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thisapplepielife · 3 months ago

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Written for a @astrangersummer.

Tip Your Driver

Of all the shitty service jobs Steve's had, this one is definitely among the worst.

And he's been stuck working some pretty shitty jobs over the years, both before and after they moved out here. If he hadn't hated the one at the shoe store so much, because ew feet, he wouldn't be doing this in the first place. At least that was in one location, a steady paycheck, and not that far from their apartment. But, he didn't know that feet draw in some weirdos, so here he is, lugging other people's shit around, because he needs the money.

He just sighs as he pulls up in front of the address on the app. He double checks the posted numbers over the garage, and it seems to be the right place. Everything matches enough for him to call it good.

The house is really nice.

It's not in The Hills or anything, so he hadn't expected something so nice.

Now, Steve doesn't mind delivering groceries, not really, but this guy, Eddie it says, ordered a bunch of heavy shit, and the tip was only the mediocre bare minimum. Which, he wasn't that mad about, until right now, after he's seen the house this guy lives in.

No, now he's pretty annoyed.

Whatever. Par for the fucking course from Fancy Pants Rich McGee over here. How the hell you spell chauffeur? Chauffeur. Indeed. Maybe he should make tiktoks about situations just like this. Robin keeps hounding him, saying if he'd just do it, that he could rake in a little extra cash.

He's skeptical.

Steve looks back at the house.

Oh well. He left his money behind for a reason, the only thing he kept was his car because his parents were dumb enough to put it in his name. And honestly? It does him no good to be jealous or whatever the fuck he's feeling right now.

At least this guy had been responsive, and pretty nice, when answering Steve's messages about substitutions and out of stock items. Not everybody is, unfortunately, acting as if Steve is the one stocking the store himself.

Steve opens the back hatch of his car, and leans in to grab the first items to be left at the door, as requested. If they don't see you, they feel less bad about the shitty tip, Steve's learned.

But it's fine. Steve doesn't want to deal with anyone face-to-face today, anyway. Because he needs to hurry. He and Robin are already a couple days late on rent, and he's gotta try to make up the difference today. If not, they're gonna be fucking screwed. Why is this city so goddamn expensive to live in? It's bullshit.

"Let me help," comes the voice right next to him, and Steve jumps, hitting his head on the open hatch door.

Now, he's skipped over annoyed and has been vaulted straight into pissed off.

Partly at himself for being so far in his own head that he didn't even hear this guy approaching, but mainly at this asshole for even being in his personal space in the first place. He needs to take about three big steps back.

"Oh, fuck! Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" the guy shouts, and Steve hasn't even seen this asshole yet, but he knows he hates him.

"Most people don't help unload the car," Steve snaps, turning to look at him, and the guy is looking back at him with big, big brown eyes. Robin would call them doe eyes, without a doubt. Well, fuck. Fine. Steve softens his tone, "It's okay. I just wasn't expecting you."

"Sorry," Eddie says again, still too close. "I'm Eddie. I ordered the groceries. Can I help? Please?"

Steve nods, and lets him reach in and grab his own case of water, while Steve picks up a few of the sacks. It's the least the guy can do, now that he's given him a headache. Literally.

Steve carries the sacks towards the porch, and leans over to put them down.

"Just come on in," Eddie says, and the door swings open, banging against the rubber doorstop on the wall.

"Don't bang the door!" comes the yell from the other room, and Steve peers into the house and sees an older guy sitting in a lift chair, with a walker in front of him.

"It's my door, old man, I'll bang it if I want to!" Eddie yells back, but there's no heat there. Steve can hear the teasing affection in his voice, and Steve can't help but smile.

"Don't come crying to me when there's a hole in your wall. Can you patch drywall? Because I can't right now," the guy, probably Eddie's dad the way they're bickering, snaps.

Eddie ignores the question from his dad.

"C'mon, this way," Eddie says, looking over his shoulder at Steve, as Steve lingers on the step.

Well, no. That's not. You don't go in stranger's houses. It's, like, rule one. And just good common sense. Which apparently Steve has none of, because he does follow Eddie into the house.

Robin will kill him, if this Eddie dude doesn't kill him first.

Steve puts the bags down on the counter, and heads back out to make another trip, Eddie following, "That's my uncle. He's just crotchety that he had to have his broken hip replaced, and now he's dependent on me for the near future."

Steve laughs, "Well, maybe don't bang the door and he won't be crotchety."

"You heard me. It's my door," Eddie says, smiling wide. He's pretty, very pretty. Long, dark hair tied up on top of his head, and heavy tattoos all along his arms, creeping up onto his neck.

He's honestly gorgeous.

Steve wonders if he's famous. He doesn't look familiar, but he looks like he could be famous. And his house is pretty fucking nice. This is L.A. Everybody is somehow famous in L.A. Except for Steve and Robin. They are definitely not famous.

Unless he's a tech bro? But he doesn't really look the type.

Either way, famous or not, Steve smiles back, can't not, not when he looks like that, then asks, teasing him, "Well do you know how to patch drywall?"

"Fuck no. But I could hire someone to fix it if the door knob somehow gets through the stopper."

"Well, at least you have a plan," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

"He just hates the city. Hates my house. Hates everything. Except me. He loves me," Eddie says, as he grabs a case of Gatorade in one hand and the case of pork and beans in the other.

That's a lot of beans.

"That's a lot of beans," Steve says aloud, even if he doesn't mean to, even if he knows better than to comment on other people's groceries.

But Eddie laughs. "Tell me about it. Man likes what he likes, though. There's no changing him now."

Steve nods, grabbing another handful himself. It's nice that Eddie is taking care of his uncle.

"I'm not usually home much, hence all the groceries being ordered at once. Sorry about that. The cabinets were pretty bare, and I just didn't want to leave him home alone. He's still a fall risk, even if he keeps insisting he's not."

"That's okay, I understand. Big orders are more common than you'd think," Steve says, stepping back into the house that he's probably not going to get murdered in, thankfully.

Big orders are common, he's not lying about that, and more often than not, the tips offered for shopping hundreds of items, are less than you'd think. So, this order wasn't even out of the ordinary. Not really. That's why Steve took it. Some pay was better than none, especially today, that's for sure.

"Still. I'm grateful. You saved my ass today, man," Eddie answers.

"Well, it's my job," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

They finish bringing everything in, and Steve nods at Eddie, "Okay. I think that does it."

"Here," Eddie says, and plucks an envelope off the counter, "I always worry that your tips in the app will get eaten up by the corporate assholes taking their cut off the top. So. Cash is king."

Steve takes the envelope. A tip he doesn't have to report? Why thank you, Eddie.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do this, or help bring it in, you know? But I appreciate both."

Eddie smiles, "Thank you for getting all that shit for us. We both appreciate it. Don't we Wayne?"

Wayne grumbles, but Steve's pretty sure he doesn't appreciate anything right now. He knows he wouldn't either, if he had broken his hip.

They say their goodbyes, and that's that. Steve will never see Eddie with the pretty eyes ever again.

At the next red light, Steve opens the envelope, expecting an extra ten or twenty bucks, maybe, but is shocked to see that there are three, insanely crisp one hundred dollar bills inside.

Holy shit.

That's way more than he usually makes in a single day. Two days, even. Just by delivering one order that he didn't think was gonna pay well at all.

And he got to look at a hot dude for a minute or two.

It's enough to cover what they were short on the rent, even. It might not have felt like a lot of money to Eddie, if he handed it over so readily, but it feels life-changing to Steve, right now. He remembers when three hundred bucks wasn't anything to him either, back when he had access to all his parents' money and all their unhappiness.

Now, it's different.

Robin's gonna shit.

Hot damn.

Thank you, Eddie.

"Booyah," Steve says, slapping the envelope on the counter.

Robin picks it up, and thumbs through it. It has Eddie's tip, and the few extra bucks he picked up during the rest of the day.

"Oh my god, no way! Where did you get this much cash, dingus? Are you turning tricks on the side now?" Robin asks, and Steve laughs.

"Yes. I thought I'd see what I could get for this ass," Steve says, turning and pushing his ass outwards in her direction.

She doesn't even look, but says, "Honestly, you might be worth more than this, as much as I hate to admit it," she comments dryly, and he smiles.

"No, some rich dude that ordered a bunch of heavy shit gave me a big tip," Steve explains.

"That's what she said," Robin teases, and her eyes are still wide as she looks at the bills in her hand, "Seriously, though. Thank you, rich, old dude," Robin says.

"Rich, but not old. I think he might have been famous in some way. YouTuber? Musician? I don't know. Nice house."

"Well. Describe him. Let's Google him," Robin says, wiggling her fingers in the air like she's stretching before this big task she's about to undertake.

Steve isn't sure searching for him is gonna work, but he lets her try, "Eddie. Probably a little older than us. Lots of tattoos."

"Was it Eddie Vedder? Please tell me you know who Eddie Vedder is, dingus?"

He knows who Eddie Vedder is, Jesus.

He gives her a look, "Not that old. And he was heavily tattooed. Is Eddie Vedder tattooed? Plus, this guy had dark eyes. Really dark. And no flannel."

She keeps looking on her phone, showing him options, "Him?"

No.

"Him?"

No.

"Him?"

"No. Not him." None of them are. Nobody she shows him is the same guy. So, he thinks of all the famous Eddies he knows of.

"Was it Eddie Van Halen?" Steve asks.

"Since he's dead, probably not," Robin says.

"Oh," Steve says. He didn't remember that. And he'd be too old, anyway. "We're looking for someone that looks kinda like young Eddie Van Halen. But with tattoos."

"You're obsessed with the tattoos. Was it Ed Sheeran? He has lots of tattoos," Robin asks, and he rolls his eyes.

"Robin. I think I know what Ed Sheeran looks like. This man was not ginger. Dark hair, dark eyes. And he was American. Maybe this guy is just rich? Not famous at all. It doesn't matter. I'll never see him again, anyway. We'll just thank him from afar for saving our asses today."

Robin sighs heavily, and puts her phone down, "If you'd got yourself a rich boyfriend we'd have it made all the time."

"Well, I'll work on that," he says sarcastically.

At least for now, they can pay another month's rent. That's a big win. Huge.

Maybe they can keep their heads above water, now.

And they do, by some sort of miracle. It was only three hundred bucks, but that was enough of a windfall to get them back in the black. And somehow they've stayed ahead since, for nearly two whole months. They haven't been this stable financially since they arrived in town.

Today, Steve flips through the different apps he drives for, trying to decide what order to take, when he sees a huge pizza order. The order is absurdly big, but the tip is decent, and picking up a stack of pizzas is infinitely easier than shopping a whole-ass grocery list. Steve's just seriously questioning if it'll all fit in his car.

He's gonna risk it.

Luckily, it does, but there are pizza boxes piled high in every seat and the rear. He definitely doesn't have hot bags for all of them. Hopefully he doesn't get caught in traffic.

The area seems familiar, but when Steve pulls up in front of the house, he knows why. Eddie. Only, the last time it was groceries, not food, that he delivered here.

There are vehicles everywhere. Clearly some sort of party, Steve thinks, to require this amount of pizza. And as soon as Steve steps out of the car, Eddie is out of the house, being trailed by three other, mostly leather-clad, guys. It'd look threatening, if Eddie wasn't smiling so big.

"Steve! When I saw Steve was my driver, I was like, maybe? But Steve's a common name, and there was no picture, so I didn't get my hopes up, but hey! It is you!" Eddie shouts, moving to the back of the car, "Watch your head this time, sweetheart," Eddie adds, and Steve is sure he's blushing.

He just stands there kind of dumbly, watching as Eddie commandeers his order right out of Steve's vehicle. Eddie's definitely unusual.

Eddie hands stack after stack of pizzas to the waiting guys, making them carry the bulk of it. And Steve watches as they ferry them off towards the house, Steve not having to even lift a finger this time.

Now, it's just him and Eddie standing on the curb.

Eddie holds out an envelope, and Steve looks at it.

"Man, thank you, but you tipped so well last time, you really don't have to again."

"I want to. You provide a service, I want to pay for that service," Eddie says, shaking the envelope, and Steve reluctantly takes it. Whatever is inside, will really help him and Robin stay ahead. It did last time. He's not really in a position to say no, even as well as they are doing at the moment.

"Thank you, truly," Steve says, tucking it into his pocket, "How's your Uncle Wayne's hip?"

Eddie smiles, so fucking wide, "You remembered! He's good. Great. Headed home soon, which I'm certain he's thrilled about. He's definitely never coming here again. I'll have to go home when I want to see him."

Steve laughs, "Glad to hear he's better, if annoyed."

"Do you want to stay?" Eddie asks, "We're having a little going away party for him. The more the merrier. Or, is your shift not over? You could come back?"

Steve doesn't have a shift, he can clock in and out to take orders as he pleases, and right now he'd really like to accept Eddie's offer. Even if it's probably just Eddie being polite. A pity ask, if you will.

"You don't have to invite your delivery driver into your house, you know? I could be a murderer."

"Unlikely," Eddie says, "and I'm not inviting my delivery driver. I'm inviting you, Steve."

Steve thinks over the options, and then nods. He can go in for a bit. If he's uncomfortable, he can get right back on the clock, no harm, no foul.

"Okay, let me park," Steve says, and he does just that. Putting the envelope of cash into the glove box without opening it. He doesn't want Eddie to see him scrounging through it. That feels tacky.

The pizza boxes are already open on every available flat surface in the kitchen and living room, and Eddie shoves a paper plate into Steve's hands, "Eat. Drink. Be merry."

Steve nods, and grabs a slice from the nearest box. He's not picky.

The house is full of people, and a lot of them seem vaguely famous. Like this is an industry thing, instead of a going away party for an old man with a newly not-broken hip.

Steve's worked enough of these events. They tried the catering thing for a while, and it was fine, for Steve anyway. Robin was just a little too clumsy to carry trays of dainty hors d'oeuvres around rooms filled with beautiful women in expensive dresses.

This isn't any of that though. This is cases of beer being chilled in kiddie pools, and dozens of pizzas. Fancy house, but not a fancy party. Steve spots Eddie's uncle sitting by himself on a couch, a beer resting on his knee and a paper plate of pizza on the arm rest.

Nobody else is sitting by him, so Steve goes over, "Can I sit?"

Wayne grumbles something that could be yes, could be no, Steve's not wholly sure, but he chooses to go ahead and sit down beside him.

"How's your hip?" Steve asks.

"Who are you?" Wayne asks, looking at him, suspicious.

"Steve. Uh, a delivery driver? I've brought a couple orders to you guys now. And Eddie invited me to stay."

Wayne nods, and goes back to his plate, "Hip's fine. Ready to go home."

