobs in a dangerous country where one or both of you could be killed and the pressure is a little too high for such a new relationship.” She took a deep breath, “And that scares the shit out of you.”

Eva’s mouth thinned as she regarded her friends, “Way to put it so succinctly.”

“Thank you.” A beat, “So, are you going to admit it?”

Eva glared.

Connie rolled her eyes, “Alright, don’t admit it. We both know its true.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eva glowered. Then, after taking just a moment to think about it, she said, “He thinks I’m going to become a target if they find out.”

She didn’t have to say who ‘they’ were. Connie knew, had married into it.

“That’s possible.”

“I don’t know how to prove that I’m not scared.  Hell, I was on the other side of this fifteen years ago. I know the risks.”

Connie rolled a shoulder, resting her arms on her knees, her gaze following her husband as he told yet another wild story, “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“Some thought,” Eva agreed.

“Sounds like you’re willing to take on those risks.”

“Some risks.”

“Sound like you just admitted you like him a lot.”

“Jesus, Connie,” Eva grumbled.

Flashing a smile at Eva, Connie cajoled, “Is it that hard to admit?”

“Given my last long standing relationship ended in literal murder, I would say I’ve got grounds to be cautious.”

Lifting a finger, Connie asserted firmly, “Cautious, not cowardly.”

She had a point.  Eva kind of resented her for it.

They spent another hour or so talking among themselves, until the cooler ran out of beer.

“I bet that vodka’s good and cold,” Eva announced, heading for the gate. She didn’t bother with a towel or her cover up, already mostly dry from the sun.

Connie threw up her hands, “Yes! There’s orange juice in the fridge. And, another six pack.”

“I’ll help,” Carrillo offered, following Eva towards the door.

The sliding glass rumbled as she pulled it open, pushing through the vertical blinds to duck inside. The air conditioning hit her hard, goosebumps rising over her skin. She hissed a little bit, rubbing at her arms as she made her way across the kitchen to the fridge. Behind her, the heavy glass door slid closed.

Bare feet shuffling across the tile, Eva opened the fridge and found the six pack and orange juice, setting them on the counter beside her before pulling the vodka out of the freezer.  It was definitely cold enough, the bottle immediately frosting despite the cool air.

“You know, there’s going to come a time when I’ll be able to out drink Connie, but today is not going to be that day,” she said with a smile.

Eva stood and ran abruptly into Horacio, who reached behind her to shut the freezer door, the other hand taking the bottle from her and setting it next to the orange juice and the beer. Without further preamble, he leaned down and kissed her hard. She squeaked a little, unprepared for it, before settling into the motion.

He pulled away, hands skimming her waist and hips, “I’ve been meaning to do that since I got here.”

Eva wrapped her arms around his shoulders, “I think we’ve discussed that you’re free to kiss me whenever you want.”

“Not always,” he replied, the implication heavy in his tone.

She gave a little bob of her head in understanding, “Still, offer’s on the table.”

“Noted,” he whispered before leaning down and kissing her again. Slower. Deeper. “Have I told you how much I like kissing you?”

Eva smiled as she ruffled the little hairs on the nape of his neck, “The feeling is mutual.”

Hands spanning her waist, he gazed down the length of her body, “Have I told you how much I like this suit.” His grip tightened the tiniest bit, “So much skin.”

At this, Eva’s smile morphed into an abashed laugh, “You’ve seen me in less.”

His brows quirked, mouth curving into an almost but not quite smile, “Usually, I can touch you.”

“You’re touching me now, Big Guy.”

She watched his lips as he pulled them in between his teeth, pressing lightly before letting go. He pulled her into him until they were pressed together, standing between the counter and the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. Little kisses trailed up her neck to her jaw, and finally to her mouth. Though his arms held her tight, his mouth was soft and gentle, tongue snaking out to taste.

The easiness of the kiss, the fact that they’d been apart for almost a day, the knowledge that once they stepped back outside she couldn’t touch him again until they were safely ensconced in her apartment made Eva greedy to have what she could, when she could. Despite the fact that he wasn’t doing much more than holding her, she felt the echo of arousal bloom in her belly. Lifting up onto her toes, she deepened the kiss, tilting her hips into him.

His response was...absolutely to be expected. Thigh pushing between her legs, he walked her back to the counter until it dug into her lower back. One hand came up to grip her damp hair, angling her head back so that he could press his face into her neck. Eva tried to roll her chin down to get at him again, but he held her still.

Dark eyes looked up at her from beneath his lashes, “As soon as we get back to your apartment.”

