#anyway this was spurred by the fact that i noticed

[kappatengu]

intermission 1.5: ending the nipple saga right now

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: implied and/or present elements of dubcon/noncon, yandere, kidnapping, captive reader, quirkless reader, mentioned death of important character, discrimination, drawn comparisons between quirklessness and disabilities, implied bakudeku, drugging, needles, mentions of hypochondriasis, also angst

♡ manga spoilers in a way, but also not really. anyway, read at your own discretion.

♡ gn reader

Sharp crimson eyes assess the fresh scrapes and swelling ruining your soft skin. A deep scowl on his face.

“Tch—look at all this…” he grumbles disapprovingly to no one but himself—too upset with you to acknowledge you, yet treating you no different than if you were glass. “These are gonna last weeks.”

You’d tried running away again—tripped and slipped up all on your own, stumbling through hallways and tumbling down stairs in your panic, only to stop short at the locked door—bolted and padlocked beyond all sane reason.

He was disappointed with you, sure. But that’s not the reason for his current anger.

“Sit there while I get bandages,” he orders, getting up from his crouch, pointing a strict finger at you in threat. “Dare move, and it’ll be bed rest for a whole ‘nother week.”

Bakugou’s obsession with your quirkless nature started a couple of months ago…

It was okay at first—he was hardly the first person you’d met who addressed you with patronizing resolve—but he got weird about it quickly.

You worked at another hero agency he was going to be collaborating with for a big upcoming mission. You weren’t a sidekick or anything grand like that, but a simple pencil-pusher—because they need those too, you know? And you liked your job. You got to work along with some of the greatest heroes in the world, see them up close, and help them out with those things they didn’t have time for—paperwork like budget justifications and incidence reports. Yeah, you might have been somewhat of a pushover, but hey, the salary was good, the environment was lively, and even though you don’t have one yourself, you got to see some really amazing quirks in action. It was, out of what you could hope for, your dream job.

The place was in a real buzz when they heard the number one hero would be joining them for a couple of months. You were excited, too—it wasn’t often your smaller agency would undertake big missions—especially not ones that required such big hero names.

DynaMight wasn’t one to share much of anyone’s enthusiasm. He was strict and down to business and otherwise had a major pet peeve for unnecessary rabble loitering around. He’d stopped mid-meeting at the sight of you, seeing as you were obviously no fieldworker, and had gone as far as to demand you tell him your value as if your presence had been some big distracting nuisance.

Luckily, your Pro-Hero coworkers had stepped in on your behalf and told him you were a transcriber keeping track for later reference. It was probably only a slip-up that they’d added the fact that you were quirkless.

You don’t hold it against them, or well… you did a little, but you couldn’t really blame them either. Evoking the explosion hero’s rage must have made them flustered and desperate to play any sympathy card available to them in the spur of the moment.

Of course, it wasn’t their card to play, nor would you ever have played it yourself, but if the humility was worth anything, it successfully managed to calm the top hero down. Actually, he didn’t say anything for the rest of the meeting. And if you hadn’t been so busy taking notes, you would have noticed his lingering stare.

A couple more incidents had occurred in the office after that. Among others, he’d caught an incoming paper airplane your coworker had thrown your way—stepped right in out of nowhere and cremated it with a controlled explosion before it could hit you.

You’d been speechless for a moment—the entire desk area along with you—confused by his strangeness and, at least in your case, even somewhat appalled by his utter lack of consideration—in your office space, no less. Seriously, top hero or not, you can’t just barge in and incinerate stuff?

“That was an important document,” you'd informed—brow quirked—no regard to how offending him could probably make grounds to have you fired. You'd only slightly regretted it after having said it. But geez, you thought—shouldn’t the top hero have some semblance worth of self-control?

“You shouldn’t be playing around,” he'd stated—tone just as sour as the stink of burned paper tainting the air. “Someone might get hurt.”

You’d almost scoffed at him but had held your tongue until he walked away.

Back then, you’d thought it was an offhand insult directed at you and your respected coworker—that the explosion hero had just called you both unprofessional to your faces, like the biggest scumbag to ever walk in through your humble doors. But looking back at it now, you realize he probably might have meant it in its most sincere regard.

His over-protectiveness knows no limit, you’ve learned—calling it patronizing would be a joke in comparison. He treats you as if anything in proximity might make you shatter by association—like a bubble made from the most thinned-out solution of water and soap.

You’d woken up in your well-prepared pillow room shortly after your agency’s collaboration with DynaMight had ended. It didn’t take long for you to piece together his sickness after that.

At first, you’d thought it was a more severe case of benevolent discrimination. After all, most people treat you with some amount of pity after being privy to your being quirkless—treating it no less than a disability of sorts.

But Bakugou’s view of you was increasingly more unsettling than that—suffering from some type of delusion that has him fully convinced you’re utterly inept without him.

In some odd ways, it would have been better if he was just faking—if he was doing it all, treating you as an inferior for some sick sense of deriving his own sadistic pleasure. But no, you think he actually fully and whole-heartedly believes you’re a danger to yourself and that anything, if not monitored in the perfect conditions of the controlled environment he’s established for you, will result in your fatal illness or harm.

He’s a full-sworn hypochondriac concerning you—even as he himself dregs home some of the worst injuries you’ve ever seen as if it were nothing but a splinter in the rough of his worn soles. Meanwhile, he’s scared that if you leave the bed without socks on, it will give you pneumonia.

You were sure you had a couple of control freaks at the agency, but nothing measures up to Bakugou’s mania. How he dresses you is one thing—how he feeds you is another. An assortment of pills first, all vitamins and supplements, a spoon of cod liver oil, then a balanced meal reminding you of those tragic trays you’re served at the hospital—four times a day without fail—breakfast, lunch, dinner, then supper—he also keeps track of all the water he’s decided you need to drink—all things perfectly regulated according to your size and age.

Then there’s the sleep schedule with a set number of eight hours—no more and no less. Exercise is also necessary—workout plans designed and dictated by him. Nothing too severe, though—he’s afraid your quirkless constitution won’t be able to handle anything beyond thirty minutes max.

And then, of course, there’s hygiene.

You sobbed and fought hysterically the first time he’d washed you—in the tub with him after he’d stripped you naked. In fact, you’d made such a fuss he’d had to fetch a sedative.

Even in your drowsed state of complete numb delirium, you’d still heard how he’d fretted over it—the tiny needle hole he’d torn in your arm—as if that was the real violation, even as he’d thoroughly molested the entirety of your body with different cloths and sponges for no shorter than a full hour.

You’d been terrified, of course—horrified by his meticulous routines and odd nature. Yet strangely, despite his rigid rules, he won't ever get violent to enforce them.

You had expected it of him—being known for his brutality—the hero without mercy—the symbol of retribution. You know he's no stranger to leaving the battlefield bloody. But with you, he won't so much as harm a single strand of hair from your head.

He will instead bargain with you, sometimes for hours. Eat what he tells you, and you’ll watch a movie afterward. Go to sleep, and he'll escort you out to see the sun for a few hours in the morning. Let him ensure you wash correctly, and he’ll allow you to dry and dress yourself.  

And in those moments when you leave him no other option, he subdues you through the help of a needle again and never ever by manhandling you—it was as if that weren’t even a viable option. It was obvious he regarded the sedative as the uttermost last resort, always muttering on about chemicals and whatnot under his breath. It seemed he would rather avoid it at all costs—but also, that if it stood between allowing the disturbance of the schedule he felt was needed to keep you healthy and forcibly putting you to sleep, he knew without a doubt which option he considered the lesser evil.

He was certain of it all. And at some point or another… you had even begun sharing his fear of attracting some sort of illness yourself—even something so small as a common cold. But no, it wasn’t the same. Yours was not a fear of the actual disease itself but of what he might do if he caught you sneezing and coughing. You could only imagine the upgraded pill table he’d have in store for you then and what other measures he’d instill due to his excessive ideas of necessity.

And that’s why you’d tried running again even after what must have been a couple of months since the last time. The thought of his inane insanity having affected you so badly you’d started playing along was all too much a painful realization—you’d felt compelled to reject it—run away even when you knew you’d never be able to make the door open if you could even reach it.

You knew it would be in vain, and even though running headfirst into something you know isn’t going to work might be the first signs of madness—you’re still relieved to have found some remaining worth of fight still in you, even if it couldn’t amount to anything.

He comes back as quickly as he’d left, still muttering to himself, cross about the damage you’ve sustained—like you’re one of the collector’s items he keeps up on the mantle in his office—green costume and a big bright smile. You remember the exposés—they’d been rather gruesome, about the hero who’d died in battle not so long ago—a couple of years back now, give or take. He had the number-one spot before DynaMight.

The current top hero retakes his spot at your feet, sighing deeply once he starts dabbing your minor bruises with disinfectant, followed by unnecessary bandages. You’re silent as you watch him work—all so diligently as he does everything, cutting no corners and running zero lights.

His efforts, done with the very epitome of care, all disgust you.

Your lip curls. “I’m not what you think I am…”

His keen glare stops obsessing over your wounds to look up at your face—he’d already tended to the ones he could see, but he’s sure more would blossom and swell in a couple of hours. It’s beyond worrisome—but it’s his fault in any case. He should move you to a place without stairs—it’s way too dangerous for someone as accident-prone as you.

You make eye contact, and his anger fades at the sight of tears welling in your corners—softening as if he’s convinced even a harsh look will have you shatter in his hands.

“I’m quirkless. But ’m not weak.” You’re sure you preached much of the same back at the beginning of your stay, though then you’d hurdled it at him—screamed it from the top of your lungs until you’d lost your voice, unknowing that it’s a statement he’s heard a hundred times over spoken by different lips from yours.

It’s a funny thing almost… how your eyes remind him of his—so soft and yet brimming with determination—a determination that will only get you killed.

He’d put faith in those words before, believed them beyond himself, and it had cost him everything.

But even so, he can’t fault you for believing in them yourself… they’re what makes him love you, after all.

He smiles gently—a most gut-churning sight from the all-scowling man.

“I’m sure you think so.”

He doesn’t relay it with any type of harshness but pity—gross concern and better judgment—overwhelming oodles of it in his garnet eyes, weighing them down with something so awful as compassion and… you don’t exactly know… but it looks like grief.

♡ part two ♡ more thoughts on this ♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[wandagcre]

it's a trap (when you act like that) | wanda maximoff 🔞

(College!Perv!Best friend Wanda Maximoff x Innocent!Fem Reader)

You cannot quite relate to the topic of pleasure. Being introverted and shy, your circle of people was limited, but you're more than grateful that Wanda - your best friend - is always there to help you out.

WARNING: corruption kink, pillow riding, first times, fingering, praise, wanda talking you through it - not proofread +18 / men & minors dni. Words: 4.2k

[perv!wanda series] | [masterlist]

For an hour, you settled on reading in comfortable silence with your best friend. Wanda laid on your lap comfortably, unlike you, she gave up skimming on her notes a few minutes ago. 

You giggle each time you catch her gaze on you. It was inquisitive and sometimes Wanda made silly faces. Thoughtful as ever, she’d pop in some candy in your mouth.

Her auburn hair grew out – instead, her brunette tresses were back. It was tempting for you the way they were sprawled out, wanting to comb them with your fingers and drop your notes – only having to listen to what stories your best friend would tell.

Lately, you noticed it’s been hard to be around Wanda. You can no longer hold her gaze than usual and you physically want to be closer to her – which was no problem because your best friend was always attentive and touchy with you. 

“Have you been working out? Look at these thighs,” You sharply inhaled as you felt fingertips, running feather-like on your skin. Wanda caught the act and it made her giggle softly. 

You shyly shook your head. “N-no. I haven’t.” 

She seemed not to buy your response. It’s the truth. Even if you indulged in some exercises, your workout routine was not strict about any type of weight lifting. Not like you had the time and all. In fact, it was one of the things that sometimes pulled you into your insecure thoughts, thinking that you’ve got an unattractive pair.

However, Wanda loves them as they were. She liked it when you got experimental with your wardrobe, changing it up with some short skirts that highlighted your legs and its curves. More so with your comfort in plain shorts, as it rewarded your best friend more of its exposure.

What Wanda didn’t like was winter and how it took away the sight of your gorgeous thighs. 

You insisted, “I’m serious! If you consider getting food from the top and bottom shelf of the fridge as squatting, then, my answer is yes.”

“Well, they look good to me. Keep it up.” Wanda playfully remarked. You chuckled lightly, not trusting your voice at the moment. “Want me to pull away?” 

Her voice was hypnotizing – insanely soothing. Almost like a balm, you’d say. Enough to make you re-read the damn sentence on your notes because you barely understood them. It doesn’t help that she kept her ministrations – tracing circular patterns that ascend to your inner thighs, causing goosebumps to wake.

“Took me by surprise, that's all. You can keep doing that if you want.”

“Is it relaxing?” Wanda whispered.

You shudder a bit and it made you scuffle in your position. “Kinda like you playing with my hair…”

Wanda was amused. You briefly wondered what was the joy in this – riling you up in some way. Were your reactions too entertaining? She had always been full of mischief, but lately, hanging out with your best friend made you…tense. It was not uncomfortable in a way that her actions burned, maybe they did, but in a different context. A realm you’ve never touched on – spurring you to confusion furthermore.

Her forefinger grazed over the space between your eyebrows. “What’s got you all so worked up, honey? You got this crease going on – you’re too tense. Wanna take a break?”

“Okay, yeah. That sounds nice.” You gave in. You couldn’t even process them anyway. 

You still appeared as bothered from Wanda’s point of view. She moved away from laying down between your thighs, looking at you who refused to meet her eyes. She was growing concerned. Had she overstepped this time?

Wanda was clueless. “Are you seeing someone?”

You looked incredulously at the woman.

“That’s out of the blue, Wands.”

“Can’t blame a girl for asking, (y/n/n). You’re usually reserved, I get that, but lately you seem to be always in deep thought? You know I can help, right?”

“I-I want to tell you but it can get weird.”

“Weird? Baby, we’ve known each other for years. How worse can it possibly get?” Wanda asked incredulously. Now she was concerned.

There’s nothing to hide. Wanda had a point, you thought. 

You whisper, “Lately, um. I-I’ve been trying to discover something.”

“Okay…” Wanda hummed, eyes focused on your lips.

You weren’t hesitant out of fear of being judged, but you didn’t know where your boundaries stood. 

Although, you remember how Wanda was so thoughtful that every time you bought some undies, she volunteers to come along and when you ask for her opinion, she carefully takes time to examine them. 

You remember her fingers tracing along the seams, making you turn around, asking for permission to touch so she can examine the material further around your butt and how it clung to your hips. They shouldn’t be tight, Wanda said.

“And it’s about pleasure. You know, that stuff.” You flail your hands. Can this get more embarrassing?

Meanwhile, Wanda was absolutely having the time of her life. She couldn't believe that this was happening. Of course, as the role of best friend, she would be very ecstatic to lead you.

She starts with a lilt of teasing in voice. “Sorry, honey, but there’s many things that can go around the topic of pleasure. I’m going to need you to elaborate.”

Poor you, didn’t even catch up to her teasing. You had enough.

“Touching the southern part!” You blurt out.

“Oh!”

“Yeah,”

“Huh.” Wanda looked inquisitive. Her head tilted to the side in faux wonder. In truth, she was thinking of ways to help you – defile you in this very bed – if she’s sly enough.

You groaned. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

“See, now it’s weird. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, no. It’s not weird. In fact, it’s normal to be curious about that. What’s your problem with it?”

“I don’t think I’m doing it right. I feel bad because I heard discussions about it – overheard some girls from my class. It’s all the hype I can’t get onto– I just don’t seem to get there–” 

You were rambling all things at once. Wanda had to process the thought of you touching yourself and getting frustrated, of course you wouldn’t know. You needed her – someone to get through it.

And Wanda was more than willing to step up.

With a glint in her eye, she suggests, “Want me to help you?”

Were you hearing things right? Surely, you misheard Wanda. Your mind couldn’t wrap the thought of it. How on earth can she help you? Maybe she’ll write them down or give you a video that wasn’t too explicit as porn. She knew that you hated them, after all. 

“You–won’t that be weird between us? And how?”

“Don’t even think about that. It’s me, honey. You can always count on me. Even about these types of situations. Do you trust me?”

You answered in a heartbeat. “More than anyone.”

“Good. What do you think, do you wanna get started?”

Right now? Your eyes widened. But there won’t be another time, you suppose. “Shit. Okay, yeah, sure.”