"Where's home?" Steve asks, and he's not sure why. Clearly this man has no interest in making small talk with him.

"Indiana," Wayne says.

"Hey! For me, too. Small world."

"What're you doing in California, then?" Wayne asks. "Trying to get into show biz?"

"No. No way," Steve laughs, "Not for me. Uh, my best friend? Robin? She wanted to move out here. Wanted an adventure. And I wanted her to be happy. So. Here we are."

Wayne nods.

"Did you break your hip in Indiana and Eddie dragged you all the way out here?" Steve asks.

"No," Wayne answers, "I came to visit him and broke my hip before I got out of the airport. This is why I don't take vacations."

Steve smiles, "That's bad luck. Sorry."

Wayne nods his head, and Steve assumes that's the end of this conversation, and they sit in silence for a few moments.

"You're Steve? The one that brought the groceries a few weeks ago?" Wayne asks.

"That's me," Steve confirms.

"He's been talking about you non-stop. I was like, just order more groceries. So, he tried. It was never you. Now we have more food than he'll ever eat. Probably need to take it to the food pantry."

Steve grins, looking down at his plate. He isn't sure what Eddie would want to see him for. They definitely aren't on the same level.

Eddie is across the room, talking wildly with his hands.

"He's a good kid," Wayne says, quietly, "All this? Not him. Not all of him, anyway."

Steve looks back at Wayne, "What do you mean?"

"All this fancy shit. I'm proud of him that their music has done so well. But he's a good kid. And he just wants to be happy."

"Don't we all," Steve says.

"People take advantage. If you're here for the money, for the fame. Just. Move on. Eddie would give it to you. But he wants something more. Needs it, I think."

Steve thinks he could be something more. But he doesn't really have anything to offer Eddie in return, and maybe heeding Wayne's warning wouldn't be such a bad idea. What business does he have getting involved with a famous musician? None.

"Got it," Steve says. "Well, I'm glad your hip healed."

Wayne grumbles at that, and it makes Steve smile.

Steve puts his trash in the can, and looks around. The hallways are lined with platinum records, news articles, and he leans close to read the name. Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin. He's never heard of them. He'll have to look them up on Spotify.

He doesn't belong here.

He takes one last look at Eddie.

Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin.

He tries to memorize his name, his band, so he can tell Robin later, solving their little mystery.

And then he ducks out of the front door, walking down the long driveway towards his car.

"Hey, Steve! Wait!" Eddie yells from behind him, and Steve slows.

"Hey, man. Thanks for having me," Steve says, turning to look at him.

"You're leaving already?"

Steve nods, "Work, you know."

Eddie nods, "Okay. Well. Come back. Anytime."

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says, because he's pretty sure Eddie means that, "Enjoy your party. I'm glad Wayne's hip is good as new."

Steve turns to keep walking.

"Steve. Uh," Eddie says, and Steve considers pretending he didn't hear him. It'd be easy. The music is loud, probably pissing off the neighbors, but Eddie keeps talking. "Listen. I like you. Yeah, I know. I barely know you. But. We got good vibes, man. Can you not feel that?" Eddie asks, and when Steve turns to look back at him, he sees that Eddie's hands are shoved deep into his pockets.

He looks nervous.

He's famous, clearly rich, and beautiful. He could have anyone he wants. But he looks nervous talking to Steve. Who delivered the pizza. Make it make sense. Goddamn.

"Eddie," Steve says.

"Do you not feel it? If you don't, I'll leave you alone. I swear. But if you do…"

Steve nods, "I do. But I'm a delivery driver. I live in a tiny apartment that I share with my best friend. We barely make ends meet. You could have anyone. Why would you want me?"

"Because I like you," Eddie says, "and I want to get to know you. I didn't grow up with anything either. I'm not old money. I'm new money. Brand new. So. I'm not that out of touch yet."

Steve smiles. He's old money, he just doesn't have access to it anymore. Eddie's new money, and doesn't know how to handle it. They'd be quite the pair.

Eddie keeps talking, trying to wheedle a date out of him, "Just. Let me take you out. Just us. Let's see if there's anything here," he says, motioning his hand between the two of them.

Steve wants to, he really does.

"Okay," Steve finally says, "nothing fancy. A normal date."

"We can definitely do that," Eddie says, and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Let me give you my number."

Steve rattles off his number, Eddie texts him, and it buzzes against Steve's thigh. Already coming through, showing he's serious.

"Dinner? Movie? Bar? You name it," Eddie offers, eyes never leaving Steve's.

"Dinner's good. Nowhere fancy, though," Steve warns.

"Do I look like I like fancy places?" Eddie asks, looking down at his own clothes.

And Steve's eyes cut back to the gorgeous house.

Eddie laughs, "Fair enough. But I don't."

"Can you go out in public? Or are you too famous?" Steve asks. "I'm not familiar with your band, sorry."

Eddie laughs, "I think I like that you aren't, sweetheart. That means that maybe you like me, just for me. And I can go out. Nobody cares about me all that much."

Steve nods. Alright. They can go on one date, and see how it goes.

Well. That's how it goes.

Very, very well.

So well, that Steve's now satisfied and loose in Eddie's bed, when Eddie laughs, rolling into Steve's shoulder, face pressed to his skin. Lips kissing his shoulder, biting at him gently. Playing with him.

"What?" Steve asks, smiling as Eddie slides his hand into his, squeezing. "What's so funny."

"I tipped my driver," Eddie chokes out, laughing around each word, pressing his crotch into Steve's thigh.

Steve laughs, looking down at this ridiculous man clinging to him, "That you did. And damn well."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

#a stranger summer #week fifteen #prompt: modern au #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #wayne munson #stranger things fic #robin buckley #stranger things 4 #steddie #platonic stobin #steve x eddie #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: a stranger summer

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toruro · 1 year ago

Text

— ✧ bark (like a dog)

a part of new rules ... a svt performance unit x mafia au series !

description. kwon soonyoung is hot. he's fucking smoking, but also painfully out of your reach—being your father's main hitman assistant means that, by the books, he's pretty much off limits. but then again, when did silly stuff like rules ever stop you?

genre. smut (18+), brief angst, mafia au

warnings/tags: PLEASE READ! mentions of murder & death bc hoshi is a hitman, descriptions of blood, reader is daughter of mafia boss, mean dom hoshi, gun play (unloaded), or4l (m receiving), jealousy, sp4nking, breath control, praise kink, blindfolds, th1gh r1iding, pet names (princess, angel, good girl), consent is SEXY

w/c: 7.3k

a/n: thank u @gyuswhore for proofreading hehe ... anyways this is like smut w a hint of plot. sorry not sorry my head's been so full of him

You don’t get nervous.

Not when you overhear your father talking about some risky new plans and not when you go out and know there’s a target on your back.

Not when you snuck out your apartment tonight without your bodyguard to just pop into the galleria that you heard some of your father’s men talking about. Which, by the way, you totally didn’t do because one of them mentioned Kwon Soonyoung being there. Yeah. Totally not.

You weren’t nervous when you waltz into the galleria, in some pretty dress pants and a cute black t-shirt that may or may not have been showing a lot more skin than your father likes. The night was going great, honestly. Fantastic, even.

Until your eyes landed on the very reason you even decided to come here. Kwon Soonyoung.

Again, you don’t get nervous. It’s simply not in your DNA.

So why does having this man next to you make your vision bleary and heart heavy?

“Did you like it?” you murmur, toeing at the grass beneath you with bare feet. You’re at your father’s house now. Soonyoung caught sight of you after you caught sight of him laughing with another woman, which totally shouldn’t have bothered you but you felt green boil in your stomach anyways.

And you watched her lead him into some other hallway with a man and then Soonyoung was gone. He was doing whatever he does, you know? You don’t want to pry into his work, but seeing as he’s your father’s favorite man, it’s kind of hard to avoid the truth.

Soonyoung was definitely just doing his job. Talked to the woman, peppered a few kisses on her cheek to butter her up, got her to introduce to a man who was maybe probably definitely his target, and then he walked out again, fixing his coat over his shoulders as he returned alone. He took you home after that.

You squirm just at the thought. Nightly zephyrs pinch at your skin as you stand in the backyard, but as you feel Soonyoung’s gaze burn into the back of your head, your body warms nonetheless.

Even turned away from him, you can practically feel the way his eyebrow cocks up. “Like what?”

You scoff and roll your eyes even though you know he can’t see you. Oh well, he probably knows anyway. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not sure I do, angel,” he replies without hesitation. Your mind races at the nickname, not because you think it’s a term of endearment, but because you’re almost sure that he’s mocking you. Angel. Fuck, everyone knows you’re anything but a damn angel, and you’d be an idiot to think Soonyoung meant anything other than to belittle you right now.

“Sure,” you mutter dryly, running one hand down your face, before turning around to face him. Kwon Soonyoung is hot, as always, with his dark messy hair falling right over his eyebrows, one of which has a little slit carved into the edge, his plump lips and sharp eyes that watch you carefully.

Even under the dim light of the night sky, he seems to glow beneath the moon.

“Are you going to be all pouty like this for the rest of the night?” When you don’t respond, he huffs loudly. You don’t want him to be annoyed with you, but you cross your arms over your chest and press your feet into the soil stubbornly anyways. “Am I going to have to call Taehyun to drive you home?”

“What, you don’t want to bother doing that yourself?” you snap. Fuck, you don’t even know why you said that. It isn’t Soonyoung’s job to take care of you in any way. Sure he indirectly does that by heeding your father’s order—by killing off any threats when they pop up, but nowhere in his title’s description does it say he needs to take you home, to coddle you, to watch over you.

“You want me to take you home?” he asks, and you want to fucking strangle him because if it wasn’t painfully obvious, then to make it clear once more, yeah you want him to take you home. You want him to pull you to his car and press a hand on your thigh and then creep it up your legs until your squirming under his touch and—

You need to stop getting ahead of yourself. Your relationship is—god, you want to say it’s professional, but you can’t even call it that. You and Kwon Soonyoung, your relationship is somehow both less and more than professional.

It’s so intimate—he’s your father’s most loyal worker, he’d go to any lengths to keep your family, to keep you, safe. And yet, even after you’ve seen the blood on his clothes and the imprint of his gun in his pants, he’s a stranger.

Not because you don’t know his favorite color, or because he doesn’t know what kind of food you like, but because even as a million thoughts run through your head, you’re pretty sure he can’t figure out a single one of them.

Finally, you speak up, reverting the topic without answering his question. “Do you really not know what I’m talking about?” Your voice is smaller this time.

“Are you trying to play a guessing game with me?”

Your glare hardens on him. “Fuck you,” you spit out, and Soonyoung puts his hands up in a surrendering motion. “The galleria—did you have fun? Did you like it?”

“Well angel, I hate to break it to you but I was just doing my job. Not that you would know, since you’ve never had to work a damn day in your life, but I don’t necessarily love my job. So if that’s what you want to know, then I guess you have your answer.”

“And with her? Did you—”

“What are you talking about?” he cuts you off harshly, and you’re slightly taken aback by the way his voice booms louder.

“Didn’t know kissing pretty women was a part of your job,” you murmur gruffly before finally making your way to the door that leads back into the house.

“Where’re you going?”

“I also didn’t know that keeping track of where I’m going was a part of your job.”

“You’re not making any damn sense right now, I hope you know that.”

Slipping on some socks, you go on, “Is listening to me a part of your job too? If not, I suggest you just leave me alone and—”

“God, what the hell are you goin’ on about, with all this job shit? Since when did you care about what I do to get a job done?”

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” you conclude, going to open the door before Soonyoung’s hand stops you.

“Stop being a brat,” he hisses, causing you to press your lips together tightly.

“I am not being a brat,” you scoff, ripping your arm away from him. “If anything, you’re the attention seeker who—”

“Excuse me? I’m sorry, attention seeker?”

“Well you were basically throwing yourself at that woman and—” Your breath hitches when you realize what you’ve just said, and you slap a hand over your mouth as you look down.

Soonyoung clicks his tongue, but it’s not as disappointed as you except … if anything, he sounds … sorry. “What do you want from me? You know it’s my job.”

You scoff, shoving your head in your hands out of humiliation. “I think you know exactly what I want from you,” you mutter. Now you’re not really sure what you’re expecting from Soonyoung but it’s definitely not his strong hand on your wrists, forcing you to look up at him.

“Do you want me to take you home or not?”

You look at him, mortified at the bluntness of his suggestion.

“I—what?”

“Look, you’re not very discreet and—”

“Oh my god, stop talking. I need to go and—”

Soonyoung grabs your face. It’s gentle, but his touch is firm and his eyes don’t break away from yours for a moment. His fingers press into the plush of your cheeks, and there’s a both nerve-wracking and alluring aura to it.

“Let’s take you home, or I tell your father where you were last night. How you left your cozy little apartment without your dear Mr. Choi who, if I recall, is supposed to accompany you wherever you go.”

You gape at him—there is no way he’s threatening you right now. You blink once, and then twice, and Soonyoung’s gaze remains unwavering.

Fuck.

Which is how you find yourself seated patiently on Soonyoung’s couch, thighs pressed together and hands on your knees cutely as you watch him fill up a glass of water. You wonder if he can hear the beating of your heart.

If he can, he doesn’t comment on it, instead breaking the silence when he walks over to you, “I hope you know what you’re signing yourself up for.”

You grin immediately. “Some fun, of course,” you reply, mentally marveling at your own wit.

Soonyoung fucking laughs at you. His eyes are peering down at you carefully as he juts the glass of water to you, and he doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that you should just take the damn glass and drink.

His gaze doesn’t waver when you bring the glass up to your lips, slowly but surely downing all its contents and letting the cool water attempt to put out the flames that burn in your stomach. “Good job,” he murmurs, smoothing one hand over your head when you place the glass on his coffee table, the simple but impactful words sending shivers down your spine.

Making the risky decision to test your luck once more, you bat your lashes and bring your arms closer together in front of you so that your tits bunch up, giving Soonyoung a perfect view from above. “So? When’s the fun gonna start?”

Something in his eyes darkens, but you choose to ignore it as Soonyoung slips his dark work coat off, letting it fall behind him on the coffee table. What follows is a heavy thud and clank and your stomach churns at the thought of what caused such a sound.

“Listen,” Soonyoung says, his voice firm but not as demeaning as before. “I need to know where your head is at.” he pauses.

You pout and then raise a challenging brow. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

Soonyoung chuckles, and reaches back for his coat, rummaging through the inner pockets for a moment as your blood runs cold in realization. He unsheathes a heavy black gun from the dark fabric, holding it close to his dress shirt as he smooths a finger over the barrel.