It took her maybe half a second to process his meaning, and then she was giving a quick jerk of her head. He breathed deeply, taking in her scent, before stepping away. Shoulders tense, he picked up the orange juice and six pack and gesturing towards the sliding glass doors.

With shaking hands, Eva grabbed the vodka, thankful for the freezing bottle. She pressed it to her belly, walking ahead of Horacio. By the pool, the group had gathered on the lounge chairs.

Eva held up the bottle as she approached, “I come bearing gifts!”

“Ah, Jesus,” Javier groaned, leaning over to stage whisper to Steve, “I don’t think I’m up for this.”

Connie rolled her eyes as she took to bottle from Eva, cracking it open, “Man up, Javier. This is a party.”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket, hanging from the back of the chair, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, “All your parties end in fights.”

“Excuse me,” Connie retorted, offended, “One party ended in a fight, thank you very much.”

Eva frowned, “Is this the bar fight, gun fight?”

Beside Connie, Steve dropped his head into his palm, shaking it. Javier took a drag and blew out the smoke. Connie glared.

“So, here’s what happened,” Javier said, making room for Carrillo to sit by him. “We’re at a work thing, schmoozing with the big wigs in the department. Usual stuff. One guy gets a little drunk and makes a pass at Connie, who proceeds to grab his hand and break it.”

“Sprain it,” Connie cut in. “I sprained it. Barely.”

Javier scoffed, “Anyways, the guy happens to be a major player for this political group who gave us money. They don’t give us money anymore.”

Connie handed Eva a cup—vodka and orange juice, “What was I supposed to do? Let the guy grab my ass in a room full of people.”

Eva thought about it, “I agree with Connie. Break his fucking hand.”

“Thank you,” Connie said, touching Eva’s arm in solidarity.

“One thing I don’t understand,” Eva said, crossing one leg over the other, “How is that a fight?”

Javier’s brows lifted as he recalled, “Oh, right. Steve got in the guy’s face.”

Eva made a sound of disbelief, “Alright, no. This wasn’t Connie’s fault, Steve’s the one who escalated things.”

“What was I supposed to do?” he echoed Connie’s sentiment.

She shrugged, “I’m not the best person to answer that question.”

Three pairs of eyes crept over to Carrillo, who was already shaking his head, “I probably would have done the same.”

Eva had to take a deep drink from her cup to cover the expression unfolding on her face. She couldn’t help the image of him pushing into someone’s space, a threat spoken lowly. His thick frame blocking any hope of escape. Eva thought she’d like to see that someday.

“That’s not the point,” Javier cut in.

“What is the point?” Connie asked.

“That your parties end in fights.”

“One party—not even my party.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Eva blurted, setting down her cup. She grabbed Connie’s hand, “Let’s go.”

Tugging the woman along, Eva hauled ass towards the pool tumbling headfirst into the water. She heard a second splash nearby, and she smiled beneath water as she kicked to the surface. Breaching, Eva pushed her hair back from her face, her eyes going wide as she caught a body flying over her, sending a wave of water over her. She ducked under, hearing a third splash.

Coming up laughing, she spotted both Javier and Steve swimming away, Connie following not far behind, shouting. She looked up, smiling at Carrillo, who was popping to top off a beer.

“You gonna join us?”

He looked dubious.

“Oh, don’t tell me you can’t swim,” Eva wheedled before ducking down and pushing off the edge of the pool to shoot out towards the center.

She popped up next to Javier, dodging Connie as she pushed him under. Tiptoeing around Steve, Eva put a little distance between them, her wide smile dropping as she looked down to the other side. Carrillo had set down his beer and was walking towards the pool, tugging off his polo. She would never, ever get used to it. Eva had spent many nights holding onto those shoulders, feeling him move between her thighs, and she was still struck dumb.  He caught her eye, and though his expression didn’t change, she could tell that he was gloating. With sure movements, he gave a little bounce and then his arms swung forward as he executed a seamless dive into the pool.

Righting herself, Eva leaned against the wall of the pool, flicking water at Connie, who swam up beside her.

“Please tell me you…”

“Yeah.”

“And its…”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Eva confirmed with a long sigh.

They relaxed in the water as the sun started it descent towards the horizon. Eva held her position against the wall, talking with Connie and trying like hell to keep her eyes and her hands off Horacio. It seemed all too easy for him to act casually—a little sarcasm here, a little small talk there. She envied that ability. Her body, already attuned to him, seemed constantly on edge. Anticipation simmering under her skin to the point that she was surprised the water around her wasn’t gently steaming.

Too soon, a couple men in uniforms approached the gate, yelling out towards them. Connie grumbled and loudly announced that their time was at an end. They were, evidently, being forced out. After gathering the cooler and towels, they headed inside.