“We’ll take things slow, hm?” She bit her lip, trying to contain her excitement. Seeing you all bare for her – Wanda might as well cum at the mere thought of it. The way you nodded attentively made her stomach flip. “We’re going to test the waters. Since you’re having trouble with your fingers, we can do that later. Maybe we’ll try a different approach.”

Your cheeks burned at Wanda’s elaborate plan. “O-okay. I’ll listen to you.”

Wanda purses her lips and moves closer to you. You looked apprehensive, but not as much previously. Good.

“Have you ever heard about riding a pillow?”

“N-no…” You meekly answered. Porn was straight to the point. Too uncomfortable for your liking. It was penetration and done. You tried watching one or two, then that was it – you never thought about revisiting and looking further beyond that. “That’s a thing?”

Wanda, however, couldn’t help but scoot closer to you. How she was very elated to hear this – the woman couldn’t wait to introduce more things to you in the future, to be the one showing you the ropes of it.

“Yes it is. Some find it very rewarding. It’s so easy. ” She supplements.

Out of curiosity, you cannot filter yourself. “What about you… have you ever?”

“Yeah, I have.” She smoothly replied. Wanda was so self-assured, you can’t help but envy it a little. “And don’t worry, I’ll be guiding you at every step of the way, honey. Exploration of what you like and how it works is nothing to be ashamed of.”

It did the trick for you; Wanda picked up a relief sigh coming out of you. She smiled, rubbing your thighs enough to create a comfortable warmth.

“Use my pillow – don’t worry, it’s easy to get them washed.” Your movements were slow and hesitant, continuously looking back and forth to Wanda’s piercing green eyes and to her pillow innocently hanging at the corner of her bed. Grabbing the item, she shoots you a proud smile. “Now, take your bottoms off for me.” 

For Wanda. You felt the heat creep from your stomach, riding in waves, up to your neck and whole face. She nudges you by nodding her head. You’re entirely sure that you’re beyond stunned right now. Discarding your shorts and underwear at the same time, you quickly throw them away and cross your thighs. Wanda’s words being uttered in an authoritative and raunchy manner was enough to make you wet – you didn’t want her to see the proof of that.

“So good. You’re doing so, so well baby.” Wanda licked her bottom lip in anticipation. “Now, flip that pillow by its seams – the edges are an important part of this. Then, just mount it.”

Your heart raced – you can’t believe that this was happening – you’re about to ride a pillow in front of your attractive best friend and she’ll talk you through your first orgasm. Right here in her own cramped bed and pillow. Doing as Wanda says, you spread your legs apart and mounted the pillow that stood by its edges. You gasped at the sensation; it was the softest thing your core has ever touched and it was slightly cold.

Looking back at Wanda, she seemed lost in your center – who wouldn’t be, given this rare opportunity? She always had a crush on you. But you didn’t even notice. Now, your friendship was taken on the next level, she thanked any deity out there for her patience. ((And her power over you right now? It was hard not to revel in that.))

You looked so adorable. Wanda could compare you to bambi right now, especially when you thought you were being sly. She saw the slick forming on your pussy from earlier as you were stripping. It was mouthwatering that it drove Wanda insane, prickling through each nerve of her body.

“What next?” You shakily asked. It was intimidating to have her eyes fixated on you – you couldn’t decipher what was going on behind those green eyes.

“Gyrate your hips. Back and forth, slowly.” Wanda orders with a low voice.

She watches you try to move back and forth at the pillow. Your pussy grazed on the fabric, making your eyes flutter at each soft contact, but it wasn’t enough for your pleasure nor Wanda’s.

She waddled closer and placed her hands firm on your hips. You bite the inside of your cheek, slowing down your motion out of surprise. The least you can do was have an ounce of dignity, you couldn’t moan in front of Wanda.

You sweet thing, Wanda thought. It was evident how desperate you were in your soft and messy thrusts. She was focused on how you moved your hips clumsily and your folds wetter, the pillow darkening as your arousal stained them.

She couldn’t take it much longer.

“You’re almost bouncing, honey. Do it like this – in sliding motions.” A moan inevitably escaped your lips as she pushed your hips alone, quite literally guiding you. Wanda shuddered in delight. “Want that pretty pussy of yours gliding in, get that friction working already. Don’t be afraid to put all of your weight in it. It’s much better, trust me (y/n/n).”

Pretty? Wanda even used it in an inappropriate context. It affected you more than you thought it would, that you felt a spurt of liquid drip from your core. Was it supposed to be like this? It was better than previously. Maybe it was truly your form that made a better change. You thrust your hips more and no longer hesitated upon resting your lower body’s weight. 

It was much better, just like Wanda had said.

Wanda’s bed creaked louder and louder. Of course, you were getting lost in your own needs – you didn’t even notice.

Your resolve was visibly breaking in front of Wanda which she absolutely relished on.

“Don’t let me stop you from moaning, baby. It’s all about your pleasure.” Wanda gently reassured you. It was all you needed apparently to let loose. “Thrust your hips harder.” She commands you. It sparked more need that travelled to your lower stomach down to your core. 

Was this the feeling people always blabbered about? Because you’re sure that you understood it now. It completely took over your senses like crazy.

Your hands placed in front for balance, you do as your best friend said. She truly knows her way around here. You haven’t felt this needy before. The friction she mentioned was settling in quickly and it was addicting against your pussy. You close your eyes and arch your back. The softness soon burned – a delicious contradiction – and it was enough to make you feel soaked.

“Just like that…” Her hips have never left yours and matched the rough sliding motions, grasping firm around your bare skin. “It feels good, doesn’t it? You’re doing so great.” For me, Wanda wanted to add.

“M-mm, y-yes,” You whimpered and nodded dumbly. 

“You can also experiment with other motions – try what’s best for you. You can do circles with your hips,”

You immediately try as she recommended. Wanda had to stifle a giggle right then and there. Her headboard was starting to hit against the wall with your messy yet hard thrusts. It was obvious that the pleasure was brewing already, to which Wanda deviously smiled at. 

“Can I touch you down there? I bet it’s sticky already…” She whispered directly to your ear. You feel your best friend’s hot-white breath grazing satisfactory against your neck. It tickles! 

It wouldn’t hurt right? It was a part of the lesson, you suppose. Wanda knew better and you trusted her. “Y-yes. You can touch me, Wands.”

Without further ado, your best friend immediately went in to trace your outer folds. Fuck, you were so wet. You immediately coated her fingers, terribly addicting that she had to stop herself from plunging in so suddenly.

You continued to gyrate harder and it seems that there was the ‘spot’ that everyone was talking about. You lost track of it, but you felt how the pleasure intensified and moaned unadulteratedly, louder than before, that spurred Wanda to repeat the motion harder. With every glide against the pillow that you do, Wanda’s fingers were there at the edge to stimulate your throbbing core. Your breathing pattern grew heaving.

It was so, so addicting to have your slit pressed against the once innocent material and the friction it provided you–

“Stop there,” Wanda firmly said. You halt out of concern, rethinking whether you did something wrong. Your best friend, however, was pleased at your expression. 

“D-Did I do something wrong?” You gulped and weakly asked.

“No, honey. You did so well.” Wanda caressed your jaw and held you by the cheek with her clean hand. A pleased grin broke out of you to which Wanda duly noted. You liked praises. “That was the first lesson. You need something to stimulate you into the mood, it is very important. Now I’ll touch you first so you can mimic them later on. Is that okay?” Her hands descend to trail them at the center of your torso and stopped by the pelvic area.

This was going so well. You even forgot and thought how dumb it was to doubt Wanda and how she would embarrass you. It felt as though it was more than what you asked of her.

You wet your lips, “M-more than okay.” 

At this point, you valued Wanda's opinion more than ever.

“Good girl. We’ll get started.”

She swept away the crumpling notes and the stained pillow. Wanda almost moaned at the mere sight. It was like an animal had rudely rammed through her room.

Wanda stared at your half-lidded eyes that beamed at her words. Your hair was frazzled and barely can manage your own breathing. She caused this. And hell, she can’t wait to ravish you further. You felt reassured with her comforting smile and voice leading you on.

Your best friend grabbed you by the thighs to pull you closer to her. Wanda hummed in delight, a crooked smile on her lips appeared as you released a throaty moan again as she pushed them farther apart. 

“Now, listen carefully, (y/n/n). You have to tease your folds first and gather the wetness here,” Wanda sultry uttered and started to stroke your folds again and you helplessly nod. “It’s no trouble right now, considering how soaked you are.” She bit her lip and teased you by bringing up her fingers that were coated by your arousal. “Don’t hide them from me. It’s so pretty to see you like this, honey.” You arched your back for her and became flustered at Wanda’s words.

So warm and inviting. Wanda was flooded with glee, that she swooped in before anyone else could. With this, she also intends to be your last. No way in hell she can share you now after this.

You feel your cheeks and ears grow hot. You buck your hips for more as Wanda starts to stroke vertically and then random patterns at your soaked pussy. It wasn’t enough to scratch the itch you’ve been longing for.

Your nostrils flared, “W-Wands, please..”

Wanda felt herself damp as you moaned her name. It was like music to her ears. She immediately changed your position, from your hips up to encouraging you to lay down flat on her bed and adjusting to settle on your side – her fingers not leaving the inside of your pussy.

“What do you need, baby?” She pressed a kiss on your ear. The gesture was meant to comfort you but you felt your body burning even more.

“I need you! It’s so sticky and tickling me- I don’t… Can you please h-help me?”

You were needy, just as Wanda wanted you to be. She riled you up enough that she even felt you drip more wetness as she plunged deeper inside of you and hit the spongy wall that her fingers could reach. You were more than compliant all throughout the session that it made her heart soar.

“You can also play with your breasts, it can add a better feel for you, baby.” 

You hesitantly reach for your pair and Wanda’s awaiting (needy) eyes were the final nudge for you. You wanted to do good. At this point, the lines were blurred; you didn’t know if it was to achieve orgasm or praise from your best friend.

Hands skimming underneath your shirt, you also pushed up your bra and experimentally squeezed the flesh. You groaned and eyes half-lidded again, threatening to shut.

Wanda was ecstatic that she had convinced you through this. Her motions never faltered – if anything it was more determined – as she watched you play with your tits. She thought it was cute how your underwear mismatched, her eyes caught the sliver of the pale material of your panties and your bra in the color of a colder tone. Were you tugging on your perked nipples? You were so eager and feeling comfortable enough. Wanda almost demanded you to take them off, wanting to see them. Another time.

She kept on stimulating your pussy and with the addition of you playing with your breasts – it was impossible to even control your moans anymore. 

You threw your arms quickly around Wanda’s neck and hands had wrapped themselves on her nape. Opposed to her firm and determined motions, you were gentle with how you caressed her skin. Wanda melted with no hesitation and now, her dorm room was reverberating with moans along you.

“It’s so sticky down here just as you said. Now,” Wanda’s own breathing was ragged and you had to force yourself to listen to her. “I’m going for your clit. It’s in the uppermost area, covered by your hood. Need to stretch you more-” She grabbed your hand and made them trace the areas for you to pinpoint them better. Fuck, Wanda was right. You were soaking wet. “That better?”

You agreed furiously, “Y-Yes, but–”

“I know, I know. You need more.” Wanda kept her ministrations inside of you, stretched you better that you had to let out a guttural moan. The spot was back and she kept hitting it now mercilessly. “Is that it? That feels much better?”

“Oh, yes!”

Your needy core greedily swallowed Wanda’s fingers and you had no idea. So drunk in pleasure. So lost without her. You’re so lucky that you had her. Wanda was just as intoxicated as you, her dilated green eyes drinking up the warmth of your pussy and your writhing sight.

Upon making eye contact, you didn’t know how to react to the revelation of how those green eyes unashamedly looked at you. It was similar as Wanda would when she was examining you while fitting clothes – only now they appeared more hungry and she’ll devour you.

And the thing is that you will gladly let her. Another needy moan was ripped out of you, disturbing your rail of thoughts as Wanda added her thumb to the stimulation that circled around your clit, you laid there helplessly clenching on the bed sheets while you were in Wanda’s grasp.

“W-Wands… Wands! I think I’m going to pee,” You shyly inform the woman and the heel of your palm pressed against her clavicle to push her away, Wanda only shushed you.

It was familiar to you, you think that you’ve reached this extent but you always stopped because you were very unsure of what follows after.

You felt dirty and it was embarrassing how you were bucking your hips to meet Wanda’s plunging in your core. It halted your mood a little and Wanda immediately picked it up, as your walls clenched harder around her digits.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Wanda’s sultry voice spurred your gears again. You huffed and absorbed her words. “Don’t worry about it, you’re going to cum. Just listen to my voice baby, you’re doing so great for me.” It is more than okay, you repeat in your head. Wanda’s making you feel so good you felt like you were going to combust.

Your muscles grew tense around the abdomen area and all over your thighs - you feel the knot forming in there. You are frenzied to chase it.

“Cum for me, come on, my good girl.”

Wanda was sweating now as you were, and she kept ramming inside of your warm walls, a final hard stimulation around your clit did its job to untangle the knot you were feeling. 

“Wanda!” A guttural moan was ripped out of you.

It was the most angelic sound that Wanda has ever heard.

Your eyes were still closed shut. Still whining as you fall apart, it was the most freeing experience you’ve ever encountered. It’s easy to say that you were beyond satisfied this time around. Your body was almost floating and your mind was lightheaded–you’re sure of it. Your legs were spasming a little and it was hard to ignore the vivid feeling of liquid oozing out of your core. It was never ending and Wanda was tempted to drink them all up.

“You looked so beautiful there, honey. I’m proud of you.” She cooed sweetly in your ears and pressed a kiss on your forehead that was glistening with sheer sweat. 

You grew hot at her words. “Oh–!”

The bed shook again and creaked as Wanda rode out your orgasm. The squelching sound was more vivid to your ears. You cried out loud, feeling that it was too much, held your best friend’s wrist and finally Wanda pulled her digits out. Before your best friend can calm you down–

An aggressive banging resounded against Wanda’s dorm walls.

“It’s midterms week! Stop fucking!”

You froze. You completely forgot where you were and how thin the dorm walls were, making you cover your face with your palm. Meanwhile, Wanda couldn’t be more bothered – she simply laughed at how evidently embarrassed you are, threading through her own hair with a familiar glint in her eyes.

“I don’t think I can face the people outside anymore,” You admit, groaning as you sober up from the high. 

Why did you have to be so loud? 

“Mmm. Lucky for you, we’re staying inside for a while. I got some other tricks I wanted to show you.” Wanda bit her lip, crimson also spreading through her cheeks as she closed the gap again between you.

She can compare your gaze to a deer caught in headlights. Always so attentive and compliant.

With a little more touch from your best friend, you felt the hotness starting again in your lower stomach, making it twitch with familiar need – your studying session long forgotten and replaced with a different lesson.

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[izvmimi]

three for one - izuku x reader

cw: children mention. pregnancy mention. husband izuku, married female reader. reader wears a dress. a/n: a repost!

“I’ll be home in an hour. I can’t wait to see you.”

You smile ear to ear as you hang up, still savoring the sound of his voice, but in the immediate silence thereafter, the trepidation you’ve been feeling for the past month and a half resurfaces.

You let out a sigh as you set your cell phone onto the dinner table and return to the stove, turning pork cutlets that sizzle in oil and stirring a pot of soup. Rice steams in the cooker on the countertop, and the smell of Izuku’s favorite foods fill your home.

It smells heavenly, but you’re exhausted, and while the thought of the joy in his expression spurs you forth, you consider for a moment if you should have just aimed for takeout and an evening cuddling on the couch. The fact remains however that you haven’t seen your husband in two months and if you plan to give him life-changing news, you should probably do it over a home-cooked meal, even if he wouldn’t care either way. 

After all, you’ve been hiding the truth from him for months now, and you can’t possibly any longer.

Your belly turns a little, and you worry that you might throw up again before you see him. The table is set by now, and you clean up as much as you can of the kitchen, hoping that the sound of running water calms your nerves.

Before long, Izuku makes it home, right on time, and he’s a whirlwind of motion and joy - his bags go flying out of his hands, as he whisks you into his arm, nearly smothering you with an embrace.

“God, I missed you.”

He spins you as you reply the same, and you can’t help but laugh and squeeze silly tears from your eyes as you wrap your arms tighter around his neck. Your Izuku is back, safe, and you couldn’t be any more grateful. 

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” you say in a voice that’s thick with affection. Your lips meet quickly and don’t separate, engrossed in a dizzying kiss. Your hands run through his messy waves and once your lungs all scream for air, he buries his head into your neck, making a show of inhaling your scent.

“I missed you so much,” he repeats, kissing your cheek. “So much.”