You try to move your fingers but they’re frozen in place as he watches the look on your face contort into some odd look of awe.

“Let me rephrase that,” Soonyoung murmurs. “I need to know how far you’re willing to go.”

The air is stuck in your throat and your lungs squeeze and writhe for some semblance of sanity, but the way his thick fingers caress the heavy metal of the gun has your vision going blurry. He’s tracing over all the dips, the curves, the crevices, and you can only imagine what it’ll feel like if you had the cool, heavy, pistol pressed against your skin while Soonyoung’s fingers are all over you.

Your eyes are clouded, and he stills for a moment, subtly sliding the gun past his side and hiding it behind his back with one hand, using the other to grab your chin and tilt your head so you’re craning your neck to look up at him.

“So be honest with me right now.”

He doesn’t say it, but you know what he’s asking for. You don’t have to think about your answer, not one bit, and that’s because through everything, you trust Soonyoung. You trust him with your life, and you trust him with more.

“I’m willing to do whatever you want,” you tell him almost immediately. There’s no hesitation, no apprehension—Soonyoung knows when he looks you in the eye and he swears he feels his heart grow ten times in his chest when your pupils dilate.

Slowly, he brings his hand from his back to the front, the grip of the gun pressing back against his lower abdomen as he squeezes your cheeks together with his other hand. Your lips bunch together in a pucker and he pinches the bottom lip for a moment, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the drool that slides down his chin.

“That’s a pretty bold statement, princess,” he finally says, a sharp clicking sound resonating through the room when he shifts the gun in his hand.

“I can take it,” you insist through squished lips, looking up at Soonyoung with some kind of determination that boils his blood with pure passion.

“You’re confident …” he mutters, holding the gun close to your cheek, pressing the cold metal against your warm skin. You can’t be sure if action helps you cool down or only heats you up anymore, but a wanton whimper escapes your lips and suddenly you have your answer.

Soonyoung watches how you swallow at the contact, fingers quivering by your side and he lets his hand relax for a second, holding the gun by his side. “It’s unloaded.”

“I-I wouldn’t care either way,” you mumble, slightly annoyed that Soonyoung dropped his hand. “I trust you.”

Soonyoung smiles, letting go of your cheeks and instead gripping the back of your neck, running his thumb up and down your collarbone. “It’s okay to be scared, angel. Two taps to stop,” he tells you, pointing at his wrist.

You roll your eyes tentatively, unsure if it’s the right move. When Soonyoung quickly presses the muzzle against your lips, you deduct that rolling your eyes was, in fact, the best thing you could have done.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he mutters, feigning discontent as he tries to ignore the way his dick twitches in his work pants when you part your mouth and let the gun sink further into your mouth.

The taste of metal on your tongue is unfamiliar, and frankly the hardness of the gun is quite uncomfortable but when you press your tongue against the base of the barrel, and swirl it over the sides, you imagine it’s Soonyoung’s cock in your mouth instead.

He’s steadying you with his hand pressed at your neck, holding the gun at an angle above you without moving it. The sight of you sucking and struggling, drool dripping down your chin and skin flushing—he’s in heaven he swears.

Cute eyes looking up at him with such desperation, pleading with him silently because you can’t speak—not with the way his gun is stuffed between your pretty lips. “Fuck, how does it feel princess?” he groans at just the image alone.

You’re silent, because of course, how could you say a thing. The only sounds that bounce off the walls are the filthy slurping of your tongue and the hollowing of your cheeks, tears peeking from your waterline as Soonyoung presses the gun further down your mouth, the now slick barrel sliding easily past your teeth.

Your jaw aches and you gag as you adjust to the feeling, but the reality of it all starts to hit you, and it’s dizzying. Soonyoung—fuck, he’s here in front of you with his gun shoved down your throat and you’re looking up at him like he has all the answers to the universe and more.

And more is exactly what you want, and Soonyoung can tell because even as squeaks erupt from your throat and your fingers tremble when they fly up and grip at his thigh, you don’t pull away and you don’t tap out.

It’s worrying for a moment, because here you are with tears streaming down your cheeks but he can hear your silent pleas of don’t stop, please, please, please, don’t stop, and he feels he might go insane at the thought that you’re just as deranged as him.

“So pretty,” he praises, and you press your lips down and whine at the way the words have your cunt throbbing. Slowly, Soonyoung starts to pull the gun out of your mouth, your jaw going slack at the feeling of your tongue being free, but your face is on fire and you just need to do more.

You continue to lap against the gun, swirling it over the circular muzzle when he’s just about pulled it out all the way, not breaking eye contact with Soonyoung for even a moment. It’s addicting, the way he watches you—bottom lip lodged between his own teeth and jaw clenched tight as he imagines it’s his cock inside your mouth instead.

“God fuck, you’re insane,” he says when you kiss the side of the barrel one last time before he carefully places the pistol behind him. For the first time tonight (and ever, for that matter), Soonyoung kisses you. He grabs your warm face and leans down to smash his lips against your swollen, tired mouth.

You’re fatigued already, he can tell, and takes this as his chance to press his tongue against yours and explore the very mouth that sucked against his gun just moments earlier. He can still taste the metal on your tongue, letting your lips melt together as one for just a moment before pulling away.

He can tell there’s a complaint threatening to leave your lips, but he makes sure it shrivels when he shoots you a knowing look. “You deserve a reward, don’t you think? Did s’good for me …”

You nod eagerly, and Soonyoung is thoroughly surprised by how quickly you’ve bounced back, trailing his fingers down from your face to your waist, pulling you up to stand on your feet. Your legs are wobbly and for a moment, you stumble forward but Soonyoung catches you, his arm steadily belted around your hips.

“Already done?” he asks, but it’s more of a tease than anything. Still, you take it as a challenge and shake your head as he leads you to his bedroom. It’s dimly lit, only the moon through the window and its reflection against a mirror leading you the way to his bed as he hops on, laying back as you stand by the foot of the bed.

He raises a brow. “What are you waiting for? Strip.”

“W-what?”

Soonyoung is still fully clothed, legs spread slightly as he hikes one knee up and watches you expectantly. “Princess,” he coos, “I said strip.”

You shudder at the request when it finally sinks in, and you quickly follow by pushing your pants down and pulling your shirt off your head, leaving you completely topless, your lower half donned with nothing but a set of black satin panties.

Soonyoung swears his heart stops at the sight, and just as you’re about to push them down, he holds his hand out. “Leave them on, come here.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice this time, and you crawl onto the foot of the bed before making your way in between his legs, only stopping when Soonyoung places his heavy hands on your shoulders and smoothes them down your bare arms.

You sigh contently at the contact, instinctively shooting one hand between your legs to rub at the growing ache. You hardly make it though, Soonyoung’s hand shooting out and stopping your wrist halfway. “Thought you wanted a reward? Getting ahead of yourself, huh …”

You shake your head vehemently. “N-no—I jus’—need something, need you, Soonyoung,” you confess, leaning forward in hopes that he’ll meet you halfway for a kiss.

He doesn’t, opting to watch you amusedly as you squirm on all fours in front of him. “Show me how much you need me,” Soonyoung rasps out, helping you settle over yourself over his thigh before placing his arms behind his head and leaning back against the headboard casually.

Your eyebrows knit together, and you place your hands on his chest for hardly a second before he swats them away. “W-what?”

“Did you not hear me the first time?” he asks, and he’s definitely mocking you with his tone. “And keep your hands to yourself—you only get to touch me if you can prove to me you want this.”

“I want it, Soonyoung, so bad! So, so, so bad, you don’t understand!” you whine, bouncing yourself up and down to punctuate your word but gasps leaving your lips at the friction it leaves behind.

“Yeah well,” he sighs, adjusting his body so he’s laying even further back down. “Make me understand. Make yourself cum.” Your plush lips part, agape at his proposition. Why he can’t just fuck you into the sheets right here and right now is beyond you, but Soonyoung’s eyes light like a flame and you aren’t sure if you want to add fuel to the fire or put out.

Tentatively, you rut your core against the hard muscle of his thigh, the friction of his dark dress pants shooting pleasure through your flimsy panties. You have half a mind to rip the damn fabric off, but the rubbing of cloth that bunches around your clit is more pleasurable than anything.

“See,” Soonyoung murmurs, as you repeat the motion of rocking yours forward and back in a slow rhythm. “Pretty angel does know how to work for something. Let’s see if you can keep it up,” he hums, and you glower down at him.

“I-I know how to work,” you huff, grinding down extra hard as a means to prove your point, but your argument falls flat when you whimper, hands falling forward on his chest as your body lurches forward. Soonyoung’s own firm grip lands on your wrists, yanking them off of him.

“Do you, now?” he scoffs. “Can’t follow simple fuckin’ directions,” he says under his breath, and instead of glaring, your eyebrows furrow as you hold your arms close to your chest, massaging your tits yourself to keep your hands occupied.

“‘m sorry Soonyoungie,” you say softly, losing the attitude that held your head up and replacing it with a wave of compliance as you cling onto the friction against your cunt, desperate to not let your far-away orgasm to ebb away.

“Soonyoungie, huh?” he mutters, watching the way your tits bounce when you work your body in a harsher up and down motion, letting the soiled fabric of your panties to stain his own pants. “Cute name, but you’re gonna have to work a bit harder,” he comments, and he’s true to his word because Soonyoung does think it’s cute. He thinks you’re cute, and hot, and pretty, and the only person he wants to stick his dick into, but fuck, if he doesn’t want to make you beg, make you sob for it …

Fervently, you start to find a pace that’s steadily increasing, thighs burning and twitching at every brush of your sopping pussy over him. You’re wet—so wet—and you know Soonyoung can feel it through his pants. How he’s so still and composed is beyond you, and while you try to think about what’s running through his mind, your brain goes empty the second you feel one of his hands on your hips.

“So spoiled,” he chides, and you want to shake your head and protest, ‘cause no! You’re not spoiled! But you know damn well that’d be a lie, and as you feel Soonyoung flex his muscle beneath you and use his hand to help swivel your hips, it’s only confirmed.

“Hnggff—S-Soony—”

“S’okay,” he groans, when the knee that’s wedged between his legs brushes against his crotch that holds his undeniably hard cock. You both shudder at the feeling—Soonyoung because of the small but relieving stimulation, and you because of the anticipation of feeling him inside of you. “Go on, baby, can tell you’re close. Fuck yourself like this—I know you can do it.”

“Hurts,” you sigh softly as your legs begin to tremble and give into the fatigue. “Soonie, I can’t, I—” you cut yourself off with your own high pitched moan when he hikes his leg up a little higher, causing you ro shift forward and arch your back so that your clit was pressed perfectly against his thigh. “God, fuck.”

“What do you mean you can’t, angel?” he coos in that both infuriating and pulsing tone of his. “You’re doin’ it for me right now …”

“I—I …” the words dry right on your throat when your orgasm crashes into you, the ghost of Soonyoung’s name on your tongue as you fall forward. You know he told you no touching, no holding, none of that, but fuck, even he can’t be mad when you press your face into his chest with low mewls bubbling up in your throat.

Securing an arm around your waist, he bounces his thigh upwards to push you through your fall, squeezing out every last bit of pleasure you’ll allow him until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation but too exhausted to pull away.

“‘m tired,” you whine through broken gasps, as you pull away and look up blankly at the ceiling. Soonyoung watches the way your tits shift with every inhale and exhale, and before he knows it he’s fumbling at the buckle of his belt and shoving his pants and boxers down so his dripping cock can finally breathe.

The sound of his length slapping against his firm abdomen has you blinking into reality quicker than you can think, and you glance at Soonyoung who sits in front of you. His cock is standing up, pulsing tall and proud, adorning a pretty, angry tip that smears precum over his defined abs.

“Too tired?” he piques, but with the way that drool dribbles at the corner of your lips, he knows he already has an answer. Grinning when you shake your head vigorously, he shifts himself so his bare legs hang over the edge of the bed, his hands placed behind him as he leans back. “Get on the ground.”

Two hours ago, you would have shut down the proposition immediately. Getting on the ground for a man? Completely out of your scope. Unfathomable, honestly.

But Soonyoung’s voice is so … it’s—he isn’t proposing, or suggesting, or asking, no … Soonyoung is demanding and you’d be damned to let him think you’re anything less than obedient. Quickly, you push yourself up and crawl over to where he’s sitting before slipping off the bed and slotting yourself between his legs.

As you sit back on your heels, the wetness of your core slides down your thighs and as your legs press together, the arousal smears against your supple skin, undoubtedly making a mess. It feels so dirty and lewd but as Soonyoung watches you with dark eyes, you feel like the most beautiful person on the planet.

Gentler than you were expecting, he uses one hand to hold your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Angel got a smart mouth, huh,” he says, as if he’s talking to himself as he runs a thumb over your lips, starting from the top then circling down to the bottom. He scoops up some of the drool that you hadn’t wiped away and then pushes it all back into your mouth from the corner of your lips. “You think you can put it to good use?”

“‘course I can,” you say a bit more proudly than Soonyoung enjoys. You’re cute, yeah—fuck yeah—but you look up at him like it’s some sort of challenge and he just needs to remind you of who’s really in charge.

And so he holds you by the crown of your head, guiding your mouth close to his cock which dons a dribble of precum. You stick your tongue out at the sight, eyes wide in anticipation as he uses his other hand to guide your own fingers to your thigh. “Same thing,” he tells you, “two taps and I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” you agree, verbally this time with a nod before pushing your tongue back out in hopes that he’ll speed it all out because fuck, you haven’t ever wanted to feel a cock in your mouth this badly. But who can blame you? It’s so long and thick and—god, it’s so heavy when he taps that tip against your tongue.

You open your mouth wider, anticipating him to push it down further like he did with the gun, but you should’ve known better. Should’ve known that Soonyoung likes toying around with you.

Soonyoung lets you lap precum off his shiny tip, swirling over the slit for just a second before he’s lifting his cock and then slapping it back down on your tongue this time. The contact is light, but the thickness of it all and the ache in your core has you pleading for more.

When a desperate whimper rips through your throat, Soonyoung grins. And so he does it again. And again. And again. Slapping his cock on your tongue until he can’t handle it anymore, cock throbbing at just the thought of you sucking against him like you did his pistol, and slides his length into your mouth without warning.

“Fuck,” he moans, and you vaguely wonder if there could be anything that sounds more melodic. You press your tongue against the length, hardening the tip and tracing it over the curves, the veins—anything and everything you can feel—as if you were trying to memorize him bit by bit.

Soonyoung basks in it, the image of you stuffed with his cock in your mouth, lips puffy but eyes somehow begging for more. He loves it, he tells himself in his head. Such a spoiled girl, but then again, his spoiled girl.