The phone was ringing, pausing the conversation for a moment.  Steve answered it, speaking for a few minutes, then hanging it up. He looked annoyed.

“Well, looks like we’re heading into the office tomorrow.”

Connie scowled, “Its a Sunday.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve replied with a shake of his head, “We’ve got a meeting. You too, Carrillo.”

Beside her, Carrillo put his hands on his hips, “They tell you want its about?”

“Nope, just said we report in at eight.”

Eva pushed her wet hair back from her face then pulled her cover up over her body despite the fact that her suit was still pretty wet, “They say anything about me coming in?”

Steve opened the cooler and popped the top off another beer, “No. I think its just us three.”

She nodded. Highly classified meeting, then. She didn’t want to admit that she felt left out, so she shrugged and said, “Alright. I’m going to head home. Thank you for having me over, Connie.”

Connie hugged her, “Thanks for coming over and saving me from hearing more about office politics.”

They said their goodbyes and Eva headed out into the night, stars just beginning to shine above her. A little tipsy, she strolled along leisurely, not surprised when Carrillo followed.

“That was really fun,” she said when he moved up beside her, keeping pace.

He made a noncommittal sound, his gaze focused in front of them.

“When was the last time you actually spent a weekend afternoon not attached to your desk doing paperwork?”

Or, attached to her kitchen island, or the little dining room table in the nook of his house. More often than not, he brought files home with him. Eva had seen him sign his name so many times she could have probably forged it by now.

Lifting a shoulder, he replied, “Its been a long time.”

Eva scratched at the skin above her brow, a little unsure of herself, “You should do things for fun more often.”

He looked at her, “I assume you have ideas.”

“I might,” she said coyly, spinning to walk backwards in front of him, “There’s apparently some beautiful scenery, here.  We could go hiking.”

His brows lifted and she could see a ghost of a smile, “We could do that.”

“Alright, its decided, then. We’ll go hiking when you get some time off.”

Eva knew that it was a long shot that he’d have more than a day off at a time, if past history was anything to go by. Still, it was nice to make plans, ambiguous as the timing may be. She hadn’t ever made plans like this before, and the prospect made her warm inside.

Keying into her apartment, Eva left the door open for him to come in. She started to say something innocuous about being home again, but she was cut off. Horacio grabbed her by the arm, pulling her into his body and kissed her. She gave a stilted gasp, arms coming up to rest on his biceps.

Hands traveling down her body, he scrunched the fabric of her cover up in his palms, pulling it up and over her head. When he slipped the pads of his fingers down into her suit bottoms, Eva stepped back, pulling him along with her.

“I have to get this chlorine out of my hair,” she explained, pacing backwards towards the bathroom, “You want to join me?”

Fire sparked in his eyes, his steps guiding her back and into her bedroom, rounding the corner and pushing her into the bathroom. As she moved to turn on the taps, he pulled at the ties of her top, throwing the fabric to the floor. After doing the same with her bottoms, he yanked her back into his chest, one hand tracing down her stomach in a confident caress.

He cupped her mound, fingers sliding through her folds and pressing firmly.  Eva swallowed back a moan, head tipped back as he kissed along her shoulder down to her collarbone. Steam began to fill the room, heat wafting from the shower. She reluctantly pulled away, tugging off his shirt and swim trunks and stepping into the spray.

Eva half expected that he would push her against the tile and fuck her against it. His touch was impatient in a way that was new and shot heat straight into her core. She was, however, surprised to find that he reached down and grabbed her shampoo, lathering it through her strands thoroughly. He crowded her under the water, tilting her head around to rinse the suds away. She watched him grab a loofah and pour some body wash on it, her skin sizzling with anticipation.

Long, careful strokes swept the pool water from her body. She could feel the arousal that was always at a low simmer ramping up even though his touch wasn’t remotely sexual. Unable to help herself, she pressed a kiss to his sternum, resting her forehead against his chest. He sighed, his arms wrapping around her.

Wanting to return the favor, Eva reached back and took the loofah from him, running it over his broad chest, his stomach, his thighs. Though his erection bobbed up between them, she avoided it for the moment. Switching sides with him, she let the water fall over his body, her hands pushing the soap down towards the tub.

Dropping the loofah, Eva grabbed the shampoo and poured just a little into her hand, arms lifting to gently scrub it through his curls, finally free of the pomade he regularly combed through it. Using her nails, she lightly scratched at his scalp, smiling when his eyes closed in pleasure. Tilting his head back, Eva rinsed the shampoo from his hair, hands tracing down his face and neck.