More kisses pepper your skin, and you blink back a few tears, and nod somewhat embarrassed.  You’ve learned to be comfortable with his love language heavily reliant on touch. When he finally pulls back to look at you again, his smile is wide and innocent as usual, familiar and comforting.

Your Izuku, back for you. No scars, no injuries, you are thankful. 

Once he’s finally set you down completely, he begins to tell you excitedly about his adventure, but you don’t miss the gentle yet protective hold on your arms, and the careful once-over, where his eyes quickly scan your body for bruises and other injuries. It’s a habit he’s picked up over time that’s made it nearly impossible to hide your clumsiness from him (something that further reinforces the behavior). It makes you particularly nervous today however, given the circumstances.

Today you wear a baggy dress with an undershirt that covers your arms, the changes your body has undergone in his absence much less evident, but he can still see the anxiety that underlies the excitement in your eyes.

If he does notice, he doesn’t say anything immediately, opting again to kiss you on the forehead, and pet your hair gently.

“Were you good while I was gone?”

The warmth in your cheeks returns, and you nod but give him a playful punch on his shoulder anyway for the paternalistic remark. He grins, then changes the subject although he too is a bit nervous, your slightly muted behavior getting to him. His eyes glide over to the rest of your apartment finally, and then to the dinner table, lighting up immediately.

“Oh my God, that looks amazing.”

He moves over to the dinner table to peruse the wars; you follow him quickly, tension dissipating slightly with the discussion of food. 

“It better taste amazing too,” you joke, bumping himn on the hip. He takes the liberty to go one step forward and pat you on the ass before running off to the guest bathroom to wash his hands.

“Scrub beneath your fingernails!” you call after him, teasingly. You take the opportunity to wash your own hands in the kitchen sink again and consider what to do next.

How do you say this? Should  you wait and let him relax first? 

Surely it’s better if you say something before he puts two and two together? After all, the moment your clothes come off, he’ll notice.

Or perhaps he won’t. Perhaps he’ll just assume you’ve gained a few pounds and say nothing, kissing your belly softly as he’s prone to do. Perhaps it’ll be lovemaking as usual, and his usual sensitivity to your body and needs won’t be enough to notice.

But what if he does?

You were pregnant before he even left.

The days leading up to his trip had been hectic to say the least. Between the two of you preparing his departure, and the unnecessary safety precautions Izuku put in place for you for his absence, and your own work with the new Hero commission ramping up in urgency, you had barely registered that you’d missed one period and then another until you found yourself with a very positive pregnancy test.

What if it wasn’t the right time? Your marriage was still fresh, you’d just settled into the groove of being young professionals who lived together full time, and Izuku was so damn busy all the time-

“Come eat, love,” he calls from the other room. Your hand goes reflexively to your lower belly. 

You have to tell him now or you’ll agonize over it. Now is the time.

—

“Is it good?” you ask , smiling as you watch him eat with gusto. It’s a silly question because he’s nearly cleared his already overloaded plate.

“Incredible,” he says between ravenous bites. They say watching someone you love eat fills you up, and it’s true. Your cup is full of love.

“You’d say that even if it were awful,” you point out.

“Yes,” he admits, “but I haven’t had to,” he teases. You narrow your eyes at him playfully and he does an air kiss, cheesy enough to make you blow air out of your nose. You pick at your own dinner, but manage only to get a few bites in, which he notices.

It grows quiet for a moment as you think, and you wonder again if now is really the time, but he beats you to breaking the ice.

“Babe, is everything all right?”

Your heart starts to pound. You glance up from your plate towards him and he watches you curiously and patiently, a fleck of rice still stuck to his bottom lip. You consider deflecting, telling him something else that is not really a lie, because his gentle gaze and furrowed eyebrows betraying concern distress you. 

You don’t want to add more to his plate, figuratively.

And yet…

You swallow hard.

“Everything’s fine,” you start, and he nods, “but I have something to tell you.”

Izuku looks slightly surprised by the necessary warning shot. You don’t usually extend him that courtesy, so it’s clear that whatever you’ll say next is serious.

You breathe out slowly through your nose. Izuku watches you again carefully as you steel yourself.

“So you know how we haven’t been trying, but we’ve been a little less careful recently?”

Izuku’s eyes widen, and in the split second where the realization sets in, you can see his cheeks flush deeply and his mouth drop open in an ‘o’.

He immediately jumps to his feet.

“You’re pregnant?” he exclaims.

You nod slowly, and he seems to genuinely bloom with excitement.

“You… fuck, I-I can’t believe this! This is so exciting… babe!”

His hands rest on your shoulders then glide to your cheeks where he squishes them before kissing you again, barely able to contain himself.

Then immediately he starts to pace, the muttering beginning as he figures out what’s going to happen next.

“Why didn’t you tell me immediately? I can’t believe we’re gonna have a little girl or a boy-”

This is the hard part.

You slowly and deliberately raise three fingers and he freezes. A second then two passes, and you blink and then he blinks and the two of you watch each other in silence.

He mirrors the action, raising three fingers to meet yours.

“Do you mean… three…”

“Yes.”

The blood seems to drain out of his face.

“Oh. I need to sit down.”

He means it. As he settles back down into his seat, he genuinely looks dizzy and you make some sort of distressed sound between laughing and crying while he’s rubbing his temples, trying to make sense of the loop you’ve thrown him for.

“So… we’re having triplets.”

He looks up from the fixed point he was staring at on the table then at you, and you nod slowly. The both of you take a good look at each other again, and you sigh.

“I know this is so much all at once,” you start, “I’m sorry I-”

“Why are you apologizing for getting pregnant?” he interrupts with a chuckle. You give him a surprised look, then consider it. It’s true. Why are you apologizing for pregnancy?

He reaches over to grab your hand and squeezes it.

“We’ll be fine,” he says, pulling you towards him. You move over to him and he makes space for you to sit in his lap. Your head rests against his chest, and his heart, despite all the news you’ve just dumped on to him, now beats steadily despite yours that races.

Izuku thinks again, pulling your hand to his lips and kisses it softly. You can see the gears turn as you watch his profile, planning, strategizing. In this moment, you realized you were being silly. 

“We’ll be fine,” he repeats. “We can handle anything.”

He turns to you, green eyes twinkling. “Right?”

You smile, genuinely, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

“Right.”

Bonus:

“You would fucking have triplets after I have my second, wouldn’t you, asshole?!”

“Kacchan, this has nothing to do with you!”

“Like hell it doesn’t! How dare you compete with me?”

You and Bakugou’s wife give each other a look and both sip your tea in unison, in amusement.

[stevieschrodinger]

Link to Part Two

Part One

Eddie stares down at the plastic doodad. It proudly declares the word ‘pregnant’ on the little screen, cheerily oblivious to the fact that it's just ruined Eddie’s whole fucking life. It’s a word as well, the actual fucking word, ‘pregnant’ shown oh so confidently on the little screen. Eddie’s done a test before, one time when he had a scare as a teenager, that had been the sort that showed one line or two.

One lines for not, two for...are. Two would have looked like prison bars, which would have been ironic given being saddled with a pup is probably pretty equivalent to 25 to life.

Anyway. Eddie shakes it. Looks again. Throws the fucking thing in the bin.

Well fuck.

Eddie contemplates, very very briefly, getting rid of it. His mind and body recoil from that thought the same way it would from, like, rotted tuna. Or someone else's puke. Or like...salad.

Eddie’s Omega’s got a lot of needs and no Alpha willing to fill them. Eddie gets by, fobbing his Omega off with with a couple of short term friends with benefits arrangements and the odd one night stand. Mostly his Omega can’t tell the difference between having an Alpha and having any Alpha, so he makes do. It scratches the itch.

Unfortunately, that means this pup could have been fathered by any one of three dudes, and Eddie doesn’t have a fucking clue which of them it would be. Eddie would really rather not it be Alpha A, Alpha B is a piece of work with a big dick, and what's behind door number three would be potentially catastrophic.

Anyway. Eddie makes a decision at two am in his apartment bathroom, and it starts with two text messages, an email, and a phone call.

“Thanks for doing this so on the spur man,” Eddie tells his landlord as he hands over the keys. Ex landlord. It was only a room in a shared place. Had to share the bathroom on this floor with two other dudes, but, meh. It had been perfect for what Eddie needed, and more importantly, within Eddie’s budget.

His whole life is sitting in the back of his van, barely filling a third of the back. Which is ideal really, made clearing out quick and easy and Eddie’s uncertain about weather or not he should be doing any heavy lifting right now.

He makes three stop offs before he leaves for good, shifting the very last of his product at discount prices. He mournfully throws in his last two boxes of cigs with the last deal; going cold turkey is going to be the opposite of fun, but Eddie’s in it to win it, and he’s going to try his best as of right now.

Wayne already has the door open when Eddie hops out of his van, beer in hand, eyebrow raised, “heya old man.”

When Wayne sees Eddie dragging bags out, he lifts the brim of his cap, puts it back again, and heads inside. Eddie sees him move a couple of things out of Eddie’s old room, and although it’s empty and the bed is stripped to nothing, it’s untouched, “how long you back for?” Wayne asks him, offering a beer.

Eddie looks at the offered bottle, dripping condensation, and very pointedly doesn’t take it “so, about that.”

There’s a long drawn out moment, and Eddie’s sees the realization dawn, “oh Ed.”

“You like kids!”

Wayne sighs, pulls Eddie into a hug, “I just hope they sleep better’n you did. Don’t think I can go through that again.”

Eddie snorts a laugh into Wayne’s shoulder, all relieved. He hadn't doubted for a second that Wayne would back his play, Wayne's always been unshakably team Eddie, but to hear it said in no uncertain terms is still a huge weight lifted.

Eddie’s got a slightest curve of a bump, small enough that it’s not nearly noticeable yet, especially with Eddie’s usual wardrobe. To go along with his bump, he’s got a scan booked at the Omega Health place, an insatiable craving for garlic mushrooms, and a job.

An actual honest job. Alright, a temp job, because he’s pregnant and no one in their right mind is going to hire a pregnant Omega for a full time permanent gig. So he is, conveniently enough, covering maternity leave for a beta girl at the record store. But that doesn’t matter right now, the moons aligned, and Eddie jumped at the opportunity. He’s going to have a secure pay check for the next seven or so months, and right this second, that’s what counts.

He can’t drink. He can’t smoke. He can’t do drugs and he’s most certainly not going to party. Eddie does the next best thing he can think of; he goes to the library. This is his reward now, his fun, his safe space; he’s going to reward himself with a good book. A good free book.

Turns out registering himself for a library card is a ten minute thing, and then he’s done, bit of plastic in hand, he wonders the shelves looking for the fantasy section. He rounds the corner into the main room only to find a dude reading and signing along to a bunch of little kids. He has the book propped up on a thing to keep his hands free and the pages open so the kids can see.

He’s encouraging them to sign along with a bunch of the words.

He has good hair...like, really good hair. There’s something familiar about the guy that Eddie can't place...until he does.

Holy fucking shit. That’s King Steve.

And he’s in a library...wearing fucking gold rimmed spectacles and a sweater vest.

And he’s hot. He’s still hot. He laughs at something and leans forward to help a toddler with the placement of her chubby little fingers and Eddie’s ovaries fucking explode.

He walks away. For self preservation he walks away. He forgets what he just saw because there was no way it was real. He’s been going through a dry spell, hasn’t got laid since he moved back to Hawkins and now he’s seeing mirages of his high school crush, that’s all.

That’s all it can be.

Until Eddie goes to the fancy scanner machine to check out his little pile of four paperback fantasy books and a deep Alpha voice is asking if he needs anything and he’s, like, right there. And he smells of library and Alpha and whatever nice thing he washes his fucking sweater vests in.

Jesus.

“No,” Eddie squeaks, “I’m okay.”

“Eddie?” Steve frowns at him, tilting his read and looking over the top of his glasses in a way that should be fucking criminal, “Eddie Munson right? I thought you moved away?”

“I have. Did. I mean, I did do that. Previously. Back now. Clearly.” Shut up shut up shut up and Steve can probably smell his embarrassment because he’s standing closely enough to clearly scent Eddie and Steve’s senses must be absolutely pinpoint because his eyes drop to Eddie’s stomach, then spring up to his neck. He frowns, like, the tiniest bit.

Eddie’s pregnant, and unmated, and Steve’s clocked that in about four seconds flat which, great. Humiliation complete.

But Steve’s face clears as quick as it had clouded, the whole thing passing so fast Eddie’s now not even sure he saw it, “so it’d been cool to catch up, you wanna wait a minute, I’m just about to have lunch?”

“Errr…I mean. I wouldn't want to impose or anything-”

“Steve!” And holy shit, if Steve is the ghost of Christmas past or some shit, the second ghost just rocked up in the form of Robin fucking Buckley of all people. Eddie doesn't even understand why they’re even friends, Steve was a topnotch jock and a total fucking dickwad, and Buckley was a band nerd.

This makes less sense than Steve’s sweater vest.

“Yeah, come on Eddie, lets go sit outside,” Eddie gets tugged along in their wake, somehow, and ends up sitting on a bench outside in the sun.

Robin had a bag of take out in her hand which she gives to Steve, and he takes out a carton of something that instantly makes Eddie’s mouth water, Eddie looks back up in time to catch Steve widening his eyes at Robin, tilting his head off to the side sharply in silent gesture for her to fuck off over there. She signs something, real quick. Steve nods.

Eddie doesn’t know a single lick of sign language, but he's pretty sure that even if he did, what happened was so fast he would have missed it anyway, “so, Eddie, great to see you, but I, shit, pretty sure I’ve left the...stove on.”

Eddie frowns at the take out and back to Robin but before he can point out what a steaming pile of bullshit that is, she’s already power walking off and shouting, “byyyyeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

“I, ah, got garlic mushrooms and broccoli and some stirfry-”

It’s too late for Eddie. He’s done. Stick a fork in him. He has no idea what’s happening here but he zones in on the garlic mushroom part of that like a heat seeking missile. A secondary part of his brain is screaming loudly that the Alpha has provided, the Alpha wants to share his food with Eddie. Alpha Alpha Alpha.

Eddie takes the container and the bamboo spork thing Steve hands him, “sorry, I never get chopsticks, no fucking clue how to use them.”

“I can show you,” Eddie says, without thinking it through or registering the implication or stopping to swallow, which means he just spoke with his mouth full of food.

“I’d like that,” Steve tells him, “when can I take you out for dinner?”

Which, Eddie’s brain does stall out there. Because. Well. Lots of things. But he was pretty certain Steve had clocked his specific circumstances earlier, but now he’s not so sure, “I’m pupped,” his mouth supplies without his permission, so he shoves a whole thing of broccoli in there to try and stop it happening again.

Steve hums, eating his beef thing very neatly, “no bite though,” he points out, and Eddie makes an agreeable noise, “maybe we can fix that,” Eddie nearly chokes.

[nincompoopydoo]

Hey! Can you please write something for Aaron Hotchner with the prompt ‘I never saw such a woman, she would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.’ ?

YOU ARE IN LOVE

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader WORD COUNT: 800+ SUMMARY: Hotch is in love and you’re trying to figure out who. Little did you know… A/N: can u tell i love writing confessions ;-; and peek the ts reference! anyway hotch has my whole heart. thanks for the request! note: paragraphs in italics is a flashback. WARNINGS: swearing. reader being kinda clueless. mentions of a gun. no beta we die like men. PROMPT: “I never saw such a woman. She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.” [from this prompt list] MASTERLIST

“I know that look, Hotch,” you hint with a natural inquisitive tone, “You are in love.”

This was normal for the two of you – an unlikely friendship with a shared need for coffee to survive late-night paperwork, rudimentary for a budding friendship of otherwise Quantico strangers. You crossed paths from your work with the CNU on the floor below and first backed the BAU a year ago with a hostage negotiation. You were new to the job but rose quickly up the ranks. Ever since, you kept seeing each other everywhere.

11 pm. Coffee. You’d always meet.

He isn’t sure how the topic of being in love came about, but he suspects you had a hunch for quite some time. For a moment, Hotch’s heart drops at your words but quickly catches the curiosity in your tone, and the general ignorance to the fact that your prying means a lot more to him than you realised.

You really haven’t got a clue.

Hotch feels a beckoning of warmth flaring in his cheeks, spurring a sheepish smile and a passing light chuckle. His gaze trails the rising steam billowing from his black coffee and disappearing into the expanse of his office.

He shifts his eyes to you, casually hunched in your seat, legs stretched out, and your coat hung at the back of the chair. You’re watching him with a curious look.

“In love is a bit of a stretch.”  

That’s a lie. He’s very much in love with you.

Your smile curves into a sly smirk. You know he’s lying.