“Ready?” he asks, stiffening his hold on your hair and giving you a knowing look. Meekly, you nod with his cock still spreading your lips, and with nothing more than a nod, Soonyoung pushes you down his full length, nose pressed against his pelvis as you struggle to breathe through your nose.

And it hurts so good—your jaw is sore and you’re on the verge of gagging because he’s so big but something about the way your lungs burn and throat tightens has your mind set on not stopping.

Soonyoung is watching you intently when he finally lets go, pulling you off of his length and allowing you a moment to breathe. He wonders how far is too far with you, but when you just pant heavily, looking up at him with your tongue stuck out once more, inching closer to him, he figures he’s still got a long way to go.

So Soonyoung does it again; softly murmurs, “Take a deep breath,” and then yanks your head down until all you can feel is his cock bullying its way through your lips, your hollowed out cheeks, your throat. His loud moans egg you on, and you nearly start to tremble at the way you start to feel light-headed. He holds you down for longer this time, and this time, tears are gushing down your face but no, you won’t relent.

Its enthralling for the both of you, and it doesn’t stop. Soonyoung starts a pattern. Push down, hold, release, repeat. Push down, hold, release, repeat. And he does it until he feels his cock twitch in your warm mouth and has to almost push you back to hold off from cumming.

He just can’t do it, not yet. Not until he’s felt you flush against his skin, bodies intertwined as he fucks into you.

So when he pulls you off this time, you know it’s the last (for now, at least). You breathe steadily, in through your nose and out through your mouth as you recuperate, staring at the floor. Gingerly, Soonyoung hooks his hands under your arms and pulls you up so you’re sitting next to him on the bed.

“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly when he catches the clouded look on your face. When you slowly look at him and nod with a dazed smile, Soonyoung just knows he’s in love. You look so happy, so eager to submit and he loves the way you trust him, loves the way you know he’s going to treasure you.

“Sit here,” he instructs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your puffy lips as he stands up and walks over in front of the bed where his dresser is.

You frown at the idea of him being away from you. “Need it no-o-ow, Soonie,” you drawl out, standing up and making your way to Soonyoung, reaching out to place your palm against the hard muscle of his back. You run your hand over him, and for a few moments, he lets you.

You can feel the twitch of each hard earned, firm muscle as he moves around through his desk space, and you silently wonder what it’ll feel like to dig your nails into his back in another heated moment. Fuck, you’re so down bad.

“You’re so greedy,” Soonyoung mutters, finally turning around to grab your wrists. On one side, you feel something cool and soft press against your skin, and glancing down, you recognize it as the feeling of black satin against your arm. “I told you to sit down, didn’t I?”

You frown, but oblige anyways, shuffling over to the middle of the bed, sitting down neatly on your knees as Soonyoung stands in front of you by the edge. He’s holding the ribbon in both hands now, the silk taut as he holds it up to your head.

“You okay with this?” he asks, pressing the silk right up against your eyes that have since fluttered shut, but he doesn’t quite tie it just yet. You inhale deeply for a second and then nod. “Words princess. I need words.”

“Yes,” you comply. “I’m okay.”

As soon as you’ve given him the green light, he’s bringing the two ends of the silk behind your head and tying it into a tight knot. “Is it comfortable?” he asks sincerely, waving a hand in front of your face. “D’you see that?”

“Uhh, yes and no,” you respond, slightly confused and still getting used to not being able to see anything.

“Good,” he says to himself, and you feel the mattress dip, causing you to lose a bit of your balance, jutting your hands out to grab onto anything. Immediately, you feel Soonyoung’s hands on you, and your muscles lose their tension. “Relax. I’m right here.”

Those seem to be just the words you need to hear, because you’re sitting back down, sitting a bit more comfortably this time as you feel Soonyoung shift around on the mattress. This is Soonyoung, this is Soonyoung, you remind yourself, and he’ll always keep you safe.

“C’mere,” his thick voice breaks through your thoughts, and you flail around for a moment trying to trace his voice. There’s a hand on your shoulder soon, guiding you toward the direction of the headboard and you tentatively crawl over, yelling out in surprise when you quickly feel two hands wrap under your thighs and lift you up.

Your shock is soon replaced with a burning desire when Soonyoung finally places you on his lap, and you can feel his rock hard length pressing against your inner leg as you settle over his thighs. All you can hear for a moment is your sharp breaths, but then there’s a hard smack against your ass.

“Go on angel … you know what you want to do—what’re you waiting for?”

You want to curse Soonyoung right now, because how the hell d’he know? But then again, you don’t really care because here he is, egging you on.

So gingerly, you lift your hips over him and shuffle forward so that your stomach is pressed against his chest. You feel one of his hands find purchase on your waist while the other reaches between the dripping mess that starts to splay between your cores and positions his cock against your soaked folds.

And then he’s presses rough kisses into your neck and sliding his tongue over your collarbone, murmuring, “Go on princess, go on,” and you can fucking hear the own want in his strained voice. Soonyoung is just as far gone as you, but you don’t have the liberty to linger on that fact for more than a moment before your cunt takes hold of all your senses and you instinctively sink down on him.

The moan Soonyoung let’s out is deep, gruff, guttural, and has your walls instinctively clenching around him and your hazed frenzy. “Good girl,” he grunts as you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

Your head swings around for a few moments as your eyes well up with tears from the initial stretch, but soon Soonyoung’s soft words of praise are pulling you down to reality and reminding you that he’s right here, that this is happening, whispering sweet and filthy nothings into your ear as you adjust to having him inside you.

“See,” he croons, stroking your chin with his thumb as you slowly grind down on him, both of you letting out soft gasps at the feeling. “Being so good for me, princess,” he hums, and you can’t even see the expression on his face but you know he’s not finished. “Wonder what the boss is gonna think of this,” he chuckles under his breath.

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders at his words, hugging his head close as you anticipate what he’s about to say next, trying your best to keep your soft mewls to yourself. It’s hard—really hard—because Soonyoung is big and he’s jutting his hips upwards sharply but sporadically, making it impossible to tell when he’s going to be punching moans straight out of your lungs.

“So good. Being so good for me, but so bad for everyone else,” he whispers into your neck as you start to bounce your hips to meet his thrusts halfway.

“Fuck,” you moan, both from the way he’s battering your inside, reaching so deep you don’t even know how he’s fit.

And Soonyoung doesn’t stop there, at least not with his words. “Sneaking out—” He snaps up harshly, his fat tip pressing against spots inside your cunt that have you writhing into him. “—Lying to your dad—” He continues to punctuate himself with more rough, emphasizing thrusts. “—Going out unattended—Breaking the rules—” He grunts out especially loudly at the last one, burying his head into your beck from the pleasure that radiates you both. “But you won’t do that to me, right princess? G’na be my good girl, right?”

“A-always,” you stutter out through strangled gasps for air as your body lurches around from the deep pounding of his hips. You’re so close—fuck it, you’re nearly there, and you pulse around him, digging your face into his hair from above as you try your best to swivel your hips but then, it all comes to a halt.

“Wha—what?!” you nearly shriek when he grips your hips so tightly that you both still, and suddenly the knot that’s been tying so carefully at the base of your stomach is unraveling and not in the way that you’d like. Your orgasm ebbs away into some far distance that you can’t reach, especially not in the frantic state you’re in after having lost just what might have been the best high of your life. “Why would you do that?”

Soonyoung watches your pained expression from below with the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, quirking an eyebrow at your accusing questions. He presses a hand down on your stomach when you try to buck upwards for some—any—sort of relief. “You already came once. You didn’t think you’d get the second that easily, did you?”

Any snarky remark you’d be able to come up with withers away and all you’re left with is a big fat frown. “I—” you stutter in short breaths before huffing out, “I was s’close.”

“I know princess. But you can be good, right? Good for me?” he mutters, caressing the side of your face with the back of his hand before tugging at the silk, letting the blindfold fall from your eyes and land on his abdomen. Your eyebrows are furrowed in a way that Soonyoung can only describe as cute, and from beneath you, he brings his palm down on your ass harshly, the sound of the smack resonating through his room.

As you blink your eyes into comfort, adjusting to the dim light, Soonyoung lifts his hip, causing his length to shift deeper inside of you, and you lurch forward at the sensation of him kissing your cervix.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, eyes pressed closed tightly as he steadies your hips with his hands and in one swift movement, flips you both over so your back is to the mattress and he hovers on top of you.

You’re overwhelmed with it all—being deprived of your vision for so long and now you get to take it all in—the beads of sweat rolling down Soonyoung’s pretty peaks and valleys of abs, his dark hair splayed all over the face, flush cheeks and furrowed eyebrows as he focuses his vision on where his cock meets your cunt—fuck.

“You wanna cum?” he grunts in your ear, grabbing your face and forcing you to look him in the eye as he draws his hips back, slamming back into your sloppy cunt. Then he brings his lips right by the shell of your ear and in a hoarse, mangled whisper, he demands, “Beg for it.”

And beg you do.

You wrap your legs around Soonyoung’s waist and dig crescent moons into his shoulders, draw pretty red lines into his back and you sob into the sheets, into his shoulder. And your walls hug him in again and again and let him whisper filthy words into your ears until you can’t even comprehend the depraved images he’s drawing into your head.

Ecstasy courses through your veins and your body knows nothing other than the enigma that is Kwon Soonyoung who pushes you so far, until you’re breaking beneath him—a wailing mess as you tell him how good it all feels, how his fat cock batters your cunt so well that you can do nothing other than choke out sweet ‘thank you’s and hoarse, ‘please’s.

And he makes you work for it, just like he promised, urging you to beg just a little more, swiveling his thrusts so that each stroke hits all your sweet spots, finally giving in when he mutters into your neck, “Let go princess, let go.”

And when you finally feel every string that’s been so meticulously woven together, teetering at the edge of breaking for ages, you let it all snap. Crying into his skin as you let him fuck you into an orgasm, hitting you harder than you could even imagine as every muscle goes limp and all you know is Kwon Soonyoung is here next to you, and he here to stay, because after a few more pumps his hot cum is filling you to the brim and more.

Soonyoung kisses you like he could swallow you whole. Like he could bathe in nothing but your arms and be the happiest man alive.

It’s the realization that hits you when he collapses over you, the smell of sweat and sex consuming you as your mouths connect in a maniac passion. More. It’s always more with Soonyoiung. He’ll protect you and more. He’ll hold you and more.Stroking the curve of your hips gently, you know—he’s going to love you and more.

a/n. first part of new rules is done, three more to go! chan will most likely be next, so stay tuned hehe! i hope u all enjoyed :3

tags. @synthetickitsune @leejihoonownsmyheart @dahliatopia @gyuswhore @hoeforcheol @5xiang @hajimelvr @miriamxsworld @lixiel0ver @josefines-things @mimisxs @kawennote09 @bbyjjunie @rubyreduji @todorokiskitten @98-0603 @whippedforjihoon @xiaoting999 @hipsdofangirl @valenhui @nikkixpenguin @minnie-mouser22 @minhui896 @seokchannieworld @yunjinified @dnylwoo @nishloves @woozarts @etherealyoungk (strikethrough could not be tagged) join here!

#soonyoung scenarios #kwon soonyoung #soonyoung imagines #soonyoung x reader #seventeen soonyoung #soonyoung fanfic #soonyoung smut #hoshi #hoshi scenarios #hoshi imagines #hoshi x reader #hoshi smut #hoshi fanfic #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #svt smut #seventeen smut #📝 writing

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si1verghosts · 4 months ago

Note

Hi!

3. A kiss on the forehead😌

helloooo dear anon!! i am sorry this took so long i could not for the life of me figure out to write but then ! i wrote this on the 4th and i realized it could work... maybe... sorta. this may not be what you were expecting/wanting but there's forehead kisses in there.... somewhere 🫡 also, if u are not american i apologize for giving you a july 4th fic 😭 but the holiday is relatively inconsequential here like theres no patriotism it's just a backdrop if u know what i mean.... anyway, i hope u enjoy <33

you taste like the 4th of july

di leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.5k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking | tw: thoughts about death and dying

tags: established relationship; fluff (i guess??); slight changes to canon to suit author's headcanons

read on ao3

a/n: for the past few months i've been working on this very insane multi-chap post di leon fic 😵‍💫 this was written with that in mind But does not have a place in that story... probably.... idk!!! either way, i think it can be read as a standalone just fine

additionally, there is a scene in here where leon picks the reader up. i would just like to say like... he gets thrown into concrete walls on a biweekly basis and gets up and walks it off without issue so i think he can lift anyone no matter their size or shape!!

not beta read or proofread - sorry if any of it is gibberish i've had a wicked migraine the past few days... will maybe attempt to proofread once i can see correctly again 🚬🧍‍♀️regardless, all mistakes are my own

i do not own leon or any other resi character mentioned, etc etc, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chatbot and/or writing generator.

-----

"It was a good day, wasn't it?" Leon asks, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you stand over the patio table, cleaning up the abandoned plates and platters.

You hum. It was; a beautiful, cloudless July 4th, spent with Leon's friends in the backyard of your home. The only ones missing were Ashley and Ingrid; the former having a standing family commitment and the latter planning to spend her holiday on the beach, away from the country and your fiancé.

Typically, Chris hosted the Independence Day cookout, but Leon offered up your new home as this year's venue, citing your in-ground pool and the plenty of extra space you have for guests to stay. In reality, he just wanted the chance to out-grill Chris - he'd been preparing since Memorial Day; testing different spice and sauce combinations as well as stocking your freezer full of large cuts of meat.

He'd started before you were even awake, chopping and seasoning in the kitchen, slowly loading up the smoker. You'd joined him on the patio a few hours later, watching from your pool floaty as he poked and prodded at various things.

You don't even eat meat, didn't know the whole thing was so involved, but you did enjoy the view; worn blue jeans hugging his frame as he crouched to check a thermometer.

You had taken a short break from the water, tying up lights and setting a few little decorations around before your guests arrived. Rebecca was the first, tucking her jugs of pre-made cocktail and platter of deviled eggs into your fridge before joining you on the patio.

Chris wasn't far behind, unloading two coolers filled with beer and containers of homemade potato and pasta salads. He'd handed one off to you, grinning, "Claire made one just for you this year."

You'd thanked him, making another attempt to get him to share his family's recipes with you. It was futile, you probably couldn't even waterboard it out of either of them.

Claire had arrived on her motorcycle shortly after, pulling a bundle of fireworks out of her saddlebags. "Sorry I'm late," she said - even though she wasn't - dumping the pile on the ground, thankfully far away from the grill. "Had to stop for these."