Leaning down, Horacio’s lips found hers, his tongue darting out to taste. The water falling over his back sluiced down to run between her breasts and down her stomach. Eva pressed against him rolling her hips invitingly.

He broke the kiss with a moan, one hand grabbing her ass. Eva knew that, if she didn’t act quickly, he’d slot his fingers inside her and she would cease to be able to think, let alone respond. The omega in her loved that he was taking care of her, reveled in it, even. But the omega in her also wanted to make him want her just as much as she wanted him, wanted him feeling wild with it.

Lightly, so as to not give herself away, Eva traced down his chest, palm turning so that she could grasp him in her hand. He rested his forehead against her temple, mouth open, breath stuttering. She pumped him slowly, but firmly, wrist twisting at the top.

When the hand holding her hip started to dip down towards her center, Eva stopped him, holding him by the wrist. She kissed him, teeth catching at his lower lip. The wrist in her palm flexed as he tried to pull free. Eva shook her head, stroking him just a little faster. He groaned, pushing his thigh between hers, using the hand on her ass as leverage to drag her clit against him.

He breathed her name, the sound of it loud against the tiled walls. Eva felt her chest swell at the strain in his tone, power building with every choked moan, every sigh. She watched him lick his lips, her gaze dropping to his cock. He was hard, pulsing, his hips tilting towards her. It was a sight that she knew would always be with her, a feverish memory locked intimately with his scent.

As she contemplated dropping to her knees, the water began to turn cold. Eva laughed as he hissed, spinning to turn off the faucet. When he looked at her, Eva’s laughed faded, blood rushing in her ears at the intensity of his expression. He ushered her out of the tub, hands pushing her forward. Impatient, he hauled her up and over his shoulder, walking quickly to the bed.

He tossed her down, her body bouncing with the force. Eva watched him crawl over her, the muscles of his body flexing with every motion. More deep, intense kisses followed, his hands arranging her beneath him. When she reached for him, he swatted her away, lifting to his knees. Balanced over her, Horacio opened the nightstand to grab a condom.

When he paused, brows together, Eva asked him what was wrong, her voice a hoarse rasp.

His eyes closed, his chin dropping to his chest, “We’re out.”

She squinted up at him, “Out?”

“Of condoms, we’re out.”

That was impossible. She’d gone out and bought some maybe two days ago, they couldn’t possibly…Her brain very eagerly explained that they had been having a lot of sex. Eva tried to suppress it, but the giggle burst forth, her hands coming up to cover her face.

Horacio looked down at her, mouth half smiling, “I’m glad you’re amused.”

Affectionately, Eva pulled him down to her, rolling them to their sides, “C’mere.”

Her name was a warning as it passed his lips, but she shut him up with a kiss. Stroking along his skin, Eva kept kissing him until he relaxed against her, big body falling deep into the mattress. Arms wrapping around her, he rolled to his back, pulling one of her legs over his thigh. Hands on her hips, he encouraged her to move on him.

Eva couldn’t get close enough, her hands falling to his shoulders, using them to help her get friction on her clit. She ground down on him, her slick coating his skin and easing the movement. Still, she couldn’t quite get there. Her arousal burned through her, soaking into her very bones, but she couldn’t make herself come.

Sweat beaded on her temples, her muscles burning. She bit down on her lip, eyes closed. It wasn’t going to work, not when she could feel him pressed against her hip. Not when all she wanted was to be stuffed so full of him that she could barely move.

Shifting, Eva wavered over his body, weight on her palms as she kissed him, licking into his mouth. Moving determinedly, she opened her hips and swung her leg up and over, straddling him. The first contact seared through her, and her body screamed out that this was much better. She rocked against him, hands falling to his chest for balance.

“Yes,” he breathed, urging her faster, hands pulling at her hips, her thighs, “Like that, just like that.”

Eva picked up the rhythm he was guiding her to, her body working to get off. This was so, so much better, but she still couldn’t get there.  She felt on fire from it, a whimpering, desperate mess. The orgasm was so fucking close, but not even his thumb circling over her clit was pushing her over the edge.  

He pulled her down, sandwiching his cock between them, hips arching towards her. Horacio planted kiss after kiss over her neck, her chest, her jawline, her mouth. Little yearning growls sounded in the space between them. Eva pulled her knees beneath her, letting her hips open so that she could rub as much of her pussy against him as she could.

Every upward thrust brushed against her clit, every twist of her hips, coated him from root to tip. The pace picked up, and Eva’s eyes rolled back when their bodies aligned perfectly so that the head breached her just a little, sliding in then out and along the length of her folds.