“So, you don’t deny it?”

“Are you interrogating me?”

You scoff, shifting in your seat to cross your arms. “Look, be thankful I’m not using hostage negotiation tactics on you right now. Answer the question, Hotch.”

Hotch laughs, and it leaves him with a small smile. He shakes his head, gaze falling to his mug once more. “I don’t deny it.”

You simply hum. “I won’t pry, but I believe it’s customary to tell me how you met and what she’s like.”

Hotch raises a brow, and you reflect his expression – it’s a challenge. He’ll never make it out of Quantico if he doesn’t tell you.

With a heavy sigh, he ultimately gives in. 

“We first met on the field. She assisted us on a case…”

“Agent Hotchner!”

He spins around to see you trudging across the road while strapping on your tactical vest. You introduced yourself with a polite smile through squinted eyes under the glaring sun and shook his hand. Firmly.

You’re CNU – hostage negotiator. A fresh face.

“We appreciate you coming on short notice,” Hotch says curtly, though the smile that tugs his mouth betrays his usually serious demeanour.

“Well, anything for our upstairs neighbours.” You beam up at him, and Hotch prays that his suddenly flushed cheeks are hidden under the shade of the nearby trees.

You make a final adjustment to your vest with a light huff and unclasp the holster that secured your gun, withdraw it and extend your firearm to Hotch in a heartbeat. It’s a silent request and an act of trust.

Hotch hesitantly took the gun from your grasp. “You sure about this?”

You pressed your lips in a thin line. You were terrified. “Yeah... Unsub isn’t gonna talk with a gun in his face.”

Another smile his way. “Just cover me while I’m in there.”

Your words resonate with a heaviness that strikes directly at his heart. There’s a clear passion for your job despite your horrified disposition. It isn’t noticeable, but he sees it. He respects that about you.

Hotch just nods assuringly, “Always.”

“– Alright, pause. She’s highly intelligent, an excellent communicator, fears nothing, and I’m assuming incredibly hot...” You stop yourself and laugh to yourself, expression gleaming with amusement. “I never saw such a woman. She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.”

You don’t mean to, but he can see you trying to ‘crack the case’: the identity mysterious woman. He knows you’ll uncover the truth eventually. Despite harbouring a confession for months, Hotch understands there may never be a right time. It needs to be now.

So, he allows you to piece it together.

“She certainly is.”

You’re not listening anymore, brows shooting up like you just had a revelation. “Wait, you mentioned she’s a negotiator?”

“Yeah, she’s from the floor below.”

Your brows furrow with confusion.

“The floor below?! But there’s only Annie, who’s very much happily married, and–”

A beat. Realisation settles upon your face, and Hotch’s heart leaps.

Oh.

OH.

You blink at him, dumbfounded.

It’s you.

“...You’re in love with me?”

Your words are barely audible and careful, bearing their fragile weight and gravity. There’s a crease between your brows, eyes gleaming with expectancy. 

He has never been so sure.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

A beat. He says it so plainly that it assures any doubts you had before. Your breath hitches.

Hotch is in love with you.

Instantly, your face splits into a bashful smile as you reach for his hand, a gentle touch to your palm, fingers intertwined with your own.

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

[deepdarkdelights]

Instinct | Taehyung x Reader

Pairing: Hybrid Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Stalking (in the animal sense lol) Fear, Blood, Murder, Kind of Cannibalism? Hunting Animals and Humans, Depictions of Dead Bodies, Non-consensual touching, Human Experimentation, Depictions of Gore, Break In, Attempted Murder, Light Spice at End, Insinuated Dub-Con, Taehyung is kind of a switch tbh

Preview: He was huddled in the middle of the road, his arms wrapped around himself as he remained crouched on the wet pavement. But you knew he was looking at you. His golden eyes were glowing back at you, like a predator glaring at you from the depths of the jungle. There was something inside you that knew that he was dangerous, an echo of intuition from thousands of years before you. But you were a modern human, you were good at ignoring your instincts. 

A/N: I wrote this in two days due to your guys' interest in the prompt. I chose Tae instead of Jimin, he only has two fics on my blog! Anyways it’s two in the morning and I’m really tired, this is really short compared to the majority of my works but I hope you still enjoy it. ILY and I can’t wait to see you in my inbox and the comments ~ good night my loves 💜

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, the words cracked and broken. 

“No, you’re not.” You sighed.  

He always did this. He always turned on the tears every time you called him out on his bullshit and you had a terrible habit of falling for it every time. He cried, he apologized, but in a few days he was back on his usual shit. 

“But I am, I really am!” He insisted, tears pooling in pretty brown eyes. 

“Really? I don’t think he sees it that way,” You said with a jerk of your head in the direction of the limp body splayed on the ground. “In fact, I really doubt he sees much anymore.”

“But he-“

“No!” You yelled, spurring a flinch from him, “You always have some excuse but not this time! I am tired of spending my evenings scrubbing blood out of the grout!” 

He could only pout in response because there was no way of getting around it, you were right. It was unfair that you always had to be the one to clean up his messes. But he just couldn’t help himself, he was a killer by design. Not nature, design. 

You let out another laborious, tired sigh. It seemed that was all you did these days, ever since you had found Taehyung. 

You had almost hit him with your car. It was late at night, a new moon to be exact, the darkness thick and just barely penetrable by your headlights. He had come out of nowhere, his lithe body trapped between two beams of light before you swerved out of the way just missing him by mere inches. 

You could remember the feeling of your tight grasp on the leather of the steering wheel, the way your throat constricted and how your chest rapidly rose and fell, and the sound of catchy pop music that was so ill fitting and off putting for such a dramatic turn of events. It was ingrained in your memory, a turning point in your life that you would never forget. 

He was huddled in the middle of the road, his arms wrapped around himself as he remained crouched on the wet pavement. But you knew he was looking at you. His golden eyes were glowing back at you, like a predator glaring at you from the depths of the jungle. There was something inside you that knew that he was dangerous, an echo of intuition from thousands of years before you. But you were a modern human, you were good at ignoring your instincts. 

As you approached him you noticed several things about him. The dirt and blood that stained his honey skin, his taunt, tense, strong muscles, and of course the ears protruding from his thick, dark curls, and the tail that swung in agitation from his tailbone. 

Taehyung was, quite literally, one of a kind. 

An embryo spliced with the DNA of an apex predator, something that had never existed before him, a hybrid. 

He had hissed at you, stopping you four feet away from his crumpled form. His teeth glinted in the light, a set of fangs protruding from the top row of his teeth with a smaller matching set on the bottom. That noise had every nerve in your body tingling in fright, yet still you persisted. 

You made yourself smaller, lowering yourself to the ground so that you were lower than he was with your arms at your sides, every vulnerable point of your body open and exposed to him. 

You remembered the feeling of his nose nudging at your pulse point, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your neck, the rumble of a growl deep in his chest before it faded to a gentle chuff as he nuzzled his face against the column of your throat.  There were serrated teeth hidden behind beautiful full lips, one little bite would sever a major artery and blood would arch through the dark sky. 

Taehyung was a dangerous brand of beautiful. 

You often liked to joke to yourself that you were a lonely woman who took in a stray cat. It was easier to use humor to veil the harsh reality of what you had actually brought into your home. 

Taehyung quickly became attached to you, it was almost like he had imprinted on you. It was the only way that you could explain his sudden and intense adoration towards you especially when you remembered the way he looked at you when he first saw you. It was like he was hungry. 

That hunger was ever present in his eyes, buried beneath the loving gaze it's embers still burned. The fiery gold cooled to a deep brown, his eyes wide in wonderment as he watched you. 

You hissed in pain when he dug his fingers into your arms as you tried to help lower him into the tub. A hiss died in his throat as he slowly sunk into the warm water, a gentle purr took its place. 

“There you go,” You hummed as you helped him wash, the tub water steadily growing murky as you scrubbed the grime and blood from his skin. 

The noise he made as you washed his hair, massaging his scalp and the base of his ears, was heavenly. A beautiful baritone groan that melted into a purr. After all, panthers were still cats. 

When you pulled the drain plug and went to grab a towel, he spoke to you for the first time. 

His hold on your arm tightened, his soft eyes turned primal once more. “Don’t leave.” 

His voice was deep and raspy. It sounded like he hadn’t spoken in a long time, it sounded animalistic. It suited him well. 

Over time you learned Taehyung never wanted to be alone. He clung to you at all times no matter what you were doing and despite your protests he followed you to bed every night. He would wrap you up tightly in his embrace sealing you into his prison-like grasp with a leg draped over your hip. His adoration was constricting. 

“It was cold,” He finally explained to you, “They kept me in a room all by myself. It was all metal and concrete, they fed me with long silver tongs. I was always alone, the only touch I knew, hurt.” 

You held him tighter that night, your heart ached for your panther. All he wanted was for someone to love him, he was just as human as anyone else. 

“Please don’t hurt me.” He whispered, nudging the back of your head with his nose and breathing in your scent as his pretty fingers smoothed over your ribs in a slow, circular pattern. 

In reality, it wasn’t you that would end up hurting anyone. 

You had noticed something was wrong when he lost his appetite. He would stare down at his plate with a bored and confused look in his eyes, poking at whatever he was supposed to be eating with a lack of interest. 

“Please, Tae,” You would beg, using the soft and soothing voice you knew he responded well to, “Just a few bites for me? You don’t want to hurt my feelings, do you?” 

He would acquise with those big adoring eyes before taking small and faux enthusiastic bites. But it was clear he wasn’t enjoying it and you had an idea as to why that was. But it was easier for your own sanity if you ignored the glaring problem. 

It became unignorable the night a man broke into your house. 

Taehyung had heard it first, the shattering of glass and the metal squeak of door hinges. He had crept out of bed and stalked into the hallway, clinging to the shadows as he watched the man attempt to sneak further into your home. He was trespassing into his territory and that was a dire mistake. 

You were awoken by the screaming. You jolted upright and were greeted by your pitch black bedroom. The screams persisted, deep, panicked, blood curdling screams followed by a wet gurgle and then an ever scarier silence. 

That feeling was there again, that intuition that was buried inside of you that was begging you to lock and barricade the door and not go investigating the source of those screams. But Taehyung was missing and you were scared without him. 

The hallway was dark, but a single beam of moonlight shone through the broken window of the front door and illuminated the carnage in front of you. 

Taehyung was bent over the body of a man. His tail was slowly skirting over the floor in delight as he ripped a chunk of flesh from the man’s shoulder and tilted his head back. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, the blood on his face gleaming in the moonlight. 

You could see the man on the floor now, his throat had been ripped open and blood was steadily pooling around him. His eyes were vacant, his jaw was slack. He was dead. Taehyung had killed him. 

Taehyung was eating him. 

There had always been a part of you that had considered this to be a possibility. It explained why Taehyung was in the state he was in the night that you had found him. It explained how he had escaped that facility and why he wasn’t hungry for days after. He had killed and consumed his handlers. 

Despite the panther ears and tail, you often forgot that Taehyung wasn’t entirely human. He was so sweet with you, so clingy and adorable. But he was still an apex predator. He didn’t want to be fed with tongs or served cooked meals. He needed to hunt, it was ingrained in his DNA. 

You watched in fascinated horror as his teeth and textured tongue expertly removed flesh from bone. He was finally eating. 

You took a step back only to trip over a bag that had belonged to the intruder. Out of it spilled horrifyingly familiar items. Duct tape, zip ties, knives. It was a kill kit. Your breathing stuttered and your heart dropped. There was not a doubt in your mind as to what that man had planned to do, and Taehyung had stopped him. He protected you. 

His golden eyes were looking at you now, their narrowed predatory gaze relaxing, and his soft round eyes returned. He rose up from his animalistic crouch with a fluidity no normal man could possess and slowly approached you. 

You closed your eyes as he neared you, your body on fire from genuine fear. It was a toxic blend, the love and the fear that you felt for him. You flinched when his large hand cupped your face and held your breath when you felt his lips softly drag over your cheek leaving a streak of warm blood in their wake. 

“I’m sorry,” He mumbled, a stray tear escaping his eye and rolling down your cheek, “I’m so hungry.” 

When you opened your eyes you were met with quite a sight. Taehyung had always been beautiful, the most beautiful man that you had ever seen. But the way he looked now made you realize how sick you were. How could you think he looked beautiful with those full lips stained red and the glaze of a shed tear streaked down the curve of his face. 

Taehyung never asked to be made, and now he had to suffer the consequences of his creation. 