Leon had crouched down to inspect them, listening intently as Claire told him about all the different varieties she'd purchased while you relaxed back into the pool.

Sherry arrived next, Jake trailing behind her. She'd left both him and her bags of chips at the table, giving Leon and Claire quick hugs before immediately joining you in the water.

She'd slipped in right beside your floaty, grabbing your hand to get a look at your engagement ring - she'd yet to see it, having been so busy with work. Her eyes widened at the ring as she pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, "Leon picked this out? Our Leon? Leon Kennedy? Are you sure?"

You'd giggled at her astonishment, "Ashley helped him out; took him to one of her favorite jewelers."

"I should've guessed," She nods. "For my 20th Birthday, he bought me this crazy cute pink tennis bracelet and I was like, 'no way you picked this out alone.' He fessed up that he got a little help from a friend named Ashley.

"At the time, I thought it was just some girlfriend - or hoped, I guess. Back then, I spent a lot of time hoping that Claire and Leon weren't just… working; I liked to think they were taking time for themselves, that they were happy," she had trailed off then, looking off to the tree line behind your house for a minute. Blinking the mist from her eyes, she shrugged, continuing on, "Anyways, I'm thankful to Ash for that bracelet, it was there with me though… a lot. And I'm thankful to you for making him happy, like I always wanted him to be."

With that, you slid off the float to give her a hug, holding her tight as you whispered your thanks. You had worked to bite back your tears - if she didn't cry, neither would you.

Luckily, Jill had walked in a few seconds later, providing a distraction in the form of the most ridiculously large watermelon. "Hey, Kennedy," she shouted, pulling Leon out of his conversation with Claire as she gestured to the melon tucked under her arm. "Can't burn this, can I?"

Leon had thrown his head back with a laugh - in previous years, Jill had always brought boxed brownies with extra crispy edges and Leon invariably had to make a comment about them. "I don't know," he had shrugged, "When it comes to you, Valentine, I'll never say never."

Jill had reared the watermelon back, acting as if she was going to throw it at him. Leon had thrown his arms up, shielding his face, causing everyone to crumble into laughter at the scene.

"It was nice," you agree, reaching to pick up the barong machete he had given Jill when she asked for a knife to cut the melon. "We do have kitchen knives, you know," you scold mockingly, gently waving the blade around.

"I know," he says, releasing you to reach around and pluck the machete out of your hand. "It's good to exercise these every once in a while, though."

You roll your eyes at him, "It's a machete, Leon, not a horse."

He waves you off, slipping through the patio door to wash the blade in the kitchen sink. You take the opportunity to speed clean, knowing it'll be a much harder task once he returns and wraps his arms back around you.

Thankfully everyone had taken care of their own plates and cups - they'd tried to stay and do more but you had ushered them out of the backyard, wanting Chris, Sherry and Jake to depart before the traffic picked up with the crowds leaving the city following the fireworks shows. Jill, Claire and Rebecca had taken up on your offer to stay, at least, piling into your guest rooms. You were glad to have them, secretly plotting to drag them to brunch once you all woke.

You finish piling the platters as Leon makes his way back outside. Before he can get his hands on you and derail your progress, you point to the stack, "Take those inside."

He frowns, "Can't it just wait until tomorrow?"

"We'll get ants; come on, five minutes and it'll be done."

He sighs, but doesn't protest further, carrying the heavy plates inside as you follow him with the utensils. You stack everything by the sink before turning to him, "Is there any of Becca's cocktail left?"

He cocks his brow, tilting his head, "You really want to try that again?"

It's a valid question - you had given it a go earlier and despite everyone's warnings to take it easy, you had thrown back a large mouthful right off the bat. You ended up wincing in pain, "Fuck, that burns. What'd you put in there, Becca?"

She'd shrugged, "Oh, you know, a splash of this, a splash of that. And," she teased, drawing out the vowel, "A bit of my own creation."

"Your own creation…" You had muttered, trailing off before it hit you, "Test tube alcohol?"

She had giggled, grinning, "Takes some getting used to."

You had tried another, much tinier sip. You were able to enjoy the sweetness of the juice for a moment before the burn kicked in again, causing you to curse once more, louder.

Leon had shifted his attention from Chris to you at your exclamation. Seeing the jug of Rebecca's cocktail in front of you on the table, he quickly pieced together what was happening, calling over to Rebecca from his place by the grill, "You trying to kill my fiancé, Becks?"

"Absolutely not; that'd be a stupid thing for me to do," she'd shot back. "She's the only one who can keep you in line, and we kind of like you like that."

"Well," you start, rolling the word around your mouth, "No. But yes - there's gotta be some sort of trick to it, right? Everyone else drank it just fine."

"The trick is," he starts, voice low, reaching out to grab ahold of your hips, "To not drink it. Let me make you some tea instead."

"Fine," you pout, relaxing into his grip, not bothering to argue - tea won't make you hate yourself in the morning.

He moves his hands from your hips, sliding his fingertips along your spine. "Go wait outside," he says, releasing you with a featherlight kiss to your forehead, "I'll bring it out."

With a brush of your lips against his cheek in thanks, you slip away from him, heading back out to the backyard and pulling off your shorts, settling onto the ledge of the shallow end of the pool. The air has cooled with the setting of the sun, becoming a comforting warmth instead of an overbearing heat. You dip your legs into the water, thankful you insisted on having a pool when you and Leon were house hunting.

Someone is still setting off fireworks; they're a few miles away, though - you can hear them more than you can see them. Resting back on your palms, you close your eyes, imagining what bursts of color may be accompanying each sound.

Leon joins you a few minutes later - just after the fireworks had died down - sporting his swim shorts and carrying your tea. He bends, setting the mug next to you with a kiss to your temple, nosing at your hair. "Earl Grey," he reports before drawling, "How terribly unpatriotic of you."

"You going to arrest me for treason, Agent Kennedy?" You laugh, reaching up to squeeze his thigh below the hem of his shorts. "You're the one who made it; they'd nail you as an accomplice."

He falls into a crouch, leg muscles bunching under the pads of your fingertips as he shifts closer to touch his lips on your cheek. "They can hang us together, then," he remarks, voice a bit too serious for it to be just a joke. "Side by side, off the same branch."

You sit back just enough to get your eyes focused on him, reaching your other hand out to thumb at his bottom lip. "Dulce et decorum est pro cor mori," you whisper, tacking on a hum in question.

He cocks his head at the unfamiliar words, nipping at your nail playfully, "English please, baby."

You consider him for a moment, the translation of the true phrase running through your mind; how sweet and honorable it is to die for one's country. The old lie, it's come to be known as - fittingly.

It's a similar sentiment to one that's grown to become your fear; that he'll die for the sake of the country, under orders from the government, believing it was his duty.

But you think your spin on it may be true; would be willing to find out.

You don't want to weigh him down with the thought, though, choosing to reel him in for a kiss instead. "I love you," is the answer you settle on, laying the words down right on his tongue.

He seems content with your translation - the method of delivery likely having something to do with it - humming into your mouth. He kisses you back lazily for a long, languid moment before he pulls away, "As much as I'm enjoying this, I've been wanting to get in there all day," he says, nodding his head towards the water.

"Go," you chuckle, giving him a gentle push away from you with the hand still resting along his face.

He lays another quick peck against your lips before standing, padding around the edge to the steps. He pauses for a moment to pull his shirt over his head, skin honeyed under the soft glow of the lights you'd hung around the patio.

A second later, he slips under the surface without hesitation; kicking off the steps, moving quickly to the deep end. He almost shimmers as he glides along the floor of the pool, the rippling of the gentle waves he'd created making him seem like some sort of mirage as he passes by you.

He comes up for air once he hits the far wall, tossing his hair back, smoothing the water from his eyes. He doesn't rest long, though, beginning to swim short laps across the width of the deep end.

You observe him, sipping your tea slowly, appreciating the way his back and arms work with each stroke. He continues long enough for you to nearly drain your cup, stopping short when another trio of fireworks set off in the distance.

Setting your mug down, you eye him, preparing to slip into the pool to soothe him if you have to, but he relaxes once he connects the sound to the flashes in the sky. The tension that had flooded the line of his shoulders drains into the water as he shifts to wade backward, moving closer to where you sit.

You finish off your drink as he starfishes out across the surface of the water, floating just a few feet in front of you. You wonder if you could use him as a floaty, pinning up a note in your brain to try it out sometime.

"I'm glad you insisted on a pool, sweetheart," he sighs, breaking your companionable silence.

You hum, pleased, kicking your legs out gently and causing the water to lap against his skin. More fireworks sound out; he doesn't tense this time, but he does get his feet back under himself, moving to where you sit along the ledge.

Sliding his hands up your legs, he pillows his head in your lap, wet hair fanning out across your thighs. You shift your weight back onto your right hand, laying the other along his jaw. His eyes flutter closed as you brush your thumb along his cheekbone and the scar that runs beneath it.

He picks at the tie of your bathing suit absentmindedly, tugging at the strings when you slide your hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp. "Sherry said something to me earlier."

He makes a noise urging you to elaborate, not bothering to open his eyes.

"She told me that when she was younger, she hoped that you and Claire were living your lives; that you were doing more than just working, you know? She said she wanted you guys to be happy," you explain, working to keep your voice even.

He cracks his eyes open, picking his head up to watch you as you continue. "She thanked me," you swallow thickly, "for making you happy, like she always wanted you to be."

He smiles at your words, and it's a beautiful thing. You still get all twisted up inside with how gorgeous he is; neurons overclocking themselves with the thrill of being the subject of his attention.

"I owe you a thank you, too, baby," he starts, pausing to nose at your wrist.

"You don't owe me anything, Leon," you tug at his damp strands still between your fingers, highlights catching the yellow glow from the lights around the patio.

"I do," he says, the words sending a jolt through you. You never intended on getting married, yet here you are now, eager to hear the phrase on the altar.

He kisses the thin skin of your wrist, lips lingering as if he can feel the thrum of your heartbeat; knows that the pace has picked up under his affection. "All this," he pulls back, taking a hand off you to gesture to the pool; the backyard; the house; to you. "It's something I never thought I'd get.

"Sherry's right - you're behind basically every bit of happiness I have now, sweetheart; I owe it all to you." He reaches up, untangling your grip from his hair, thumbing gently at the ring he put there, "Thank you."

You can't respond verbally, will burst into tears if you do. In lieu of speech, you lean forward, pressing your lips against his insistently.

He seems to get the message; understands that the pleasure is all yours, that you'd give him anything and everything you can - knowing he'd do the same for you.

He gets his arms back around you, continuing your kiss as he lifts you from the edge of the pool and into the water with him. You wrap your legs around his waist, safe and secure in his hold.

His teeth catch along your bottom lip and the neighbors down the street set off fireworks, the bright bursts of color painting your backyard in reds and blues and greens and oranges. The sparks reflect off the surface of the water as he slides his nose against yours and not for the first time, you think this may all be a dream. Maybe you died four years ago and this whole thing has been some sort of afterlife; you aren't sure you'd done anything worth this treatment, though.

Maybe it's more supernatural in origin; an intricate hallucination weaved by a Djinn that's got you chained up in some dark, damp basement as it feeds off your blood. Or maybe you just went crazy and the pool is actually a padded room, Leon's mouth against yours a product of your mind working to distract itself from your reality.

Whatever the case may be, it certainly feels real when he shifts his hold on you, hoists you up higher to get at your neck, laying kisses up and down the column of your throat, nipping at your jaw.

But before he can venture much further, the neighbor's fireworks show grows into an extravaganza, the relentless popping and bursting becoming a nuisance, shattering the illusion of your teeny-boppy movie moment.

"Jeez," Leon mutters, breath hot against the saliva cooling on your skin, causing you to shudder. "Did they buy out a whole tent?"

"Did you check that Claire actually went to bed?" You ask, shaking yourself free of his hold. "She could've joined them; brought everything I wouldn't let her set off here."

He hums, letting you down into the water, considering your words - even though you said it as a joke, it certainly is a possibility. You seem to come to this realization at the same time, eyes narrowing at each other as the spray of fireworks continues overhead. "We should…" He starts, nodding towards the stairs.

"Yeah," you agree, already beginning to move.

You pause to grab your towels, wrapping your own around yourself, throwing the other over Leon's shoulders when you catch up to him at the patio door. Stepping inside, you hear someone knocking around your kitchen.

Luckily, it's Claire. She steps back from the cabinet she'd been rifling through to face you and Leon with a frown. "Isn't this shit ridiculous?" She remarks, pointing to the ceiling in reference to the fireworks.

"You're one to talk, Claire," Leon shoots back. "Didn't you just set off about five hundred dollars worth of them in my backyard a few hours ago?"

"Yes, a few hours ago," she reiterates. "Nothing should be set off after the show at the Capitol is finished - after that, you're done; you missed your shot; better luck next year."

"Exactly," you nod in agreement at her reasoning, "They should put you in charge."

She grins at your words, moving to continue on, but Leon cuts in before she can start; "What is it that you were clawing through my cabinets for?"

She sighs, displeased with his interruption, setting her hands on her hips. "Where do you keep the ibuprofen?"

Leon shoos her out of the way, padding across the kitchen to get the medicine himself. Claire relents without argument, attention immediately shifting back to you as she leans over the counter. "So," she wiggles her eyebrows, "It seems like that pool was a good investment, huh?"

You bite at your lip, ears burning with embarrassment that she'd seen you and Leon necking in the water like teenagers - even though you shouldn't be flustered; it is your house, after all.

Leon sets the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water down in front of Claire, annoyance evident with the way he uses a bit more force than really necessary, causing the items to clack against the marble.

"What?" Claire questions, glaring at him. "It was cute."

Leon huffs in response, unable to hide the flush that crawls up his neck at her words. You can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you, enjoying the way they bicker like siblings.

Claire leaves Leon to stew, tossing you a grin as she collects the bottle and glass, bidding you goodnight once more before she leaves the kitchen.

You move around the counter to Leon, steps careful in an effort not to slip on the water that has dripped off him and onto the tile. The neighbors must've ran out of fireworks while you were distracted by Claire as it's silent when you wrap your arms around him, tucking your face into his neck. "Still a good day?" You ask, voice muffled against his skin.

He slings an arm around you, fingers fanning out along the small of your back, "Still a good day."