Eva moaned his name, her nails digging into his shoulders. Beneath her, Horacio groaned long and low, eyes squeezed shut. Suddenly, he rolled her over, most of his weight falling atop her. His hands held her to the mattress so that he could grind down on her. Even though she could barely breathe, Eva let out a pleased gasp. The force of his body pushing against her, the way he buried his face in her neck, arms holding her tight, all of it pushed her pleasure higher.

“So good, so good,” she chanted, hands in his hair.

Lifting a little, he looked down between them, his cock pushing up through her her folds, wet and swollen. Hips fluid, he grabbed her ass in one hand, pulling her to him. Eva braced her feet on the mattress, shifting beneath him to get that feeling of him opening her up just a bit. It was almost enough, that tiny breach followed by a hard drag across her clit.

Giving a frustrated grunt, he dropped onto an elbow, catching her chin and forcing her to look at him,  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have to stop trying to fuck me, Eva.”

She whined, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, “I can’t help it. I want it. Please, Horacio.” She stole a kiss, “Feels so good with you inside me. Love when you fuck me.”

Against her, he pulsed, hips jerking. He blinked down at her, jaw unhinged. Deep breaths, grip tight, “Evangeline. Listen...listen. I’m gonna.” The thought alone seemed to spur him on, movements snapping against her, “I’m gonna… you need to listen. When I tell you, you need to let me pull out.”

Eager, she nodded, taking another kiss as he lined himself up and pushed inside. This, this was what she needed. Fuck, but he felt bigger than he ever had, the stretch tight. Eva arched, pushing her breasts into his chest, neck exposed for him to mouth along. Her body clenched so tight he couldn’t get more than an inch or two inside.

“Fuck, Eva. You have to let me in.” The words were half growled against her neck, teeth pressed against her skin.

She bit down on her response, “I’m trying.”

He pulled back, another thrust stunted by the squeeze of her cunt. His fists clenched beside her head, a wordless groan sounding.

“Try harder.”

Eva breathed deeply, trying to form coherent thoughts, “Maybe if you, if I...if you let me on top.”

He shook his head hard, “No. No—feels too good when you ride me.”

A laughed bubbled up, Eva cupped his face, catching his eyes, “Its supposed to feel good.”

“Too good. Come too fast,” he breathed, then, “How are you still so fucking tight?”

He still hadn’t bottomed out inside her, and Eva’s desperation grew every time he pulled out and pushed in again. She wanted him deeper, harder, wanted him to hold her down and leave bruises in his wake. In between breaths a plan formed. Eva reached down and grasped his hips for purchase, pulling him down as she rotated her hips up. Yes, yes! The feeling spanned electric down her spine.

With a curse, he snagged her hands, yanking them above her head, her name a warning on his lips. She arched her back, her hips working against him, moving on him from below. Ignoring a second warning, Eva rolled her hips as best she could, taking him further and further. He’d stilled above her, eyes watching as she moved.

His hands gripped her tighter, voice rough, “Look at you.”

She kept throwing her hips up until she’d worked him all the way inside, the feeling short circuiting any ability to think beyond the ‘more, more more’ that chanted in her head.

“There you go,” he praised, “Take what you need. Take it from me.”

The snap of his hips resumed, shoving his cock inside her and hitting every pleasurable spot she had. Eva felt a sharp, high pitched gasp rush out of her. Words fell from her lips, encouraging him, telling him how good it felt, how much she needed him, nonsense syllables rising along with the orgasm that fairly exploded outward from her center, her muscles locking down on him from the inside.

He rode her through as much of it as he could before he pulled away, reaching down to stroke himself—fast, hard pumps until he was spilling over her lower stomach. Still breathing hard, Eva leaned up and wiped the sweat from his brow, kissing his cheek softly. His come dripped over her mound, falling down over her lips. He watched it with dark eyes, jaw tight.

With one hand, he pushed her back to the mattress, the other threw a leg over his shoulder as he moved down the bed, mouth on her before she could draw her next breath. Eva might have had the capacity to be embarrassed by the sounds coming out of her, the choked, half screamed moans, but her body was already skyrocketing towards another orgasm. What pushed her over the edge was the sight of his hand, resting on her pelvic bone, sliding upwards to drag his come over her skin, his eyes watching her face. She threw back her head, cunt clenching down hard enough that her vision blacked out momentarily.

For a long time, she could only stare at the ceiling as she tried to catch her breath. She felt him move, heard his footsteps, sighed at the warm cloth he dragged over her sensitive skin so tenderly.  He threw the cloth towards the bathroom, gathering her in his arms. She fell asleep to the feeling of him kissing her shoulder softly.