“It’s okay baby,” You cooed, your thumb brushing a bead of blood from his lower lip that he chased with his tongue, swiping it off of the tip of your finger. “Finish your meal.” 

~~~~~~~

There was a shift that night. 

The relationship between the two of you was changing. You could see it in the way he watched you. It was a different kind of hunger, one for a companionship he had never been able to have. 

And his regular appetite was changing too. 

You tried taking him to the forest, letting him hunt small and big game. And it worked, but the human side of him would often combat the animal side. He craved the complexity of hunting humans. He craved satiating his wrath against humans, the very beings that had created him.

Animals worked in the short term, but it was never long before another man ended up dead in your yard or in this case, on the kitchen floor. 

“You said it was okay if it was bad people!” Taehyung tried, his ears pressing down flat against his skull as his tail twitched behind him.

“Yes, bad people Tae! Intruders, rapists, murderers, not delivery guys!” 

“He entered my territory-“

“This is my house, Tae! My house! Don’t start with the territory shit again.”

“I can’t help it, you know that! You don’t feel what I feel, it’s instinctual, I need to do this!”

You gripped your hair tightly in distress before leaning against the counter and dropping your head into your hands. 

“People are going to start noticing, Tae. You can’t keep doing this. If it’s not the police then it’s going to be the people that made you and they’ll take you away from me, is that what you want?”

“No!” He yelled, grabbing you by your shoulders and spinning you around to face him. “I want to stay with you, please don’t let them take me away!” 

You softened as he began to cry again, his tears wearing away at you like they always did even though you were very aware of the fact that you couldn’t keep letting him do this. You cupped his cheek and lightly wiped his tears away as he bumped the side of his face against your hand before laying a bloody kiss to your palm. 

You couldn’t think rationally when he treated you like this. Your head was also hazy with desire when he did this. It was completely and utterly unfair. 

“Come on, I’ll put you to bed.” You hummed before taking his hand and guiding him to your shared room. 

It was even harder to think clearly when he looked so adorable, wide eyed and curled up beneath your blankets. That was why you needed the distance. You needed to think about what more you could do, you couldn’t keep letting him kill innocent guys whose worst crime was getting a little handsy, like the delivery guy. You knew what it was, you knew what desire looked like in someone’s eyes. Taehyung was wiping out any man he saw as competition. He had said it himself, it was instinctual.  

Your heart ached when his eyes filled with confusion and it tore in half when despair overtook him as you shut and locked the door, trapping him on the other side. You could hear him scramble across the floor and you watched as the door knob jiggled. 

“Please open the door!” He called through the wood, “Why are you doing this, please let me out!”

“Just calm down Taehyung, go to sleep, I'll be right back.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you, please open the door, I’ll be good I promise! I won’t hurt you!” 

“I just need some space, just lay down, I’ll be back.” You said firmly despite how horrible you felt for confining him to your room. 

“No, no, no, no! Don’t leave me, please! I’ll be good!” He continued to yell and continued to break your heart. 

You couldn’t bear to listen to his anguished, panicked cries especially with the knowledge that you were the cause of them. 

You could still hear his yelling and banging on the door as you dragged the body out of the kitchen, a long and laborious effort that left a large streak of blood behind you. This wasn’t the first time that you had to do this but usually you had Taehyung to take care of all the heavy lifting while you took care of the cleanup. It was a morbid, macabre chore, but one you had come accustomed to frighteningly quick.

In your backyard, there were several piles of dirt. Some had been freshly turned over while others had sat undisturbed for some time. Above each pile sat a freshly planted rose bush. There had been a time where your backyard was barren and neglected. Ever since Taehyung had entered your life, you had done quite a bit of gardening…against your will. 

You huffed in exhaustion as you patted the soil smooth with your shovel. You would need to pick up another rose bush tomorrow. 

You had figured this would be the best way to deal with the problem, and it helped Taehyung in some odd, primal way. Sometimes he would sit outside with a satisfied look on his face like he was proud of what he had done. You knew it was because it felt that he had eliminated another threat or competitor. It meant that he had you all to himself again. 

Fear and love are a volatile blend. Could you look past your fear because you loved him? Or did you love him because you were afraid? Afraid of what would happen if you didn’t shower him with affection and attention. Would he turn on you too?

The sound of a loud crack frightened you causing you to drop the shovel. It clattered to the ground and rolled over in the grass, suddenly becoming far more interesting than it had been moments ago. 

You glanced back up at the house and watched, frozen in shock, as the door was thrown open and slammed up against the siding of the house. Taehyung stood on the back steps, his hands bloody from clawing at and breaking through your bedroom door. His chest was heaving from exertion and anxiety and for the first time in a long while, he scared you. His gaze narrowed in on you, those panther eyes glowing with hunger and desire once they found you. 

With blood and dirt caked beneath your nails you were reminded of the kill he made not all that long ago. The fear you felt was all too real. And, on instinct, you turned and you ran. 

You really should have known better. He was an apex predator, he was built for the chase and for the hunt. You had watched the way he enjoyed tracking and stalking his prey before going in for the kill. But in reality, everything you had done up until this point had not made sense. You should have kept driving that night, you shouldn’t have brought him home, you certainly shouldn’t have let him sleep in your bed, and you definitely should have ran the first time he had killed and consumed another human being. 

Running was instinct, it was the only thing that you did that made sense. 

But you couldn’t make it far. You were exhausted from dragging and burying that body, you were running on empty with a dash of adrenaline. And Taehyung, he was stronger than you, faster than you, and could even see in the dark. It was embarrassing that you had even attempted to escape him. 

His strides were completely silent, you had realized he was closing in on you too late and within seconds his arms were wrapped around your chest and dragging you down into the grass. 

It had happened so quickly that you didn’t register it, you laid on your back, frozen in the grass as you processed what happened. And once you looked up and caught sight of his canines you began to writhe beneath him, managing to turn over and scramble a foot away before he grabbed you by your hips and dragged you back beneath him. He caged you in between his arms and pressed his body weight against you until you collapsed chest first into the ground. 

“Taehyung, wait!” You cried as you felt him shove his face in the juncture between your neck and shoulder. 

You closed your eyes then, waiting for him to make the fatal bite that you had seen him deliver time and time again. But there was nothing. You jerked with a surprised cry as you felt his tongue glide over your pulse point in slow languid laps. 

“Tae, what are you-“ He cut you off with a menacing growl, one that told you you were not going to dissuade him from doing what he felt needed to be done. 

An involuntary gasp parted your lips as you felt his hips grind down against you, his hands sliding up towards your wrists and holding them in an iron grip as his slow licks transitioned into hot, wet, open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck. He was making sure he marked up every inch of skin that was exposed to him. 

“I can’t help it,” He whined, his voice breathy and deep as he ground himself against you even harder than before, spurring a soft cry from you. “I need you.” 

You supposed this was the better alternative to him killing you. But still, it didn’t feel quite right.

“I can’t.” You groaned. 

A menacing snarl echoed beside your ear and in one quick movement he flipped you over onto your back and pulled your legs tightly over his hips. His hold was so strong he wasn’t giving you an inch to move unless it was against him and in the way that he desired. 

And in a moment of pure need he firmly gripped your jaw and pressed his lips against yours in a searing kiss. Everything about him was primal, even the way that he kissed. It wasn’t particularly skilled, it was definitely his first, but it didn’t lack passion or desire. He wouldn’t even let you breathe, your lungs burning and singing in desperation for air as he moaned into your mouth while desperately rutting against you. 

“Don’t leave me,” He moaned in between desperate, relentless kisses. 

‘Tae-,” You tried again only for your words to be smothered once more. 

“No, I won’t let you leave me.” 

[wardenparker]

The Stars Re-Align, part 2

Frankie Morales x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 9.8k Warnings: Reader is given an age and a grown daughter. Cursing, food/alcohol, mentions of military service (obviously), complicated relationships, family drama, of-age teenage sexuality, flashback, abusive relationship, domestic abuse, slaps to the face, verbal abuse. Summary: A trip down memory lane brings a conversation full of honesty with your daughter. Frankie frets about the future with Will. And then the world turns upside down all over again. (This chapter begins with a flash back). Notes: Rated E for an Explicit portrayal of an abusive relationship. Even if the on-page violence is minimal, it still deserves to be tagged.

“What time are your parents getting home?” The most frequently asked question you and Frankie have for each other these days, as you decide where to hang out after school and what hanging out will actually consist of.

Frankie smirks and shrugs slightly, eyes dark and full of promise as he slides them up and down your body. “Don’t know.” He admits. “Late. They said something about bowling after Dad got off work.”

The subway is packed full but somehow Frankie still manages to get impressively closer to you as the stops roll by. “Your place, then,” your head bobs in agreement while you try to think a little with his hands on you. Two more stops.

“My place.” He leans in, nuzzling your neck and dropping a kiss on your thready pulse. Grinning when it jumps against his lips.

“I’ll—” It’s all you can do not to gasp any time Frankie kisses you, and you’re in public. “I’ll call my Mom from your phone. Let her know.”

“Tell her you’re staying the night.” He encourages, knowing that he won’t want to let you go home. You live two stops from him and it’s close enough to swing by and have you get dressed in the morning. Or you can wear his clothes. He doesn’t mind that at all.

“It’s a good thing she likes you,” you huff, but again the sound turns into a swallowed moan when he touches you. “I’ll tell her.”

“Good.” Frankie loves how you melt for him. It’s something he takes pride in, aware that you do talk to your friends about your relationship, and that you only have good things to say.

"Not gonna let me study at all, are you?" It's a half-hearted gripe, although you both do have homework to do. Senior year is starting out better than you could possibly imagine and college applications will go out soon. Everything is just as perfect as you could possibly want.

“I bet you that you’ll get an A after our study session.” He chuckles in your ear. “Every prep test you get right, you get an orgasm.”

"Frankie." The little whine only spurs him on. If not for the train jolting to a stop and the hustling bustle of people moving all around you, he'd probably slip his hand under your clothes right there on the train.

“What?” He gives you an innocent look. “You know I’m good for them.”

"I know you are," you huff as he moves you off the train and onto the platform along with the masses. "That's why I'm whining."

“So you’re going to be a good girl and get every answer right, aren’t you?” It’s become a game to him, to see how often he can turn you on in public and he loves how responsive you are. His baggy pants hiding his hard cock from the public as he teases you.

"I would get every answer right anyway." It's another huff, but it's good natured. Mostly just the fact that he's so damn good at getting you all riled up no matter where you are.

“I know, my girl is smart.” He hums, guiding you towards the stairs. “Sexy, sweet, nice ass…shit that’s not an ‘s’ word.” He huffs playfully, just wanting to hear you laugh.

It works, because of course it does, and the sound bubbles out of you as you hustle up the stairs to street level with Frankie right behind you. The extra sway in your hips is just for him, but if someone else notices you couldn't care less. At times like this your world is just narrowed down completely and entirely to Frankie.

Friends for years, Frankie had finally gathered the courage to ask you out in middle school, elated when you said yes. There hadn’t been the drama others had, no huge fights and breaking up only to get back together, the two of you had been steady. He had tried to brush off all the jokes about getting married straight out of school and you popping out six kids right away. You both had plans that didn’t include kids for a few years. At least until after he was a higher rank in the Army. “Shake that ass, baby!” He calls out, whistling in a catcall.

If you were any version of yourself except a teenager desperately in love, you might have huffed at him or made a face, but in this moment you just giggle and throw even more sway into your movements until you’re all the way at the top of the stairs and waiting for him to join you.

“Goddamn.” Staring at your ass, Frankie nearly trips over his own feet on the stairs, catching himself and grinning when you giggle at him again.

“If we don’t get you home in one piece, you don’t get to have any fun,” you remind him, clicking your tongue teasingly.

“Ass.” He sticks his tongue out at you playfully.

"Didn't you just point out how much you love my ass?" The playful retort comes with a kiss to his cheek, and you grab his hand to head for his apartment.

Like others in the building, the apartment had been the Morales family home for years. Making the habit of pulling out his keys and unlocking the door almost automatic. It’s a long-ingrained motion.

“Any sign of siblings?” Before you sling down your backpack on Frankie’s desk chair, you bite your lip and look around curiously for his brother and sister.

"Nope." Frankie doesn't see any of the tell-tale signs of the younger ones being around. He would be tripping over their damn shoes around the door.

“Thank goodness.” The less time you have to spend being social, the more time you and Frankie have to yourselves, and you grab him by the wrist to pull him down the hall to his bedroom.

"Eager to study, already?" Frankie laughs as he lets you drag him away from the living area.

“We can study while other people are home.” You throw a pout at him over your shoulder. “Or do you not want to try what I learned from the copy of Cosmopolitan that Shelly Estrada stole from her mother?”

“What was in it?” He’s always interested in what you learn from those magazines.

“Something we absolutely could not hide under a blanket.” Giggling a bit, you bite your lip and toss your backpack down in his room at the end of the hall just in time for his arms to come around you. “And involves me being on top of you, which I know you love.”

His brow wings up and he grins instantly, always loving when you are bouncing on his cock. “But we had fucked with you on top under the blanket.”

“I know.” Your eyes flash with mischief as your boyfriend practically slams his bedroom door shut. “This is different.”

The click of the lock is loud, securing you inside and keeping out the rest of the world through the action. “Tell me.”

“You get on your back.” One of his favorite views of you is from his back so that isn’t a hard sell. “But when I get on top of you, it’s flipped. So you can eat me out while I suck your cock.”

“Fuck.” Frankie hisses, eyes widening in absolute delight as he quickly reaches for his shirt to pull it off. He loves using his tongue on you and enjoys the very boastful reputation you have given him by bragging to your friends. “I’ve seen it in a porno.” He admits, nodding in agreement. “Fuck, take your clothes off baby.”

“Boys have pornos and girls have Cosmo,” you tease, already pulling your t-shirt over your head.

“Girls can watch porno too.” Frankie snorts. “Bet it would turn you on and give you ideas.”

“Girls can watch porno too.” Toeing off your shoes and pulling off your socks lets you strip your jeans off too, and you stand unafraid and unapologetic in your underwear in front of Frankie. “But where would I get it?”

“Watch it with me.” He groans, pushing down his own jeans and underwear so his hard cock springs out and bobs in the air. “Sit on my dick while you watch another girl get fucked.”

“Next time,” you promise him, though it’s a little breathless as your mouth waters at the sight of him and you pull your bra and panties off as fast as humanly possible. “I want to try this first.”

"I want to try it too, baby." He is always eager to try new things, positions, everything with you. He had cum so quickly the first time he slid inside you. Embarrassed, but you hadn't blamed him for it. Now, he was proud of the fact that you were cumming before him, completely boneless as he fucks you into the bed of his childhood bedroom every chance he gets. You are his everything.

******

Sitting home alone last night was probably a bad idea, but you hadn’t wanted to wreck Rachel’s night. Instead you barely slept — crying intermittently and picking at the remains of your birthday cake with a seemingly endless margarita in your hand while you watched rom-coms and thought about Frankie. Just because Santiago was probably right to end things didn’t make it easier.

Now you’re hungover with your face bowed over a cup of coffee and trying to lecture yourself into making breakfast while you try to figure out what the fuck to do with yourself today.

There’s an extreme sense of guilt that has settled over Frankie’s shoulders. He had – unknowingly – crashed your party and ruined things for you. And changed his entire life in the process. Another child. A grown ass woman who was half his. He hadn’t told Marie, couldn’t even find the words, although he had scooped up his precious little girl and held her close, locking himself into the nursery with her.

As if you were feeling some of those vibes beat out to you across towns, you abandon the thought of breakfast for now in favor of going upstairs to dig out your oldest Memory Box. The box full of keepsakes and memories all pertaining to Frankie. Not the one that contains all of the pregnancy-related things that you’d shown Rachel multiple times in her life, but the secret one you keep tucked in the back of your closet that has things like ticket stubs to the movies and concerts you went to together or the endless Polaroids you took on every occasion. That box. That is the one you bring back downstairs to wallow in at the dining room table.

******

“I don’t think I need to leave Mom alone today.” Rachel tells Benny, sighing softly and reaching for his hand. “This doesn’t make things weird, does it?” She’s asking yet again, but she needs the reassurance.

“We’ll adjust, baby.” He promises her. She needs the comfort of hearing it again and, to Benny’s surprise, each time he says it he means it that much more.

“I didn’t know. I feel like I should have.” She confesses quietly.

“How?” That still doesn’t make sense to him. There is no way she could have known just based on instinct. “Absolutely nobody thought this was gonna happen, baby girl. And it doesn’t change how much I love you.”

“I know, I just—” she clings to his hand and sighs. “I’ve always had this fantasy of my dad coming back and finding us.” She admits quietly. “And now…I don’t know what to do.”

“Frankie’s a good guy.” Benny huffs, knowing that sounds lame. “He’s been through so much. Saved our skins way more times than I can count. And the way he is with Luna? Baby, I know it isn’t what you imagined, but give Fish a chance. You might be surprised to find out that your Dad is just a normal guy who will do right by you.”

“I feel guilty.” She huffs. “Santiago is a good guy too. And yet…” she shrugs slightly. “If you had asked me yesterday if he was someone I would want my mom to be with long term, I would have said yes.” She glances away. “Now…”

Benny’s brow furrows, seeing the guilt on her face for even thinking it. “You wish your parents could be together?” He guesses, soothing one hand over her back.