#if anyone would like to see the ring i literally had a mockup created #because im crazy #its not exactly what i was thinking so i may have another one done.... we will see #also if my latin is incorrect just ignore it pls #its been over 4 years since my last latin class #my hs latin teacher would be mortified to know i had to google declensions #and still probably fucked it up #sorry mr. d.....#(inbox)#(writing)#leon kennedy #leon s. kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s. kennedy x you #what is The leon x reader tag #i've yet to figure it out

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pfhwrittes · 4 months ago

Note

hey p this is nobody you know but do you have thoughts about depot mouse seeing something they shouldn't have seen? 😇

hello friend! (who i definitely don't know, no siree) i waffled over this and my search results are now full of dubiously legal activities that i definitely haven't ever seen in practice, not even once mr/ms/mx GCHQ person checking online traffic. (i also got distracted by portakabin set ups, but that's a separate issue.) and then my brain spat this out for the tradieverse.

does it answer the prompt? eh, vaguely. but i hope you'll be pleased with it.

tags/tw: non-sexual semi-nudity, russian pet names (pchelka = little bee, myshka = mouse, milaya = darling/sweetie/dearest), light angst at the end, and a very brief mention of choking.

author's note: barely skimmed for typos and bad grammar as always and a patented (by @/391780) abrupt ending because i couldn't figure out how to end it and it was getting away from me.

at this point, you're certain nikolai thinks it's funny to have you running around after him. flitting from your office to the driver's "lounge" (another portakabin, this time outfitted with a row of lockers, a sagging sofa, a table and set of scattered chairs, and a small kitchenette area), you yank open the door and your waspish comments die on your tongue.

nikolai is leaning against the counter of the kitchenette. in his pants. in just his pants.

unbidden your eyes skate over his broad shoulders, down over a glimmering gold chain that is nestled in thick, dark hair that spreads wildly over his chest to a soft stomach, to land on the tightest pair of black briefs you've ever seen.

"hello, myshka." nik's voice snaps you out of your staring and you feel heat flooding your cheeks as you tear your gaze away from his... underwear to meet his amused brown eyes.

"i, um, i was looking for you." you absolutely do not let your eyes drop below his neck as nik redistributes his weight as he laughs.

"and now you have found me." nik grins, a flash of surprisingly white teeth considering the amount of black tea and cigarettes he imbibes.

"yes, i wanted to - sorry, but why exactly are you in your pants?" you blurt out.

nik shrugs his broad shoulders and you drag your gaze up to look just past his left ear where a damp lock of black hair curls lazily.

"my clothes are wet." he says simply, like that explains everything. it probably does, knowing the very little you do know about nik.

there's a beat of silence where nik continues to grin and you ignore the way your neck and face are blazing with heat.

"right." you clear your throat uncomfortably. "anyway, i need your receipts."

"it's no problem, i've already handed them to farah." nik waves your words off with a lazy flap of his hand.

"yes, it is a problem! you can't just hand your receipts off to the head of the company, nikolai!" you huff irritably and nikolai interrupts you with a loud boisterous laugh.

"ah, pchelka." he sighs fondly, "always so busy running around, you miss what's right in front of your nose."

that brings you up short and you scowl furiously at him. of course he would think that, all he has to worry about to getting from the depot to the job site and back again. he isn't having to chase wayward drivers around for scraps of paper, or answering the phone to a disgruntled jonathan price when he can't get hold of nikolai, or answering emails with the subject line "how much 4 hardcore??" that you hope to god have come from a bot and not some sad, lonely weirdo thinking that a haulage company offers pornography.

the grin on nik's face flickers slightly and you see his eyes are no longer amused, but soft, almost apologetic.

"sweetness, i'm sorry. i didn't mean to imply-"

"it's fine." you interrupt him, your tone has gone flat and professional despite the way frustration burns at your lungs, urging you to unload all of your irritation on the man. "i'll just go ask farah for the receipts."

nik takes a step towards you.

"milaya -"

"no, really nik." you turn away to push at the door, "thank you for your help as always." you shove open the door and stomp across the dirt to the office you share with farah, leaving nik behind you in his underpants.

(later in the afternoon, after you had emailed farah to send you copies of nikolai's receipts, you lean back in your chair and refuse to let your mind drift back to the glittering gold chain resting on nik's collarbone.

and if you do, it's only because you're thinking about wrapping it around your fist to strangle the insufferable man with it, honest. )

#tradie!141 #nikolai #nikolai x reader #i've realised i mention portakabins a lot in this universe but they truly are the backbone to most work sites #blessed portakabins where i can sit my weary bones on an uncomfortable chair and drink my coffee in relative peace #and eavesdrop on the gossip 👀#anyway i hope you enjoy this!#tw choking #<- just in case #there's no smut in this - i'm using the banner as a blanket statement that i don't want minors interacting with my blog/writing!

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fanartist666 · 3 months ago

Text

Whiskey and Lead

Joseph 'Bear' Graves x Original Female Character fanfic TAGS/WARNINGS: Hurt/comfort, fix it, slow burn, angst, mentions of: PTSD, child death, canon character death, serious injury, poor mental health, divorce/separation MDNI Summary: Joe Graves is told by his wife, Lena, that maybe it's time to see other people. The biggest problem with that was the when and where, given that Joe's surrogate father figure, mentor and previous team leader, Richard Taggart, had just died, and Lena had said this at his wake. Just before things get too much, an unlikely friend of Rip's knocks him from his trance.

Part 1 wordcount: 1.6k | Part 2: will go here

A/N: just a fun little part one set up, when I started this I hadn't written anything for like two weeks, so I do apologise if this sucks lol, trying to understand writing Joe is a challenge but I like him - also if you like this version of Anubis and want more of her and also like Game of Thrones, I have a long fic called 'A Court of Dragons and Lions' on A03 where she's married to Tywin Lannister bc I'm a sucker for Charles Dance lol, anyway enjoy! Sorry for any typos too I tried but I could still have missed some

Joe’s chest heaved with rage, despair and hurt, all his emotions swirling without a way out on top of the grief he was battling through. Hadn’t he tried hard enough? Tried in enough ways? Love languages, he’d learned what they were and what they meant and fucking tried to show Lena he loved her in all of them.

“Or maybe see other people.”

Lena told him that, then of all times? At Rip’s- At Rip’s fucking funeral? Lena couldn’t have come to him with that at any other point? They were already living apart, wasn’t that enough? Apparently not.

He felt it all swell up inside him as Lena walked away and he stared, talking to this fucked up apparition of Rip telling him it was only there because he wanted it there. It was all too much, Rip had been murdered, and died alone after everything he said on that video and everything fucking else and now he was seeing shit and Joe felt like he was going to explode- suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. He flinched and turned around to see who had tapped him.

He didn’t know the woman before him, but he recognised the concern in her eyes and the posture of a soldier when he saw it. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn’t tell what she was saying.

“What’d you say?” He asked sharply, desperately shaking his head.

“I said ‘are you okay’, but I think you’ve just answered that for me.” She repeated, and somewhere in his head, Graves registered that her accent was British. “You wanna come for a walk with me?”

The woman jerked her thumb in the direction of an exit, and Joe nodded before following her dumbly. Walking helped. His blue eyes scanned his surroundings but didn’t really take anything in, to be honest, he couldn’t even remember what the woman he was walking with looked like. He could focus on her voice, though. She was well-spoken, with a sweet-sounding voice, slightly roughened by what he assumed was tobacco.

“So, you want to tell me about what’s going on?” She asked, her tone not too gentle and not too commanding, perfectly disarming. Although he couldn’t tell if that was just because he really did need to talk about it. But something stopped him. It needed to come out, but she was a stranger. He couldn’t just unload that.

In the end, Joe shook his head. “No, no you don’t need to hear that.”

“Come on now, I know a C.O. when I see one.” She nudged him in the arm gently with her elbow, and he couldn’t not smile a little and raise his hands in surrender.

“Yeah, I guess you got me there.” He chuckled softly, vision expanding from mere tunnels.

“Alright then, tell me about that instead, there’s a good lad.” Joe’s attention was slowly turning to her words.

“Okay...” he had to shrug off the flush rising in his face at how easily he’d obeyed her order, however gentle. He didn’t want to admit how much ‘there’s a good lad’ had encouraged him, either. “my name’s Joseph Graves, n’ I’m a senior chief Navy SEAL. I’ve got my team that I inherited from Rip when he got out. That’s Buddha, Fishbait, Caulder, Chase... Buck, until a little bit ago.” He felt his voice catch on Buck’s name.

“So you’re the famous Bear, eh? Good on you, Rip spoke very highly of you.” The woman said, and the warm reception to his introduction made him perk up a little. “And I was sorry to hear about Buckley. He was a good man.”

“He did?” Joe looked down at his shoes. “Yeah. Buck was the best of us. I miss him.”

“Oh god yeah, Rip loved the shit out of you. All of you guys, but he spoke about you most.” The woman told him, and he craned his neck to look at her curiously, finally taking in her features. She was pretty, by all accounts. Warm brown skin like caramel, inky black hair and startling scarlet eyes behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. She was dressed relatively normally in a green t-shirt and black jeans. The cool of the night air didn’t seem to affect her, and he could see that she was decently muscled.

“You knew him well? How come I never met you before?” Joe asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Could be any reason, knowing Rip. And with our schedules in special forces, things can be hectic.” She shrugged softly. “Would’ve liked to meet you under nicer circumstances. I’m Anubis Demonium, by the way. Teammates liked to call me Jackal, which is exceedingly clever, and the story stupidly embarrassing, drill me for details after a few pints. Rip and I go way back. Or I suppose we did, hey?” she huffed a bitter laugh. Joe was sensing a rusty command on her, just as she’d identified on him like a hound after a rabbit. “I met Rip on a co-op, SAS and SEAL. We wanted the same target, our governments wanted to get along, it’s a long story I could be put in prison for telling you.” Anubis waved a hand impatiently as they walked along together. Bear finally registered then, as she was explaining the story, just how tall she was, because there wasn’t that much difference between the two of them, she must have been six feet, easily.

“Rip was on his last mission before becoming team leader himself and I was already a Captain of my own squad. I remember him telling me about the guys he had lined up while we had downtime. He was my buddy on that trip, his own leader told him to take note from the two of us. We got to know each other, and he kept me filled in on you guys. He was proud of you, especially. In a way I was proud of you all too. Silly to admit, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t call it silly,” Joe huffed a laugh through his nose. “He always had my back, didn’t he? I’m glad to have made him proud.. he didn’t deserve to go out the way he did.”

“Nobody does.. He was a good friend to me, I can imagine he was a good leader to you guys. Everything that happened to him was an injustice.” Anubis said softly as they walked along the street.

“Yeah, he was.” Joe hesitated. “Thank you, for... Uh, walkin’ with me. There’s a lot goin’ on and it’s helped more than you’d think.”

“S’alright. Leaders have it hard, you know?” Joe raised a brow at her, and she elaborated. “Think about it, if you’re in a team, you talk to the leader about what’s troubling you. Who does the leader talk to? Can’t talk to the team, they’ll think you’re weak. Can’t talk to your civilian friends and partners, what if they think differently of you for what you do? If we’re lucky, our own mentors are still breathing, and we can talk to them. And lucky is putting it lightly.”

Joe was floored. He stared at Anubis in disbelief; it was as though she had taken all his thoughts, his fears, his loneliness as a team leader, and put them out in the air. He could hardly find the words to agree with her, just nodding dumbly at her instead.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered after a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. I appreciate it.”

“It really is no problem, I was in the same position as you not so long ago. After today if you ever want to talk to someone who... You know, gets it like you, or you want to go for a drink, give me a ring.” She put a scrap of paper with a number scrawled on it into his slowly relaxing hand.

“Thank you... I’ll try not to darken your door too often.” Joe chuckled, pocketing the paper.

“Nonsense,” Anubis snorted, waving a hand. “I’d be glad for the company too. I’m retired now, none of the action anymore.” She explained, correcting her expression into a smile.

“Retired? How come?” Joe asked, hardly watching where he was walking now, his eyes fixed on her like a vision from God. He watched her walk, finally taking in more and more detail, and noticing a subtle unevenness to her gait.

“Injury,” she gestured to her left side, where the unevenness was. “I’m covered in scars this side, took a decent hit from an Mk 46, lucky to be alive so I suppose the stiffness and scars are a decent trade for breathing. The rehab was hell, though.”

Joe’s breath caught in his throat. Buck used one of those. He’d seen people blown to pieces by it, and some not. Hearing that would be a story and a half, he thought.

“Jesus, that sounds like a gnarly story…” he trailed off with a breath, and felt her elbow nudge him gently. Blue eyes landed on the weird blood-red ones belonging to his new acquaintance.

“Maybe I’ll tell you it sometime.” She smiled, and Joe realised they’d circled back to the gathering. “See you around, Joe.”

“See you…” He realised that he’d completely blanked what she told him her name was, only a few minutes ago, but they’d already split up, and when he looked back, she had melted into the crowd and firelight. Looking down at the number and his phone, he thought of something that would’ve made Rip laugh, and probably her, if they really had been friends.

‘Hobbles’ Joe typed, and pocketed his phone.

#joe graves #joseph graves #joe bear graves six #joe bear graves #joe graves six #joseph bear graves #six tv show #barry sloane #oc x canon #oc #fanfic #fix it fic #making things better for my big baby #cod #my ocs #military #im so nervous #nervous posting this

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itwasthereaminuteago · 1 year ago

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|| Engagement ||

Matt Murdock x gn reader

Tags/warnings: mild angst, mild smut, meta, sorry not sorry I had to!!! 😂

As always, I adore and appreciate any comments, reblogs, etc and I'm extremely thankful to you for reading my fics!

Matt's arms tighten around you as you lie snuggled up together in bed. He can pick up on your disconnected mood from your elevated heart rate and the way he hears your breathing change every time you think about saying something and then stop yourself.

"You know you can talk to me, if something's wrong." He says quietly.

You take a deep inhale, sighing it out as you nuzzle into his t-shirt at his shoulder. "I know," you reply, choosing to ignore the invitation to unload.

He pushes a little harder in response. "Sweetie, you've been off for a while now, you think I hadn't noticed?"

"Urgh. It's stupid."

He turns his head to kiss you on the top of your head, giving you another squeeze. "I'm sure it's not, and talking about might help? If you want."

You huff out another sigh. "I dunno, I've kind of talked it over with others but it doesn't seem to make any difference. I'm not sure it's something I can fix."

Concern washes over Matt's features. "Is– is it something I've done? Or not done?" He gently takes your face in his hands. "Sweetheart, you'd tell me if it was me wouldn't you? I'd want you to."

You smile, bringing your hand up to stroke through his soft, messy hair. "Of course I would, and no it's nothing you've done, so don't fret."

The worry melts from his brow. "Alright, but c'mon, try me. I'm sure we can do something about whatever it is that's got you down."

"Well… it's work related. I'm not getting anywhere near as much feedback on my stuff as I used to. You know how in the creative sector we kinda thrive on others sharing our work to bring it to the attention of others? I've been feeling for a while now that the sense of community that we had has just sort of disappeared. People don't seem to want to interact that much with what we make."

Matt groans. "Baby, is this about the lack of reblogs on Tumblr again? "

You can't help frowning. "It is." You admit.

He smiles and rolls over to cage you underneath him. "I could make you forget about it, for a while at least?"

"Matty!" You push him off with a frustrated sigh. "Are you honestly trying to distract me with sex? You know how important this is to me."

"I know, I'm sorry. I don't mean to trivialise the issue, I just thought I could take your mind off it, maybe make you feel better."

"So kind and selfless of you…" you smirk as he starts to kiss along the column of your neck.

"I try." He smiles. "Anyway, you were saying? And I'm gonna keep kissing you."

"Fine. Okay, so I know that I should create for myself and not for other people…"

"But it's nice to get some recognition, right?" You nod as Matt holds himself over you again continuing to make his way down your neck towards your collarbones.

"Right. I really do appreciate the likes, but if people are just 'liking' my work without sharing it, that means it just ends up dead in the water. No-one else really gets the chance to enjoy it."

"Any idea why they are not sharing?" Matt asks, lightly stroking your side.

"I dunno, maybe they're not familiar with how the site works, that it doesn't have an algorithm? Maybe they're embarrassed to let other people see what they're looking at? Especially if it's something a bit risqué."

Matt hums. "Yeah but didn't you tell me before that they could just create a sideblog that's not associated with their main account, and reblog things they like using that and no one would be any wiser?'

"Exactly! And anyway, it's not like everyone doesn't enjoy looking at and reading porn…"

Matt lifts his head up, a slight sly smile pulling up the corner of his mouth. "Mm true. So what else are you sad about?"

You sigh again. You can't seem to stop yourself.

"Well, people aren't commenting on works either. There's rarely any discussion, I mean even just a manic keyboard smash would be amazing for an artist to see in their notifications, but there's barely even that anymore. Commenting on a stranger's fan works is so much fun, it can really bring people together!"

"That's how a great community grows isn't it?" Matt asks you.

"Yep, and you end up making so many friends you would never have thought. I miss that aspect of it a lot."

Matt's swiftly moving down to lavish attention over your chest, and you momentarily lose your train of thought as his lips brush over your nipple. "And have you brought people's attention to this problem?"

"Of course! Many other creators have explained why reblogs and sharing are so important in eloquently written PSAs, but I guess that the target audience must not see them because they're perhaps only looking at the stories and fanart from tags and they maybe don't see the other dashboard posts. I dunno."

Matt starts to lick an achingly slow intimate path down your stomach and you feel heat spreading throughout your body, your heart rate now elevated for quite a different reason. Then suddenly, he stops.

"Have you thought about maybe incorporating the message into one of your creations? Maybe that might reach the intended audience better."

You close your eyes as you consider the idea. He shifts further down the bed and you allow him to spread your thighs apart and slot his shoulders inbetween.

"Mm, well… that's- actually that's a good idea. I mean, it can't hurt to try, can it? You're the devil on my shoulder Matty."

"Exactly. But leave it till tomorrow sweetheart. Right now this devil wants to make you feel good."

You bite down on your lip as he flashes you a smoldering look before ducking down to make good on his promise.

#matt murdock x you #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock smut #reblog fics and art!!!#comment on stuff!#make friends and keep the community going! 😊#thank you thank you!

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workingforitallthetime · 1 year ago

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drawn arrows unseen

part 2 / previous installments/tags

Room 1046 is at the end of the hotel hallway. Mason has to walk by everyone else swiping into their rooms, two by two, whooping it up.

“Sorry you have to babysit me.” Connor says, but it’s not exactly an expression of sympathy. Sorry we’re both stuck with this, says his tone.

“I’d be such a shitty babysitter.” Mason jams his keycard into the slot above their doorknob. “Go on, burn the house down. Make some prank phone calls.” He hits the light switch inside the door and rolls his suitcase past the bathroom to size up the two beds. He claims the one that’s closer to the window and dumps his backpack on the room’s only chair.

Sprawling out, he unloops the mask from over his ears, crumples it in his hand, and drops it over the side of the bed. Won’t need that for four days. Four long fucking days of quarantining with Connor Bedard.

He’s got to make the best of it. He’s got to be nice. Leadership, or whatever.

Mason twists his head toward where Connor’s digging in his suitcase, unloading boxes of protein bars and stacking them by the television. “I’m not your babysitter. Nobody babysits you on your team, do they?” He keeps it intentionally vague because he doesn’t remember what this kid’s team is, whether he played the shortened season in the W or went elsewhere. “Where’d you play this year?”

“Regina. And in Sweden.” Connor hangs a polo shirt in the closet.

“Sweden, eh.” Mason stretches his arms over his head. “Junior or pro?”

“U20, mostly.” Connor takes off his mask and stretches out on his own bed.

“See, you’re used to playing with older guys.” Not quite the same as what Mason’s been doing, but it’s something. “Everybody here's done it.” Everybody who ends up in a Team Canada jersey is the kind of player who’s been leapfrogging their way past their age group all the way up. Mason played U18 games when he was fourteen.

“Feels different, when most of you are the same year.” Without the mask, Connor holds his mouth in a strange way, with his teeth set together and his lip curled back a little, like he’s disgusted.

Mason looks back at the ceiling. “It’s not like any of us have presented.” That’s the real difference once you get past junior. Dynamics emerge. You have to account for the advantages alphas have: the aggression, the fearlessness, the way they can tell by scent which side another alpha’s coming from or whether he’s inclined to fight.

Omegas probably have that scent advantage too, but Mason wouldn’t know. There aren’t very many omegas who play professional hockey. Mason didn’t play with any in Switzerland, anyway.

“I know, just…” Connor waves a hand vaguely at the ceiling. “Regular teams are more spread out, with ages. But you guys all know each other.”

“You know the Western guys, don’t you?”

“I guess.” Bedard snorts. “Guenther cross-checked me last time we played Edmonton.”

“Of course he fucking did, that’s just Guenther.”

[Insert quarantine montage. Team-prescribed workouts that they turn into contests over who can do the most pushups or hold a wall sit the longest. Mason begrudgingly respects Connor for holding his own. Watching hockey highlights and trading opinions, recognizing each other’s insights. Mason forces Connor to close out of YouTube to watch basketball. Mason steals Connor’s snacks until Connor finally snaps at him, and Mason corners him into reluctantly admitting that he has to bring his own bars so he can make sure they’re nut free. The inevitable bad moods of two guys penned up in a room instead of playing hockey, but the brief spats keep settling back into companionability. The kid’s easy to be around. Down to earth, doesn’t have a stick up his ass like Wright.]

Connor picks up the paperback world almanac on Mason’s side of the table between their beds. “What’s this?”

“Geography.” Mason likes to look at the flags, the maps, the information about each country. It’s nice to browse through before bed. Gets him out of his head. “My billet in Switzerland gave it to me.”

Connor flips through the pages. “What’s the capital of Finland?”

“Helsinki.” Mason rolls his eyes. “Ask me a hard one. Like, not a hockey country.”

Connor has to think about that one. “Mexico,” he says, finally.

“Mexico City.”

“India,” Connor shoots back.

“Delhi. You have no idea if I’m right, do you?”

“No fucking clue.” Connor smirks. “Maybe I’ll study up. Surprise you.”

Mason wouldn’t put it past him. Connor’s got a gleam in his eye like he’s about to memorize all the capitals of Europe just for the hell of it. Looking at him, Mason can’t think of a comeback. “Maybe you will.” He plucks the almanac out of Connor’s hands. “Maybe you will.”

(next)

#drawn arrows unseen

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the-oc-lass · 1 year ago

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Nimona OC - Charlotte Swiftheart/Corova

Hey I had a weird and freaky thing happen today. I was trying to take a nap and was turned onto my right side, putting a bunch of pressure on it, and then my eyes and mouth started to twitch and I thought "huh, that's weird. I'm going to open my eyes and see how I feel" and then came to realize that hey, I can't fucking open my eyes, and I can't move my right side, and I just laid there trying to get my dad's attention from across the couch with only my left hand and the ability to move my mouth but not speak, and I thought to myself "come on. Just open your fucking eyes" and finally I did and I was completely fine.

But no, I don't think I had a stroke. I think it was a dream. A freaky dream, but a dream nonetheless. Anyway, this is why I don't take naps.

But enough of my traumatic nap, I have more content. ENJOY.

First, Previous, Next

Charlotte lightly kicks the door open, then she and Nimona drag Ballister over the threshold. They move him across the room, and Charlotte carefully deposits him on the couch. Once he's safely down, she sighs and rolls her shoulders, looking around.

"This place was so magical to me when I was a kid. Now it's just...Sad looking," she says, setting her hands on her hips. Nimona sighs.

"Yeah..." Charlotte looks over, watching Nimona's face morph into mischief. "But it doesn't have to be." Oh, Charlotte doesn't like that look.

"Nim, you just broke Ballister out of prison. You do not need to be going back in public right now," she says, an unimpressed look on her face as she crosses her arms. Nimona grins at her.

"I'll just be gone for, like, 30 minutes!" she says. Charlotte raises an eyebrow.

"Nim," she says, a warning in her voice. Nimona groans.

"Come on, Chari, don't be such a wet blanket," she says, but she's already backing toward the door. Charlotte blinks at her, unimpressed gaze unmoving.

"I'm serious, Nimona." Nimona cups a hand around her ear theatrically.

"What? Sorry, Chari, can't hear you! Be back later!" she says loudly, before turning and rushing out the door before Charlotte can stop her. The blonde sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, then walks toward the door and closes it. The least she can do is clean up while Nimona is gone.

Just as she's finished neatly setting Ballister's armor aside and has covered him with a blanket, Nimona bursts through the door.

"I've got the stuff!" she declares, carrying in two bags in her arms, and another with the tail emerging from behind her. Charlotte raises an eyebrow at her as she looks at all of the bags.

"And how did you-" She cuts herself off, then sighs. "Never mind, I don't want to know. What did you buy, Nim?" Nimona proudly sets her haul on the coffee table by the couch, starting to unload it as she talks.

"I got some super metal decorations for the lair, some grub because boss's fridge is empty, and...oh, look at this!" Nimona proudly holds up a box to show it to Charlotte, and Charlotte smiles as she realizes it's a board game. Not just any board game, though. World Domination. She remembers playing it with Ballister and Ambrosius when they were kids. Ballister always liked the game, but she can now admit that she and Ambrosius were extremely sore losers. Must be a Goldenloin thing.

"Looks like a good way to pass the time while you two hide from every knight in the kingdom," she says. Nimona blows a raspberry and sets the game aside.

"We're not hiding. We're plotting," she says. She suddenly pulls some papers out of one of the bags. "Speaking of, I got some stuff to update the murder wall!"

"I sincerely doubt that Ballister has a murder wall, Nim." Nimona scoffs.

"Whatever. Do you want to help decorate or not?" she asks. Charlotte glances around the very dull, sad looking hideout, then down at Ballister. He's probably going to be unconscious for a while. Finally, she sighs.

"Alright, what the hell? Where do you want to start?" she asks.

2/?

Lovely tagged people:

@ammonitetheseaserpent @perfectkittystranger @madlad06 @xxlunadrawsstuffxx

#nimona #nimona oc #nimona 2023 #nimona movie #ballister boldheart #who is once again present but unconsious #original character #oc: charlotte swiftheart/corova #nimona nimona #nimona netflix #nimona film

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blackberrysummerblog · 2 years ago

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Six Sentence Sunday

Thanks for the tag @captain-aralias! And thank you so much @aristocratic-otter, @shrekgogurt and @thehoneyedhufflepuff for tagging me on Wednesday. I’ve been a little down on myself this week for not getting more writing done, and I hate that I haven’t completed anything in a good month and a half. I guess that’s not true, I did manage to get my erotic gropefest entry in under the wire, I just haven’t been able to look at it since, lol. Anyway, no one wants to hear me whine.

I’d kind of like to talk about the crucible-marriage AU I keep posting bits from, but I doubt anyone needs to hear about my struggles with that either. The process has been very different from how I usually write, so maybe thinking out loud about it would help get me past the couple of issues I’m having and/or help me finish it, but I don’t know. I’ll hold off on unloading about it for now. In the meantime, so. No new writing to speak of, so I’m posting a little bit from earlier in the fic. It’s more than six sentences, sorry 😑 Simon discovered the Pitch’s pool and is gung-ho to get in, even though he can’t swim.

It’s true, the pool is well hidden, even from most of the house. You’d have to be looking out from the upstairs windows to make it out at all, and even then it’s fairly well obscured. It would be impossible to see if someone were skinny-dipping late at night, with the lights out…I cough, adjusting myself in my trunks. That line of thinking can only make things worse. I emerge from my own stall at the same moment that Simon thunders out of his, head and wings trapped inside his t-shirt. “Fucking hell!” he exclaims furiously.

I bite my lip. His legs and chest aren’t as pale as mine, but they’re a few shades lighter than his golden face and forearms. Simon’s thighs are thick and muscular, his shoulders and chest broad, but there’s just the faintest hint of pudge above the waistband of his trunks; Crowley, I would die for him. His curls are bouncing wildly over the top of the shirt’s neckhole as he careens from one side of the changing room to the next. Laughing, I grab him by the waist. “Snow! Breathe.”

He lifts his arms up and growls at me through thin white cotton. I pat where I think his cheek is and then stroke his shoulders. “Surely you get out of your shirts every night without help,” I say.

He struggles a moment, then stops once more. “I got overexcited,” he mumbles in an embarrassed voice. “I think one of my spikes is hooked in the cloth.”

“Let me check.” Fuck me, Simon Snow’s arse should be illegal. Not only is his decidedly bubble-shaped backside done every favor in the world by snug swim trunks, but said trunks are also resting low on his hips to let his tail swing loose. It coils firmly around my calf as I begin inspecting the lumpy, spiky heap of rucked-up cotton on his back. “Yes…here. I think I have it. Calm down and stay still, please.” Against my expectations, Snow actually does as I ask, though his tail does tighten its grip while I pick his wings free from the t-shirt. “There we go!”

Simon glances back at me sheepishly after pulling the shirt off. “Thanks, Baz.”

“Mm.” I rest my palm between his wings, feeling the taut muscles he must need to achieve flight. “You’re welcome, Snow.”

He turns toward me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him as though he were made of fire. At this angle, he has to tip his chin up to look into my face, and I trace the underside of his lower lip with the pad of my thumb. His eyes flutter closed. ‘Baz…” he whispers.