“Is that wrong?” She asks softly. “If he’s the man you say he is….my mom deserves to be happy.”

“Of course it’s not wrong,” Benny shakes his head. “But…it’s up to them.”

“Yeah.” She sighs softly and smiles at Ben. “Do you want to come in? Or do you want to run for the hills for right now?”

“If you want me to come in, I will.” In no way does he want to give her the impression he’s making a run for it, but he also doesn’t think it’s his place to be in there right now, either. “What if I drop you off now so you can have some time with your Mom, and I’ll come by with dinner later? I can pick up from the Thai place you guys like.”

“That would be good.” She nods, thankful that she can determine what kind of mood you are in. It’s possible that you have simply brushed off the entire thing, but she doubts it.

“Then that’s what I’ll do. Pad Thai for my girl and that crazy peanut curry your Mom likes.” He grins when Rachel almost opens her mouth, but he holds up his hand. “And the fried calamari with the sweet chili sauce. Otherwise don’t bother bringing anything at all. I know, baby. I love you.”

She laughs and leans over to press her lips to his cheek. “You are the best.” She promises. “Thank you for being here. For not finding all of this crazy.”

It’s a little crazy, but not nearly crazy enough to lose her over, so Benny just hums and kisses her back. “Text me if you need me, baby. I’m going to train for a few hours.”

“Good luck.” She doesn’t ask if Frankie is going to help, she doesn’t want to know right now. Since his pilot’s license was suspended, Frankie had been helping Benny train and right now, it’s just too awkward to think about.

Normally vigilant, you don't even hear the front door of the house open when Rachel comes inside. The box of memories has overflowed all over the table as you uncover more and more pieces of your past, and there is definitely a damp tissue in your hand when you finally hear footsteps on the kitchen tile. "Oh shit." The sound makes you jump, but when you wheel around to see your daughter standing there, you relax immediately. "Sorry, sweet pea. I didn't know you were coming home. You scared me."

“Hey Mom.” Curiosity practically seeps out of her pores, looking over pictures and trinkets that she’s never seen before. She knows this has to be a box of things from your time with her dad. She knows it. “Organizing?”

"Um...more like memory lane." You glance back at the table before looking up at your daughter and pat the chair beside you. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

“No, but I can wait.” She doesn’t want you to stop, so she slides into the seat and picks up a Polaroid. “Holy shit….you two look like babies.”

"That was..." Tilting your head slightly in consideration, you squint at the faded photograph and end up smiling. "Sophomore year. So we were about 15? They took us all on a class trip to Ellis Island."

“God.” She huffs, squinting at the photo. “You two look over the moon crazy about each other.” She points out, noticing the way that her dad’s arm is slung over your shoulder and he’s grinning like he’s the luckiest boy in the world.

"We were." If there's a note of yearning in your voice it's unintentional, but you do reach for another photo and hand it over to her to inspect. "Senior prom," you hum in amusement, and offer her another photo that has you and Frankie noticeably younger with a very excited looking collie in the photo between you. "And this is the day he asked me out." Shifting the picture from Ellis Island into the middle, you look at the trio with tired eyes. "The beginning, middle, and almost-end of our relationship."

“You never really talked about my dad much.” She studied each photo carefully, as if she could possibly glean some friction that was under the bright smiles and finding nothing. “Did it hurt too much?”

"Partially." It was a large part of it, if you're honest, and you realize belatedly that you've picked up a piece of jewelry he gave you ages ago like it's some kind of fidget toy. "But also...I didn't think we would ever see him again. And I didn't want you to build up dreams of him thinking he might just stroll in through the front door one day. Which seems ludicrous now, since that is essentially what happened."

Rachel snorts and leans back, biting her lip. “It’s fucking crazy is what it is.” She admits. “He’s like…one of Ben’s best friends. He said they’ve been through some shit together. Francisco saved his life…more than once. My father saved my boyfriend’s life.”

"I'm sure you have plenty you want to ask." Pushing back from the table, you squeeze her shoulder gently and step away to scour the refrigerator for anything breakfast oriented. "But first...how are you and Ben doing, honey? Are you guys okay with all this?"

“We’re okay.” She promises, reaching for another photo. “He’s coming back after training with Pad Thai for dinner.” She tells you. “Santiago still asleep?” His car isn’t in the driveway, so it’s an invitation for you to talk, rather than a question.

"Probably." He's a heavy sleeper, and definitely not a morning person, so wherever he is he's probably still asleep. But that isn't what Rachel is asking and you both know it. "He didn't stay, honey." Suddenly you want absolutely nothing to eat all over again, and your head pounds even harder. More coffee will help... "We, uh...we broke up, Rach."

“Oh shit.” She huffs out the whispered curse and shoots out of her chair. Dropping the photos as she rushes towards you to engulf you in a huge hug. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

"It's okay, honey." It hurts like hell, but you aren't going to treat your daughter like your therapist. It's more than enough that she's there to offer you comfort and support. "I'm just glad that the whole situation hasn't come between you and Ben."

“He broke up with you, didn’t he?” Rachel frowns deeply, upset on your behalf. “That asshole. I’m going to chew him a new asshole.”

"It just wasn't meant to be, that's all." The last thing you want to do is cause more drama with this group of friends that she has. It's bad enough that her father is in the middle of all of this. "And he's entitled to make that decision for himself."

“Did he say why?” She demands.

"He didn't have to say why." But now she's upset, and you start buzzing around the kitchen again to keep yourself busy and hopefully soothe both of you with some food. "If it makes you feel any better, he wasn't happy about it."

“Oh.” That makes her pause and she tries to see it from his point of view. “Oh shit….” She sighs and moves to flop back down into her chair. “He— it’s because of Dad, right?” She asks quietly. “Some kind of bro code. ‘Thou shall not sleep with friend’s former girl’? That has to be it.”

"I don't know if it's as formal as that, but...basically." Yogurt and fresh fruit from the fridge are joined by a box of granola from the cupboard and you put on a fresh pot of coffee to brew. "It's okay, sweet pea. I promise. And please don't think any less of Santiago for putting his friendship first. He's known Frankie a heck of a lot longer than he's known me."

“I just— I don’t like the fact that him showing up has ruined things for you.” She’s still conflicted, and she would never tell you her secret fantasy, even as close as you are.

"It's better to find out early on." That's what you're telling yourself this morning. That you were better off finding out that Santiago and Frankie are best friends before you and Santiago had started planning for the future. "It's not anybody's fault. It's just...how life is sometimes."

She blows out a guilty sigh. “I wish I had stayed home.” She mourns. “I didn’t know he was going to break up with you. You were all alone.”

"I didn't want your night ruined." Once the coffee pot is going again, you grab bowls and spoons and bring the whole tray of breakfast things to the table. "You deserve to have a nice time with your boyfriend. That shouldn't stop on account of your Mom having a little drama in her life."

“A little drama…” she snorts and rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. Unaware that she looks exactly like Frankie would have. Right down to the downturn of her frown and the crease of her dimple.

"You look exactly like your father when you do that, you know." You've always thought so, and she's been doing that posture since she was a toddler. "If you ever see him do it, it will be like looking in a mirror."

She rolls her eyes again, sensing that you are trying to steer the subject back to him and she lets you “Tell me about it?” She asks softly. “All of it. The good, the bad and the ugly.”

"For the most part, it was all good," you admit. A basic breakfast comes together easily for both of you and you fill your bowls with yogurt and fruit and honey and granola in your own personal perfect ratios. "We were nearly inseparable. And since we went to the same school, and our Dads worked for the same company, it all went pretty smoothly for a long time. Everybody just...assumed we would always be together. Even us."

“Was there ever any sign he would break up with you?” Rachel can’t even fathom how abruptly the relationship ended if you were as close as you say. It’s just not how she knows her mother to be. You have always been strong and vocal.

“We had a whole plan.” A plan that went haywire, but a plan nonetheless. “But…when I found out I was pregnant I panicked. I started pressing Frankie to get married quickly, instead of waiting like we had planned. I should have told him why, but I was seventeen and convinced that he would just break up with me if I told him the truth. And…no, before you ask. He never gave me any indication that he wouldn’t have wanted a baby. But he wanted to wait to do the grown-up things, so I thought that springing the news on him would ruin it. But if I could show him that getting married earlier wasn’t a big deal, then the baby news would be okay, too. It…it doesn’t make a lot of sense in retrospect. But we were just about to graduate high school and I was hiding my morning sickness by claiming it was nerves over my boyfriend joining the Army. I was not at my best critical thinking levels.”

“Do you think he would have stayed if he had known about me?” The question is quiet, introspective. Wanting to know if she would have been wanted. She knows you love her; you’ve always made that clear, but she also wants to know about the man who is the other half of her biological makeup.

“I didn’t think so at the time, but I don’t know how much of that was just fear of the unknown,” you admit, reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently in your own. “But I know he wants to get to know you now. I’m sorry that isn’t a very good answer.”

“Are you— are you okay with that?” She asks, unsure if getting to know Fransisco would cause you pain. She wouldn’t want that, not for a moment. “If you don’t want to see him….” She shrugs. “I can meet him out in town. Not talk about him.”

“Honey, no.” On this point you are absolutely firm, and you shake your head adamantly. “There’s been enough years of not talking about your father. He’s not someone to be ashamed of and we’re not going to treat him that way.” Will it hurt? Of course. But you would rather see Rachel happy than anything else in the world.

“Okay.” She’s still eyeing you doubtfully, but she agrees. For now, she will just make sure that there isn’t a lot of talk about the man you had loved. “Do you— how do you feel about getting to know him again? Seeing him?”

“I wish it hadn’t been by surprise.” That admission comes with a little laugh, because yesterday is still so unbelievable to you, but you just shrug and shake your head. “To be honest, sweet pea? If I can’t face him at this point, I’ll never be able to. And you deserve to know your father.”

“It might be a good thing, then.” She decides. “You make it sound like you never expected to see him ever again.”

"I didn't." You can admit to that very easily.

She nods, looking down at the photos again. “You loved him.” She can tell that easily by the besotted look on your face. “Do you still? Or love that version of him?” She points to the high school photo of them together.

"You're really not going easy on me with the questions today, are you kiddo?" The coffeepot finishes percolating, and you pop up from the table again, needing a fresh cup if you're going to continue on with this line of thought from your daughter. After a few moments of silence filled only by the pouring of hot coffee, you return to the table and sigh. "Yes." You nod finally. "I still love him very much. But who he was then and who he is now may be two completely different people so I have no intention of making a nuisance out of myself after a whole lifetime apart. I only care that you get to have your father around if you want him in your life."

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs softly. “Who would have fucking ever thought? Not me. I mean, I always thought it would be wild if Ben had met my dad. But you nor my grandparents ever even said his name.”

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Rach. Life just...doesn't make sense sometimes. But we always make the best we can out of the confusion." The two of you doctor your coffee and dig in to your light breakfast. Whatever happens, you will just keep rolling with it. Your adult life has been making sure that Rachel is cared for and happy, and that doesn't change just because Frankie Morales still makes your heart clench.

******

He’s in the room with Luna when there’s a knock at the front door. Watching her play with the toys in front of her and squeal happily for tummy time. She’s almost ready to crawl, but for some reason, hasn’t started yet. It irritates Marie, but Frankie is happy to have his daughter still immobile for a bit longer. Once she starts moving, there will be no stopping her.

Marie pulls open the front door with a huff, dressed to go out and irritated that she's being delayed even for a few seconds. "Will." The figure of Frankie's friend fills the doorway and where she once had patience to pretend to be glad to see any of them, it has evaporated recently. "He's been in with the baby since yesterday. Good luck getting him out."

“Hey Marie,” Will doesn’t care for the woman, but he also knows that as long as Frankie is with her, he needs to be polite. Knowing that causing any problems for his former teammate would not be in the man’s best interest. “You are dressed up nice. Big plans?”

"Girls' day," she tells him breezily. Marie grabs her purse and sunglasses with the door still open and swans right through it. "Bye!"

“Bye.” He watches her practically zip down the stairs and chuckles slightly. It’s not like having a day for yourself is not warranted. He wonders if Frankie offered this so he could go to the cookout yesterday. “Fish?” He calls out, wanting him to know that he was here. Everyone is a little more on edge since South America and it wouldn’t be wise to startle him.

Luna squawks happily at the familiar sound of her uncle Will's voice, and he steps further into the apartment. Footfalls that are heavy enough to be heard, but not heavy enough to disturb the downstairs neighbors. The woman who lives below Frankie works third shift and will barely be asleep at this hour of the morning.

Frankie looks up as the door opens, his eyes falling on Will before looking back down at his daughter. “Uncle Will is here.” He coos, brow furrowed as he goes over yet another thing that he missed out on with Rachel. “What’s up?”

“Thought you could use some company,” Will tells him honestly, but he also reaches out for Luna and grins when she reaches back. “And I wanted to see my favorite niece in the whole wide world,” he babbles, laughing when the little girl giggles and looks over again at Frankie. He looks like he needs to stretch at minimum, if not run a marathon to get rid of some stress.

“Only—” Frankie breaks off from his usual retort, paling slightly when the new dynamic hits him all over again. “Where’s Jess?”

“Brunch with her sister.” Will’s girlfriend is typically around for whatever mischief the group gets up to when she isn’t at work, but makes seeing her sister a priority just like Will and Benny make each other priority. It gives her a good foundation of understanding for the Miller brothers, and makes her a solid support person for the whole group — not just for Will. “She asked me to apologize to you for having to work yesterday. Said it sounded like you could have used the support…”

“Yeah.” The word is heavy, pushed out of him on a sigh. He reaches up to scrub his hair, his hat missing this morning and he picks up Luna to hand her to Will when she keeps squawking for him.

“Hey little fairy queen!” Will blows a raspberry on Luna’s cheek to make her laugh and nods his head that Frankie should follow him out into the living room. “Marie went out,” the younger man tells him.

Nodding quietly, Frankie groans as he pushes himself up off the floor. “Yeah. She said something about a day off.” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything else. Seems like she’s needed more and more days off since he’s come back from South America, but every time he suggests spending time together, it’s thrown in his face that he was radio silent for nearly fourteen days – double the amount of time he had said he would be gone. Frankie has just given up trying to apologize.

“Talk to me, Fish.” Will insists, carrying Luna into the kitchen to grab them drinks and looking the little girl over. “Does she need a bottle? I have no idea what time it is.”

“She ate about an hour ago.” Frankie sighs and moves over to the fridge, opening it up to notice that Marie didn’t get the cereal he had asked for, nor any of the baby foods. He sighs and grabs a couple of sodas. It’s a bad idea to drink right now. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Fish.” Will’s tone is deadpan and matter-of-fact all at once. “C’mon man.”

Sighing again, he pops the top of his soda and takes a swing. “What do you want me to say?” Frankie huffs. “This is going to be a big fucking deal.” Marie is going to kill him. It’s not going to matter that his child is grown or that he never even knew about her. His girlfriend had this strange obsession with having been the only girl to have a baby with him. Had once jokingly told him that she had baby trapped him— although it hadn’t felt like much of a joke at the time. She had been six months pregnant at that point. “I feel goddamn guilty.”

“You had no idea.” Will reminds him. He cracks the cap on the soda that he had been handed and quietly approves of the choice. Marie hadn’t been a very good influence in Fish’s habits but since coming back from South America he’s been trying to clean up his act pretty dramatically. “But uh…hell of a coincidence, honestly. We always knew you and Pope had the same taste in women.”

“Fuck.” Frankie snorts and rolls his eyes, trying to hide the pain in them. “It’s not that….” He hedges guiltily, reaching out and tickling Luna under her chin and then dropping his hand. “I’ve been stuck on what could have been if I had known.”

“Would you have stayed?” It’s a hard question, and maybe it doesn’t have an answer, but it’s important that he’s at least thought about it. About what he would have done then and what he’ll do now.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” The answer is immediate and fierce. “I should have asked questions. Demanded to know why she wanted to get married so badly.”

“You were kids.” That part of the situation cannot be stressed nearly enough, and the two men bring Luna into the living room to settle her in her playpen so they can talk.

“We were adult enough to make a baby.” Frankie shoots back before he winces. “One who is currently fucking your brother. Jesus Christ.” He flops down onto the sofa and covers his face with his hand.

“Yeah…Benny promises to cool his jets talking about her like that, by the way.” That conversation had been had between the brothers already — Benny had brought it up and Will promised to deliver the message. “He never would’ve if he had known.”

“Still gonna punch him.” Frankie snort out, looking up at the ceiling. “Definitely didn’t need to know that shit about my daughter.”

"More than fair," Will agrees with a snicker. "He absolutely deserves it. My only request is to be allowed to film it for posterity."

Frankie laughs, probably for the first time since his world has been flipped upside down and he leans back. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

"Perfect world." Will poses, pointing a finger and the neck of the Dr. Pepper bottle at Fish. "Best case scenario, what would you want?"

Frankie shakes his head. “Time travel isn’t possible, man.” He sighs and looks over at Luna. “And I don’t regret having my baby girl.”

"Okay, that's fair." Nobody could regret little Luna, in his opinion. She's the best baby in the world, and he and Benny have their fair share of nieces and nephews to compare to back home from their sister. "Best case scenario of the future."

Guilt swims in his stomach and he rubs it reflexively. “Come on, she hates me.” He starts out. “There’s no way I could possibly have that happily ever after like in some kind of fucking Hallmark movie.” He closes his eyes. “Besides, Marie would fucking murder me.”