“So,” I say, breaking away and digging through a bin by the door. “Water wings.” Snow recoils when I hold up a pair of bright yellow arm bands. I’m certain the vests we have wouldn’t fit his broad shoulders, never mind his very real wings. “Don’t give me that face; I’ll teach you how to swim!”

He fights me, and in the end the water wings prove sized only for the spindly arms of my young sisters, so Simon escapes through the poolhouse door, brimming with laughter and ready to sink.

Edited: I have literally no idea why tumblr keeps cutting off the parts of my posts where I write something after the snippet. I’m sorry I didn’t tag anyone, but I really do love reading/seeing everything you all post! It’s a bright spot in my day ❤️

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #six sentence sunday #wip wednesday #really dragging my ass with writing these days #blah #crucible marriage au #crucible au

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4th-make-quail · 2 years ago

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Salamander’s Big Ol’ Resident Evil Fic Archive

since we just had re4r, i figured it’s a good time to pimp out my resident evil fic! only recently knocked off my most prolific fandom spot by ffxiv (and that was entirely sart and basch’s fault LOL), although admittedly most of the fic is drabbles. what can i say, i was Having A Phase

Chris/Wesker

Addicted to You

Summary: Plain, out-and-out PWP. Table!sex, as it happens. Not much else to say! Tags: explicit Notes: first of a series of little fic challenges i set myself!

please (don't) wake me from this dream

Summary: Chris/Wesker, tentacle-porn. Or: what happened that one time in that volcano. Or did it? Tags: double drabble, tentacles, explicit Notes: one of my most popular RE fics, bizarrely enough for a double drabble lol. Anyway i really need to write more chris/wesker tentacle action

Steel Syndrome

Summary: Knife!porn drabble. Tags: drabble, knife porn, explicit Notes: holy fuck, this was written to commemorate the fuckyeahweskerxchris blog getting TEN WHOLE FOLLOWERS!! don’t remember why i stopped running that blog, it is lost to the mists of time

Like a Drug

Summary: STARS Alpha team get word of an illegal drugs deal going down somewhere in Raccoon City, but not everything goes as planned. Tags: explicit Notes: stakeouts! Injured Chris! Ill-advised fucking while injured (my speciality)!!

In the House of Flies

Summary: Knife!porn drabble. Tags: drabble, mature Notes: listen to deftones!!! I’m still correct about this song for these two :3c

Let It Burn

Summary: bottom Wesker! Tags: drabble, explicit Notes: it’s not all drabbles guys, i promise

Sketch

Summary: labcoat drabble! Tags: drabble, mature Notes: honestly… not all drabbles….

Second Skin

Summary: glove kink drabble! Tags: drabble, mature Notes: gloves… good…

Conduit

Summary: hypothermia drabble. Tags: drabble, hypothermia, general audiences Notes: bitches love huddling for warmth!! It’s me i’m bitches

Gunoil

Summary: The maintenance of one's weapon is important. Tags: gun porn, mature Notes: guns!! forearms!!! and we have an actual summary again lol

Unloaded Barrel

Summary: At the end of the week, Chris just wants to spend some time with Wesker. Unfortunately, paperwork has a habit of getting in the way. Well not this time. Tags: gun porn, fluff, explicit Notes: hey look more bottom Wesker!! Getting fucked with a gun!! ayooooo

Point of No Return

Summary: Chris wakes up back in time, before the mansion incident ever happens and boy is that ever fucked up. In which it's Barry's birthday, there are too many shots, and Chris has no goddamn clue what he's meant to do with all this knowledge that's haunting the hell outta him. Tags: alternate universe - time travel, fluff, happy ending, explicit Notes: my actual most popular resident evil fic! And, in fact, my most popular fic by kudos, even beating out one of the r76 fics i wrote lmao, wonders will never cease! I like this one - i think i actually started plotting a sequel but it never went anywhere. oops

Leon/Krauser

Appetite

Summary: Sieges are fucking boring. Tags: double drabble, explicit Notes: listen, i was going through a drabble phase ok!! Also this one has one of the most baffling comments i ever received lmao, only rivalled by the even more baffling one in Point of No Return!

Deadly Promises

Summary: Present tense knife fight Tags: double drabble, mature Notes: bitches love knife fights!!!!! it’s me i’m bitches once again

Wire in the Bone

Summary: knife sex drabble Tags: drabble, knife porn, explicit Notes: okay i REALLY need to write a full length knifeporn drabble with these two holy shit i’m sorry guys lmao

Not a Jungle

Summary: It's not a jungle. Not this time, but the damp heat reminds Leon of South America. Tags: knifeplay, explicit Notes: bottom!!! Krauser!!!!!! AYOOOOO

Jake/Sherry

On Bets and Their Consequences

Summary: Jake makes a foolish bet, and Sherry takes him up on it. Tags: mature Notes: shake, my beloved….. and hilariously one of like idk, three??? m/f fics i've ever written

All Bets Are On

Summary: Sequel to On Bets and Their Consequences - Jake loses the bet with Sherry and now has to pay her price. Tags: cross dressing, explicit Notes: i don’t even know about these two, don’t ask me!!

Parker/Raymond

A Little Different

Summary: Complete PWP - Parker and Raymond fuck for the first time. Things are... a little different. Tags: sounding, explicit Notes: the first actual fic in the tag and i still can’t believe there’s only 12 fics for these two?! TWELVE?! and ofc me being me, it had to be an obscure/unpopular kink for an even more unpopular ship LOL. play revelations, y’all!!!

Jill-Centric

Fading Entity - a gen drabble about Jill and the P30

Between Disgust and Desire - The P30 takes more from her than she has to give, and replaces it with that which she never wanted. Another gen drabble but can be interpreted as one-sided Wesker love on Jill’s side

#resident evil #chrisker #metaltango #shake #parker x raymond #jill valentine #quailfic

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no1frogfan · 2 years ago

Text

Sweeter than, part 1

Atsumu x gn reader x Kita

Series synopsis: “Welcome to the team!” Osamu smiles as you pin a metal name badge onto your chef coat. Beside the logo for Onigiri Miya, your name is etched in large font, and underneath, the title Head Pastry Chef. Leaving your stable job at the patisserie is scary, but you’re taking this leap of faith for the freedom to experiment with flavors and create your own desserts. Plus, Osamu seems like a great boss and he certainly knows a lot of interesting people…

Chapter word count: ~1.6k

Chapter tags & warnings: none afaik

Note: Look, this series has been tumbling around in my brain and parts 1 and 2 have been sitting in my drafts for forever, so here I am releasing the series into the wild like a beautiful spirited mare. Maybe this will motivate me to continue

Series masterlist part 2 (wip) >

1. Sesame white chocolate cream puffs

more sesame — + 2 tbs? you scribble into the notebook after tasting the pastry cream you’ve been experimenting with. It’s going to be the first dessert you debut at Onigiri Miya and you want everything to be absolutely perfect.

You dollop a spoonful onto some cooled choux pastry and carry it to the office. The door is open but you knock anyways to announce your presence. “Miya-san?”

Osamu looks up from his desk with a smile that’s tired but warm. “How many times have I told you to just call me ‘Samu?”

“Sorry, Osamu-san.”

“Not quite what I meant.” His eyes land on the pastry in your hand. “A new batch?”

You’re careful not to spill any cream on the mess of papers scattered across his desk as you hold it out with a nod.

You watch with bated breath as he takes a bite. “This is amazing!”

“Really?” You beam, pen poised in your hand, “Any changes?”

He chews thoughtfully. “Choux is crisp and airy. Maybe make the filling a little lighter?”

Lighten filling, you note, adding an exclamation mark. “I was also thinking of adding more sesame too. I really want the flavor to pack a punch. You can taste the white chocolate though, right?”

Osamu hums affirmatively as he stuffs the last bite into his mouth. Behind you, a door squeaks open and closed. He stands up, walking past you to the hallway with a wave and a smile. Turning, you see a man with silver and black hair effortlessly carrying a huge sack of rice on one shoulder.

Osamu beckons you over. “Let me introduce you two! This is Kita-san, he grows all the rice we use here at the shop. And he used to be our team captain!” You recall Osamu showing you with pride the photos of his high school volleyball team. All the members were surely excellent players — Osamu said they went to nationals multiple times — but if this was the team captain…well, he must have been exceptional.

“Pleased to meet you, Kita-san.” You greet him with a polite bow.

Osamu gestures toward you. “And this is the new pastry chef Yuriko and I’ve been going on about!”

Kita shifts the weight of the rice gracefully as he bows back. “Pleasure’s mine.” You take in his kind brown eyes, his corded arms, and his broad chest hidden beneath a loose black t-shirt.

“Why don’t you grab a cream puff for Kita-san to try?” Osamu suggests.

You nod and scurry off to the kitchen while they finish unloading the rice. Cutting open another choux bun, you spoon some pastry cream into the bottom (more neatly this time) before putting the top half on. You’re about to plate the finished cream puff when someone clears their throat behind you, making you jump.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Kita murmurs.

“Oh, that’s ok. Here!” You pass him the plate. “This will be Onigiri Miya’s first ever dessert offering… After a few more tweaks, that is.”

Kita brings the cream puff up to his nose, relishing the sweet, nutty scent before gingerly taking a bite, tongue poking out to lick the cream left on his lips. “The sesame is delicious, there’s a lot of depth, and—” he takes another pensive bite, “what’s the other flavor I’m tasting?”

You blush, eyes lighting up excitedly. “White chocolate! Since it’s not quite fall, I thought it’d be fun to do a flavor that’s autumnal but not too heavy. I’m glad you like it! I think I’ll add more sesame for the next batch. Miya-san thinks the filling is a little too heavy, and I agree, so I’m also going to lighten it with some whipped cream too. And maybe a bit more salt to balance out the sweetness, and—” your eyes grow wide when you suddenly realize, “Oh…sorry, I’m rambling!”

“Don’t worry, you’re not," he assures you.

You duck your head in embarrassment. “No no, I shouldn’t keep you, I’m sure you’re very busy.”

“Never too busy for taste testing." He gives you a small wave as the heat creeps across his cheeks. “Hope to see you again next week.”

You watch him leave the kitchen, the thin sheen of sweat on his neck and triceps catching the light as he moves. You hear footsteps padding down the hall, hushed voices as he exchanges some parting words with Osamu, and the squeak of the door as he exits again out of the back of the shop.

“You have desserts now?!” A familiar voice screams out from the dining room, albeit pitchier than you remember.

“I’ve been telling you this for weeks!” The same voice yells back, lower this time.

“No way, I’d definitely remember if you said you had dessert.” Now it’s whinier again.

“I’ve told you at least ten times, dumbass.” Now it’s growling.

The bickering grows louder and more chaotic as you hurry through the curtains separating the dining room from the office and kitchens in the back. Your eyes dart from one struggling form to the other. Osamu is the first to see you, probably because he’s being dragged across the counter by…Osamu. Wait. The blond Osamu’s eyes widen as he catches sight of you, gesturing to the gray-haired Osamu to turn around. The gray-haired Osamu — the real Osamu — turns around. His scowl yields to a sheepish grimace.

He clears his throat, grip loosening from the other’s shirt collar, though he doesn’t let go completely. “Ah…this is my brother Atsumu.”

Atsumu smiles broadly, completely unfazed by the fact that he’s still halfway on and halfway off the counter. “Hi there,” he waves.

Osamu mentioned a twin, but your first time seeing them together is still a shock. “Nice to meet you Miya— uh…”

“You’re really going to have to get used to calling us by our first names.” Osamu chides. Turning back to Atsumu, he explains gruffly, “This is the new pastry chef I’ve told you about. Many times.”

Atsumu gives you an exaggerated wink. “You didn’t tell me they were so cute.”

“Hey, show some respect!” Osamu barks as he shakes his twin in warning.

Atsumu holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s just a respectful observation,” he smirks. Before Osamu can retort, Atsumu turns to you. “So I’ve got you to thank for ‘Samu finally adding sweets, huh? I’ve been telling him for ages that he should put a dessert on the menu.”

“Cooking and baking are completely different!” Osamu hollers defensively. “But luckily, Yuri-chan and I finally managed to find a great pastry chef!”

“In that case, what’s a famous athlete gotta do around here to try one of the great pastry chef’s uh” — Atsumu’s eyes dart down to the menu — “cream puffs?”

You glance at Osamu who nods. “I’ll go make one for you,” you reply, ducking back into the kitchen. You pipe the new-and-improved pastry cream into the bottom half of the choux bun before gently nestling the top bun on and lightly dusting the whole thing in a mixture of ground sesame and powdered sugar. When you return to the dining room, you notice that Osamu has finally let go of Atsumu’s collar, although their bickering hasn’t stopped.

The twins quiet down as soon as you set the plate on the counter. “Here you go, Atsumu-san.”

His eyes light up as he snatches up the cream puff and stuffs half of it in his gob. Cream filling squishes out from the corners of his mouth and out of the back of the pastry, landing with a plop back onto the plate. You watch with a mixture of astonishment, pride, and revulsion as Atsumu gleefully chews a few times before shoving the rest into his still mostly-full mouth, then swiping a finger across the plate to pick up the dropped filling and shoving that in too. He keeps his eyes closed, savoring the taste as his overstuffed cheeks gradually deflate.

“Clean up your face, you pig,” Osamu wads up a napkin and throws it at his twin in disgust.

Atsumu dodges it and yells, “That was amazing! I want another!”

Osamu cuts in before you can respond. “NO. You already got one. The rest are for paying customers.”

“Is that how you treat your own brother?” The shouting starts up again, though it’s thankfully halted by the jingling of the door announcing the arrival of a customer. Osamu immediately straightens up and heads over to take their order.

Atsumu finally wipes the cream and crumbs off his mouth. “Well, tell stupid ‘Samu I’ve gotta go! And by the way,” he winks again, “you can call me ‘Tsumu.”

You snort, not bothering to dignify that with a response. They may look the same but they certainly don’t act the same.

Or, actually… As you watch Atsumu walk past his twin, you’re struck by the differences between them. Even without the hair dye, Osamu is visibly marked by almost a decade of restaurant work and family life. His arms and shoulders are fantastically muscular and his stomach is more cushioned, lending him a handsome softness that matches the kind sparkle in his eyes. Atsumu, on the other hand, is as brassy as his hair. His cocky attitude is magnified by clothes that fit almost too tightly (almost) across his body, accentuating the wide shoulders and slim waist of his athlete’s physique.

Then again, seeing them fighting today…Osamu might well be just as hotheaded as his brother. You wonder if that means Atsumu could also be as gentle as your boss.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #kita shinsuke #kita x reader #miya osamu #froggy scribbles

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