"Respectfully, Marie can rot in hell." None of the guys like her, but Fish had been so deep under her spell in the beginning that they had let things run their course, hoping that he would come to his senses along the way. Instead, Fish ended up with a baby on the way. "If you want your girl, maybe one of us can at least do a little recon before you just assume that she hates you?"

He hates the hope that blooms, knowing it would be squashed quickly. “Fuck— how could she not hate me?” He huffs, rolling his eyes and flopping his head forward to take another sip of the soda, even if he desperately wishes it was a beer. “I left her alone to raise a kid. Our kid.” He bites his lip. “I almost saw her….after boot camp. But I was too goddamn stubborn and that bit me in the ass.”

"What happened?" Trying to poke and prod along this highway through Fish's memories is precarious, but it's why Will is here. Pope isn't going to be able to talk sense into Fish right now while he's still getting over the woman who fathered his best friend's oldest child. And Benny sure as fuck isn't going to be the one to offer advice when he's currently sleeping with said oldest child. This one is Will's job.

“I don’t even fucking know.” Frankie closes his eyes. “There was the normal bullshit teasing.” He admits. “Everyone saying I was going to knock her up before we graduated. Have to get married. But we had a plan. I was going to go through boot camp and my schooling and then we were going to get married.” It’s filtering through memories that he’s simultaneously repressed and played over and over again. Not sure where daydreams end and reality begins.

It does no one any good to point out that he had very clearly gotten you pregnant before graduation, so Will glosses over that particular detail entirely. "So when she started pushing too, you dug your heels in?"

“She just hit me with it out of nowhere.” Frankie tells him. “At our graduation party. Demands that we get married. Gets angry when I remind her that we had a plan. That I wasn’t marrying her right out of high school.” Frankie sighs, the ‘hindsight is 20/20’ saying is smacking him on the forehead, but you could have told him. “She started crying and telling me we had to get married or it’s over and I snapped.”

"Okay." When Will nods, he leans forward in his seat and watches Luna playing with her brightly colored plastic key ring for a few seconds. "So neither of you gets points for 'Most Mature Teenager Ever'. That's not super surprising."

“No, but I could have cooled down. Gone back to talk to her.” Frankie sighs. “I left for boot camp the next day.”

"But we all know you never forgot about her." The elder Miller brother looks up, raising an eyebrow at Fish and daring his friend to challenge him. "We all have heard you talk about her."

Frankie blushes slightly, knowing that Will is right. “You never forget your first love.”

"Can I be honest?" Normally it's not something he has to ask about, but this is a sensitive topic.

“Shoot.” They’ve been friends for too long to even question it, but Frankie gives him the go ahead.

"It's pretty obvious to anybody who knows you that..." Will shrugs, almost apologizing for the observation. "That you're still in love with her. Or at least you still have love for her."

“That obvious?” Frankie rolls his head back and groans. “Great. Now everyone is going to think I’m pathetic. And Marie can never know who she is. Never.”

"Nobody thinks you're pathetic, Fish." He chuckles softly as Luna has her keys in one hand and reaches for her teddy with the other, determined to have both toys at once. "But man...we've got to do something about this whole situation before you lose your mind or your health or both."

“Seriously thought about just getting faded.” He shoots Will a bland smile to show he’s joking. “Too bad we burned Lorea’s house down. Sure he had some shit stashed in there too.”

"That shit would've killed you," Will points out without hesitation. "But that's exactly what I'm talking about. You and the little queen over here deserve a way better environment than the one you've got."

“Marie swears she’s clean too.” Frankie had gone into rehab before the baby was born, another sore spot between them. But he wants to get his license back bad enough that he would do whatever it takes.

"It's not just that." It's largely that, but not just. "We're worried, Fish. Honestly worried. You're miserable except for your little girl, and you don't have to be."

“She’s pissed at me.” Frankie reminds Will. “Rightfully so. I got popped on a test. I lost my fucking license.”

“So you’re telling me it’s just right now?” Will challenges. “It’s completely temporary that Marie is upset. It’s not been years of excuse after excuse and abusive, controlling behavior that you would have called any single one of us out on already?”

“What do you want me to do, Will?” He feels helpless and stuck. “We have a kid together. I can’t just fucking get rid of her.”

“Jess and I talked.” It might be horrible, but just getting Frankie to admit that he would rather not be with Marie is a huge step forward. They’ve been worried about him for a long time and they’ll take the avenue in that they’ve got. “We cleaned up the spare bedroom and we want to offer it to you and Luna. One floor away might not be far from Marie yet, but it’s a good first step. A safe step.”

“She’s going to try to take Luna from me.” Frankie is immediately shaking his head no, sitting up. “I can’t— Jesus Will, she knows what happened in South America. You don’t think she won’t use that shit to take my child from me?”

“She has no proof.” The reminder is a stark one. That the trip five men made and only four returned from was a dire one. “We were ghosts down there, man. As far as anybody can prove, we were in Sao Paolo on a boys’ trip. That’s all. Nothing illegal about that whatsoever.”

He’s right, but the blind panic still grips Frankie. “I can’t lose her.” He murmurs, looking over at where she has tired herself out and sprawled on the mat of her play pen to sleep. “I’ve lost too much already.”

"We're going to do everything we can, and we're going to be on your side every step of the way," Will assures him. "If you want to get out of this situation, then we're going to help you. Together."

“She’s gotta leave me.” Frankie had never married her, thank God, but he sighs softly. “I think she’s close.”

Ruefully, Will chuckles under his breath. "Then maybe we should tell her about Rachel."

Frankie huffs out a small chuckle. “Do you want her to hit me with a fuckin’ frying pan?”

"My reflexes are pretty good," he's still chuckling, but this time he shrugs and nudges Fish. Seeing him laugh even a little is good. "I'll stop it before the pan gets to you."

“You mentioned a lawyer once.” Frankie reminds him. “You think you could—? I mean, you don’t have to.”

"Absolutely." There is no hesitation in Will's answer. In fact, he's practically pulling out his phone.

“Don’t— I mean, just talk to them.” Frankie hedges. “See if they would be willing to talk to me.”

"I know he will, but I won't jump the gun. I'll just talk to him." The lawyer in question is ex-Army and specializes in custody cases without a clear-cut answer. Will knows he'll do everything he can for a man like Frankie.

He can’t even believe he is contemplating this. “I know she’s going to find out about Rachel.” Frankie murmurs quietly. “But I’m dreading it.”

"That's more than fair." Shifting on the couch, Will looks away from the little figure of Luna asleep in her playpen and focuses on Frankie. "But will it be better or worse if she finds out on her own, rather than you being direct with her?"

“I don’t fucking know.” Frankie frowns, scratching his head. “She’s been so….volatile after Luna. Or South America. Pick one. But she just throws a fit when I tell her to go to the doctor.”

"You shouldn't be alone when you tell her." That much is pretty damn obvious, but Will isn't beyond stating the obvious right now. "If for no other reason than having a corroborating witness for the custody trial."

“Might need a camera.” Frankie snorts quietly, hating how bad things have gotten. He could deal with a lot of shit, but it’s getting be too much.

"Florida's a two-party consent state," Will reminds him. "A witness is better than a camera."

Frankie blows out a sigh and nods. “Yeah. You’re right.” He shakes his head. “I don’t understand how I get myself into this shit.”

“What matters is that we’re going to get you out of it.” The promise is solemn. Quiet, even. That they are going to get Fish out of this hellhole of a relationship. “You and Luna. You’re going to be safe, so she can grow up without worrying that her mom is going to blow up at any time.”

“I don’t understand what went wrong.” Frankie continues on, shaking his head. “It was good at the beginning.”

“Not everything is made to last.” They aren’t necessarily the softest words of wisdom out there, but Will knows as well as anyone that good things come to an end. After all, things were great with his ex-fiancée until they weren’t. “And sometimes…sometimes we get a second chance.”

“Not that I deserve one.” That comment comes for a multitude of reasons, not just leaving you alone and unsupported during your pregnancy and your daughter’s life.

Will hums, understanding where the thought comes from even if he doesn’t agree. “Isn’t that up to her, ultimately? And to you, if you want to give her a second chance?”

“I don’t have any reason to not give her anything.” Frankie snorts. “I owe her. A shit ton of back child support, too.”

"Just start small," the other man advises. The small smile playing on his lips is just from being happy that his friend is starting to seem more relieved. "Talk to her. Get to know Rachel better."

Frankie blows out a sigh and looks over at Luna again. He can’t imagine missing any more time with her than he has to, and he missed Rachel’s entire life. He had a lot to make up for. “Yeah.”

Will blows out a sigh, reaching over and patting Fish's shoulder with the force of a man who knows his own strength but understands some people need to have love and support knocked into them instead of handed gently. "We'll figure it out, man," he promises. "Whatever it takes.”

******

Because Marie is gone out for a girl’s night and Will’s girl is spending the day with her sister, Frankie and Will end up ordering a pizza. Relaxed for the first time since the big reveal, Frankie is sitting on the sofa, laughing with two slices on a plate and another soda in his hand. Luna is already fed, bathed and down for the night, so he’s seriously contemplating the option of a beer.

The door slams open without ceremony, definitely loud enough to make both men inside jump and loud enough to wake up the baby, but Marie doesn't care. She tears inside like a tornado, already seething and ready to scream before she's even closed the door behind her. "Francisco!"

“Jesus!” Frankie jumps up, pizza spilling onto the floor and he’s half afraid that there’s been an accident, until he sees her fury-filled face. “What?”

"What the fuck is this?" There is a slip of paper in Marie's hand and Frankie's coat is draped over her arm, but she throws that down on the floor in the entry way. "Tell me why I reached into your coat pocket and found some slut's phone number?"

His eyes widened, latched onto the paper and he shakes his head. “It’s not— Marie— she’s not— it’s not like that.” He promises, holding his hands up. “I don’t fuck around on you.”

"Then who the fuck is Rachel?" She snarls, practically spitting the name at him as though its very existence was proof enough of his wrongdoing.

“She’s Benny’s girl.” He pleads for her to understand. “I promise. She gave me her number as a friend, nothing more. She’s not interested in me and I’m not interested in her.”

"So you're fucking your friend's girl now?" Marie is very much in the camp that men and women can't be friends without sex getting in the way, so she doesn't buy this bullshit for a second. "Do you hear this Miller? This asshole is fucking your brother's girlfriend."

“God no.” Frankie nearly blanches at the thought and he can’t shake his head fast enough. “No— I’m not fucking her. Never. Please, babe, you gotta believe me. There’s nothing like that between us.”

"Is that where you were yesterday, asshole?" The fire in Marie's eyes makes it abundantly clear that she has already drawn her own conclusions. She has already decided what happened and nothing Frankie says will dissuade her. "Rachel's house?"

“With Benny.” Frankie stresses, wincing when he hears Luna start to cry out in her bedroom. “Fuck.” He hisses. “Will was there. Nothing happened. Goddamnit, you woke the baby.”

"Oh, who gives a fuck about the baby?" She wails, which only makes Luna cry louder. "You're cheating on me!"

“Hold on.” Will doesn’t like to get involved in this, but he holds up his hand. “Fish isn’t cheating on you.”

“Nobody asked you.” Marie spits, clearly only wanting Will involved in the argument when it suits her.

“I’m not cheating on you.” Frankie implores one more time. “Please, just— believe me. Rachel is—” he can’t say it. The words are stuck in his throat.

“Rachel is what, Francisco?” She’s spitting mad — literally — and when Frankie doesn’t answer her immediately she steps further into his space and slaps him clean across the face. “You’re a piece of shit, Morales. But you knew that already.”

His head snaps to the side but he doesn’t react. Will tenses, not sure if Frankie would ever snap to jump back, but he knows that it would be a mistake on the other man’s part. “I am.” Frankie tells her quietly. “We both know that.”

Satisfied with at least that one answer, Marie tosses the piece of paper on the ground at his feet and crosses her arms. “So what the fuck do you have to say for yourself?”

She won’t stop. Not now. Now that she has this insane idea in her head that he’s cheating on her. Frankie glances over at Will, sighing heavily and he scrubs his hands on his pants. “Thing is…Marie…” he swallows, feeling nervous even though he had been cool under more dire circumstances than these. “Rachel is….uh, she’s my fucking daughter.” He confesses quietly.

The moment of hesitation before Marie starts laughing like a disgusted hyena is only the amount of time it takes her to process the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard in her life. Without another second of thought or hesitation, Marie's hand makes contact with Frankie's cheek a second time, the slap ringing through the apartment with a violent vibration. "You should have been groveling on your knees every day you had me," she spits, arms crossed again despite looking like she wants to make it three slaps for 'good' measure. "You fucked up for the last time, Morales. Hope Rachel is enough of a slut to make up for the fact that you wouldn't know where to put your dick with a road map." Shoving past both men, the whirlwind of Marie's anger propels her toward the bedroom with impressive velocity. "Have fun raising that crotch goblin alone, asshole. You fucked up for the last time."

“Marie…” Frankie can’t believe what the fuck she just said. The door to the bedroom slams open and he can only pray that it’s their bedroom and not Luna’s as the baby’s screams get louder. “I’m coming, baby girl.” He rushes to the baby, wanting to protect her and calm her down.

Will stands in the living room, hypervigilant with his phone in his hand to call for help – emergency services or the guys, whichever is needed – just in case. Frankie had closed the door to Luna's nursery behind him to keep the noise down but it's the door to the master bedroom that Will is watching closely. If Marie wants to start shit with him, too, he's right here ready for it.

Rushing over to the crib, Frankie picks up a red-faced, screeching Luna. Gasping for air as she screams, shaking in fury. “It’s okay, baby.” He coos softly, making sure to keep his own emotions closed off, not wanting to transfer energy to her. “Daddy’s gotcha. I’m right here. Shhhhhush.”

Rattling from the room next door continues, finding a crescendo in the crashing of something that might have been furniture. When Marie throws the door back open she seethes at Will, screaming something incoherent before shoving him out of the way to snap up a few things from the living room and throw them into the various bags she has been packing in the bedroom. Mere seconds later, she is marching out the door with one last screeched "FUCK YOU, FRANCISCO!" and leaving it open as she stomps off down the hall into the night.

Luna is halfway soothed, still hiccupping and sobbing into his chest as Frankie rocks her as he paces around the room. Completely sure that his girlfriend has trashed the apartment, but his concern is his daughter.

The door to the nursery opens slowly about a minute later, and Will swallows but shakes his head solemnly. "Well..." The best he can do is sigh. "She's gone. Took about four bags with her."

Frankie turns and nods. “Can you— uh, I think she might need another bottle.” He tells Will. “I don’t want to put her down.”

"I got it," Will promises, putting up one hand as if to tell Fish to stand down. "I also called in reinforcements. The guys should be here in no time. We'll get the place cleaned up and figure things up." He flashes his friend a half smile, trying for a joke. "Guess you won't need to move in with me and Jess after all."

“I don’t—” Frankie bites his lip and frowns. “You don’t think she will come back, do you?”

"Maybe for some stuff she left behind, but those were full bags, Fish." Will shakes his head again, not even sure what to say at this point but sure as all hell that things will be figured out before the night is over. "I'm just glad it's not too late. The number of noise complaints should be fewer." With that, Will steps away to make Luna a bottle and wait for the others to arrive.

“It’s okay, baby girl.” Frankie rumbles softly, rubbing her little back and jostling her to calm her down. “You’re okay. Everything is good.”

******

Benny ignores his phone the first time it goes off in his pocket. The second time, even. It's the third time his phone buzzes with a text message that he apologizes and takes his cell out at the kitchen table as he's eating dinner with you and Rachel. "It's the group chat," he explains, the repeated apology apparent in his voice. You both know there is a group chat with the guys, but opening it at the table isn't his usual thing. He tries to have manners around his girlfriend's mother. "Oh shit..." Benny breathes a second later, eyes widening as he reads the texts.

“What?” Rachel looks over at Benny in concern. She knows how hard he tries to impress you and it’s rare that he’s even pulling out his phone.

"I, uh..." He's already halfway pulling the napkin out of his lap with panic on his face, and he looks up at you and Rachel but his eyes jet back down to his phone. "It's Frankie," he explains, unsure how that particular news is going to go over. "He's...my brother is over at his place. It's a SOS text."

“What is it?” Rachel’s eyes widen and she reaches for Ben. Almost ready to claw the phone from him to see for herself. Her mind has immediately started spiraling with worst case scenarios.

"The text says clean up and mission assessment," Benny tells her, although he knows that that won't make any sense to her. It's more like reassuring her that grabbing his phone won't do her any good.

"Is he okay?" You ask, wanting a much plainer and more immediate answer than whatever cryptic military text message he got.

"Safe." Benny clarifies. "That text means he needs our help, not that something has happened to him."

“I’ll go with you.” Rachel is immediately tossing down her napkin and standing. Clearing her plate so she can tidy up quickly and head out with him. It’s obviously time sensitive.

"Baby..." Benny stands too, watching Rachel's anxiety start to build very obviously. "You don't need to do that. We can take care of things. I don't even know what happened yet."

"It doesn't matter what happened." In the split second he looked away, you've stood up, too. Gathering things up on the table means you'll just throw leftovers in the fridge and wash the dishes later. "If he needs help, we're going to help him."

“Mom…are you sure?” Rachel stops and turns towards you. “You don’t have to. Everyone would understand.”

"Sweet pea, I have eighteen extra years of stubbornness on you," you remind her, never once pausing as you clear up from dinner. "We'll take two cars, I'll follow you and Ben since I don't know where I'm going."

Rachel looks over at Benny, but he’s just shaking his head and holding his hands up. Unwilling to get in the middle of that argument. “Don’t look at me.” He snorts.

"Leftovers in the fridge. Two cars. Let's go," you insist, knowing from the churning in the pit of your stomach that whatever the problem is...you're in it now. If Frankie needs help, you're going to be right there to give it to him.

“Yes ma’am.” Benny helps put away the food, clearing his own plate and grabbing his keys out of his pocket. “You can follow me.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer @shakespeareanwannabe

TSR: @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @darkheartgatita @anoverwhelmingdin @thisishwrworld

My Masterlist!

[benjinotes]

I can see ‘Too sweet for me’ reader always being so good and behaving for Benji and she can literally turn her brain off around him because she trusts him that much. Then one day for whatever reason she has a little meltdown and she’s just so frustrated, let’s say they’re out in public with the team or something and she’s just pouting and huffing and puffing. Obviously our boy Benji notices and he can’t tell what’s wrong because it’s so unlike her. He makes up some excuse and takes her and leaves. She’s still pouting in the car and whining and he eventually just decides she just needs to be whiny and huffy that day for whatever reason (besides she is never like this and she deserves to feel her feelings). ANYWAYS when they get to her house he takes her upstairs and sits down with her on his lap and asks her what’s wrong but she’s just all mush in the brain and whines so he says something like “okay baby up” and gently taps her butt to have her stand and even at this she’s whining and starting to tear up and he’s saying “I know I know” as he starts pulling down his pants and then starts on hers. When he finally has them off he motions for her to come back. He casually lays back and sets her on him but doesn’t enter her. He takes his cock in his hand and slowly strokes his tip up and down her slit and he feels her getting wetter by the second. She’s all squirmy and he’s just whispering for her to have patience. Then instead of thrusting up into her he sits her down where her cunt is resting on his cock that’s semi hard and laying on his stomach. Then he starts to move her hips to rub her back and forth over it. His tip catching on her clit and she just starts whimpering and moving faster against him. Her slit rubbing up and down leaving her slick over the length of him. Benji is just looking up at his pretty girl like she hung the moon and is like “see you just needed an outlet to whine pretty girl” as he reaches up and strokes her cheek. “It’s okay to feel off but you gotta tell me so I can help. Feels good huh?” And he’s being all soft and she’s moving faster now that his cock is more slicked up. She starts whining and whimpering again and starts babbling out soft and sweet “thank you Benji” “love you” “need more” and he’s moved his hands down to her hips and is rocking her faster and she comes but he doesn’t stop, if anything it seems to spur him on to moving her faster and he’s breathing heavy and she’s moaning out and he’s all like “there we go. Let it all out” and they just keep going until she’s in tears because she feels so good.😩🥴

I’m absolutely devastated I will never have my moment with Benjicot.

And happy belated birthday! I hope you had an amazing day!!!

(This has been on my mind the past few days but I’ve been working so much I haven’t had time to send it)

-🧸

OMFG YOU ALWAYS EAT, i’m about to lose my shit.

this is so, so, so real; i actually have no words (i would kiss you on the mouth, to be honest).

i don't even know what to say or add because this is genuinely a masterpiece. also, the fact that he knows her so well that he can tell something is wrong just by the way she acts or the murmurs she makes? YES, 100% BF BENJI AND WE ALL HAVE TO AGREE. We all know he's incredibly attuned to his girlfriend and is her biggest fan, knowing all her little ways and when she's upset (poor girl can't even hide it, because he gets it right away). and he makes her feel better as he fucks her, while whispering the cutest and dirtiest things, praising her and treating her in the way only he knows how. I'm obsessed. i want him. i need him!

you and i, we deserve a man like him, and i stand by that!

— thank you so much, i hope is everything alright <3

[nobrashfestivity]

Happy Birthday Charles Mingus

by Guy Le Querrec 1972 Magnum Photos

but also

First, you must train your cat to use a home-made cardboard litter box, if you have not already done so. (If your box does not have a one-piece bottom, add a cardboard that fits inside, so you have a false bottom that is smooth and strong. This way the box will not become soggy and fall out at the bottom. The grocery store will have extra flat cardboards which you can cut down to fit exactly inside your box.)

Be sure to use torn up newspaper, not kitty litter. Stop using kitty litter. (When the time comes you cannot put sand in a toilet.)

Once your cat is trained to use a cardboard box, start moving the box around the room, towards the bathroom. If the box is in a corner, move it a few feet from the corner, but not very noticeably. If you move it too far, he may go to the bathroom in the original corner. Do it gradually. You've got to get him thinking. Then he will gradually follow the box as you move it to the bathroom. (Important: if you already have it there, move it out of the bathroom, around, and then back. He has to learn to follow it. If it is too close to the toilet, to begin with, he will not follow it up onto the toilet seat when you move it there.) A cat will look for his box. He smells it.

2

Now, as you move the box, also start cutting the brim of the box down, so the sides get lower. Do this gradually.

Finally, you reach the bathroom and, eventually, the toilet itself. Then, one day, prepare to put the box on top of the toilet. At each corner of the box, cut a little slash. You can run string around the box, through these slashes, and tie the box down to the toilet so it will not fall off. Your cat will see it there and jump up to the box, which is now sitting on top of the toilet (with the sides cut down to only an inch or so.)

Don't bug the cat now, don't rush him, because you might throw him off. Just let him relax and go there for awhile-maybe a week or two. Meanwhile, put less and less newspaper inside the box.

3

One day, cut a small hole in the very center of his box, less than an apple-about the size of a plum-and leave some paper in the box around the hole. Right away he will start aiming for the hole and possibly even try to make it bigger. Leave the paper for awhile to absorb the waste. When he jumps up he will not be afraid of the hole because he expects it. At this point you will realize that you have won. The most difficult part is over.

From now on, it is just a matter of time. In fact, once when I was cleaning the box and had removed it from the toilet, my cat jumped up anyway and almost fell in. To avoid this, have a temporary flat cardboard ready with a little hole, and slide it under the toilet lid so he can use it while you are cleaning, in case he wants to come and go, and so he will not fall in and be scared off completely. You might add some newspaper up there too, while you are cleaning, in case your cat is not as smart as Nightlife was.

4 Now cut the box down completely until there is no brim left. Put the flat cardboard, which is left, under the lid of the toilet seat, and pray. Leave a little newspaper, still. He will rake it into the hole anyway, after he goes to the bathroom. Eventually, you can simply get rid of the cardboard altogether. You will see when he has got his balance properly.

Don't be surprised if you hear the toilet flush in the middle of the night. A cat can learn how to do it, spurred on by his instinct to cover up. His main thing is to cover up. If he hits the flush knob accidentally and sees that it cleans the bowl inside, he may remember and do it intentionally.

Also, be sure to turn the toilet paper roll around so that it won't roll down easily if the cat paws it. The cat is apt to roll it into the toilet, again with the intention of covering up- the way he would if there were still kitty litter.

It took me about three or four weeks to toilet train my cat, Nightlife. Most of the time is spent moving the box very gradually to the bathroom. Do it very slowly and don't confuse him. And, remember, once the box is on the toilet, leave it a week or even two. The main thing to remember is not to rush or confuse him.

Good luck. Charles Mingus

[lawqual1ty]

Just my luck (Trafalgar Law x Gn! Reader)

This idea has been in the back of my head for a while and I decided to share it! Anyway hope you enjoy

Pov: you accidentally enter at a wrong time

Warning: sort of nsfw? Mention of medical stuff for a bit, late night studies, cursing And that's mainly it? If you feel uncomfortable please stop reading!

"What the fuck is this...?" You cursed under your breath, clearly confused at the text you were looking at.

You had been awake for what felt like forever, you couldn't really tell the time thanks to the fact you were under water in the Polar Tang... So time was no longer really a concept, but if your tiredness was anything to go by it was definitely night time.

You sighed deeply as you looked at the medicine book on your table, you had been trying your best to learn more medical topics to help your captain and crewmates out... But everyone knows medicine isn't an easy topic, so you were definitely struggling. Your brain hurt, it was as if nothing had stuck to you... It was concerning.

"Should I...?"

An idea spurred in your brain, maybe you could ask for someone's aid... After all they were all professionals... The problem is well, they were fast asleep... Except for one...

You quickly stood up from your chair with book in hand as a certain dark haired male with eyebags appeared in your brain... Bit as quickly as you stood up you quickly froze...

Was it really a good idea bothering him? He usually was quite moody and you didn't want to risk it

"oh fuck it... I can't waste more brain cells..."

You finally made up your mind as you walked through the halls with a confident step

You slowly made your way through the cold and quiet halls of the Polar Tang, hugging the medicine book as you tried your best to keep calm, the further you walked through the more you started to hear a strange noise, like a harsh breathing... You shrugged it off as the idea of Shachi snoring.

You took a quick look at the book you held as you made a turn to where Law's personal room was hoping he was there still awake.

And trust me... He was...

You knocked softly at the door before opening it softly "Hey captain do you think you can help--"

You cut yourself short at the sight in front of you... Your eyes widened as you took in what was in front of you, a bright blush crawling its way up to your cheeks.

He was naked from the waist down, his dick on his hand as he sat on the bed, he was breathing heavily as he played with himself, his dick pretty hard as it swayed in between his inked fingers

"Ah... Ah! Y/N-ya~!"

With that loud moan he reached his climax... His words made you snap back to reality as you quickly hid behind the wall next to the entrance, covering your mouth with your hands, trying not to let out any noise and praying to Roger that he had not noticed that you just saw how he jerked off to you...

All hope was shut off as you heard a soft chuckle coming from Law's room, it made you shiver

"I know you heard me Y/N-ya~"

You cursed in your mind, your heart beating rapidly as you tried to make yourself invisible

"You're insufferable... Room"

With the sound of his husky voice you suddenly notice a blue glow spreading across the entirety of your sight... There was no way you were escaping this now...

"Shambles..."

Before you could blink you found yourself inside Law's room, your legs surrounding Law's thighs as you sat on his lap. You let out a soft moan as you felt his dick stroke you... The thin fabric of your pajamas not offering much protection against his veiny and now very hard dick, he smirked at your reaction

"You really thought you could escape from me~?"

[kyojurismo]

Emergency request

So my appendix burst?? Which like I didn’t know that was a thing thing but I could use some spice because like smut heals?? Or maybe I’m insane who knows

How would genya (aged up) and sanemi be at dirty talk?

I just know those boys be kings

▸ ANSWERING. omg i’m so sorry 😭 i thought i already posted it but in fact i didn’t ): i hope you’ll get well soon anon 🫂

▸ FANDOM. kimetsu no yaiba

▸ CHARACTERS. sanemi & genya shinazugawa x fem!reader

▸ RATING. nsfw

▸ WARNINGS. aged up genya, dirty talk, implied penetrative sex, i wrote it for a fem reader btw i hope that’s alright, not proofread

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

sanemi knows how his voice turns you on. he uses it at his advantage of course.

“look at how wet you are,” he smirks. his thick fingers keep caressing your slit, spreading your wetness around. “what a messy girl you are.”

sanemi uses his thumb and point finger to stimulate your clit, moving them in rapid motions. your juices keep gushing out of your clenching hole and he knows that most of it comes from the way he’s talking to you.

“n-nemi,” you cry out, lifting your hips from the futon. “where you think you’re going?” he pushes you down with his free hand. “you gonna make a mess? yes, baby?” he coos at you, noticing how you’re desperately gripping the sheets.

you in fact make a mess, cumming hard in his hand. sanemi keeps moving his hand tho, making you grind on it. you want him to stop and keep going at the same time, it’s addictive.

“you like that, don’t you? fuck— you’re so beautiful like that.”

when he finally sinks into you and bottom out, his head kissing your cervix, he presses his forehead into yours. “oh shit, you’re taking me so well baby. that pussy was made for me.”

he’s almost there? well, “fuck baby, you really want me to fill you up if you’re squeezing me like that.”

GENYA SHINAZUGAWA

genya slurs a lot during sex. but damn if it’s hot as fuck.

“fuckfuckfuck— you take it so well, baby,” he grunts into your neck, gripping your hips while he thrusts deep into you. “you hear that? shit, you’re making a mess all over me,” he can hear the wet smacks becoming louder and your whines are more and more frequent.

genya’s cock is probably rearranging your insides because you’re seeing stars, on the verge of passing out.

“you’re so fucking good for me, baby. so fucking good.”

“that’s it, take it. take it like a good girl— fuck.”

“you close darling? oh yes you are, look at the way you’re gushing.” the fact that he can pleasure you that much spurs him on, really.

your puffy clit grinds against his pubic bone while his cock keeps moving rapidly into you and one of his hands is groping your breast, making you cry out his name.

genya grunts while filling your womb with his semen, you follow soon after, arching your back off the futon. “you did so good baby,” he kisses your neck before reaching your lips.

“gonna give me a fourth one, yeah?” he smirks down at you.

insatiable.

▸ BEFORE LEAVING. reblog and comments are super appreciated. i can’t add the read more button into this, i’m sorry. anyway i hope you guys enjoyed it <3 have a good day / night !!

[so-so-woso]

i wanna be the one | part 2

Summary: First game as part of the team, first big night out as part of the team, more flirting. Honestly, it's mostly just flirting.

Also as a general note, the timeline, games, and team composition are all kind of all over the place because while I might be crazy I’m not going to do actual research for this lmao also please don't expect any sort of consistent word count with these, I'm not good at being consistent with anything. Part 3 will be time-jumpy and will probably be up sooner rather than later, fingers crossed.

Word Count: 2,457

The next few days were awkward, for you anyway. No one else seemed to notice, and Leah was as indifferent as usual. You had tried to approach her and apologize once, but she grabbed Beth and hurried out of the locker room as soon as you stood up. You tried to convince yourself it was a coincidence, but you knew it wasn’t. You didn’t think anything was all that bad and really just wanted to clear the air about it and move on, but it didn’t feel like Leah was going to let you do that. So, you guessed, the next best thing to do was just forget that it happened, which you both really did and really didn’t want to do. It helped you had a game to look forward to, despite not playing in it. Still, it was exciting, your first game as part of the team, and against Tottenham. The Spurs managed to score on a late penalty, but you still won 2-1. The atmosphere was truly wild, and more than you had expected – more than you could’ve hoped for – in the best possible way. Er, mostly, anyway.

You always had a hard time accepting when good things happened to you, or when you did well at something. You could talk yourself up in a joking way, playing every bit the cocky athlete, like the opposite of self-deprecating – but it was always as a joke. Being serious about your achievements had always been near impossible. You knew why it was hard for you, but it wasn’t something you liked explaining to other people, so you mostly just pretended everything was fine and that you were as chill and haughty as you so often pretended to be. That didn’t mean you weren’t terrified all the time, though, and it definitely didn’t mean that Doubt wasn’t constantly hovering just out of reach, waiting to swoop down and take you into its talons the instant you felt comfortable. It just meant that you were used to it.

It hit you pretty early, in the 20th minute or so. You were just sitting on the sideline, watching the game, listening to the roar of the crowd – and then all of a sudden you couldn’t hear the cheering anymore, just the rushing of your own blood in your ears. You had shifted in your seat and tried to hide the fact that you weren’t looking at the field anymore. You had wanted to close your eyes, but that would be obvious – not to mention rude – so instead you tried to shift focus on to the back of the seat in front of you. If it was already starting with you riding the bench, you really didn’t want to think about what would happen if you ever managed to get any minutes. You handled it okay, though, and managed until half time when you could go into the locker room and splash water on your face. That helped, as did the distractions of being around the rest of the team and Jonas’ half time speech. The last 45 minutes passed pretty quickly, at least for you, and before you knew it you were back in the locker room, celebrating the win.

Since you hadn’t played, you didn’t have much to do in terms of getting ready to leave after the game. You thought you’d be able to sneak out pretty quick, but several of the girls had very quickly agreed on another night out and you were invited. You could’ve said no, and on one hand you wanted to – but on the other hand, you were still new enough it didn’t feel like a great move to turn down any chances at bonding with the team, so you agreed to meet them later. Part of you knew it would be a good idea, too, because even though as soon as you got home you would want to just go to sleep, but if you told someone you were going to do something then you were going to do it, and agreeing to hang out would keep you from spending the evening wallowing. Your primal urge to be seen as dependable often greatly outweighed any anxiety or despair you felt and had frequently kept you afloat in the past, seemingly set to do so again now.

Planning to head home and change before you met back up with the girls, you pulled out your phone to order an Uber as you exited the locker room. Your head was down as you turned out of the door, a classic bad move that you paid for very quickly as you bumped into a person heading back inside. You immediately apologized, but cut yourself off when you realized it was Leah. She stopped short as well, staring up at you for a long moment. You wanted to apologize again, but found it suddenly hard to form the words you wanted, so you stuttered a bit before she spoke first.

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “No, no, I wasn’t paying attention, it was totally my fault.”

“Not that. The other night. I…made it weird. I do that sometimes. I’m sorry.”

“Oh! No, that was total—”

“I don’t date teammates.”

“—ly my fault—sorry, what?”

She sighed and rubbed at her chin, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone was around.

“I don’t date teammates,” she repeated. You paused and drew in a slow breath, making sure you heard her correctly.

“Oh…kay. I don’t…remember asking you out, but—”

“No, I know, but you were flirting. And I just didn’t want to, like—”

She was interrupted by a pair of your teammates exiting the room behind you. They acknowledged both you and Leah, but didn’t seem to notice or at least didn’t ask about the confused look that was surely on your face. Leah, taking the interruption for the distraction that it was, mumbled a ‘yeah’ and tried to slip past you back into the locker room, but you managed to catch her by the elbow. She sighed at being caught and stepped back from the doorway.

“You end a lot of conversations by just walking away, don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes at your observation, but you continued before she could retort.

“It’s okay. The dating thing, not the walking away thing – that you should definitely work on. But as far as who you date, that’s like…your business. I mean, it like really sucks for me, I guess, but—”

“Hm, assuming I’d be interested in you.”

You barely bit back a snort at her interruption.

“Wow, okay, didn’t have to come at me like that,” you said, putting on a faux exasperated voice and gesturing with the phone in your hand. She exhaled a soft laugh and gave a small shrug, “sorry.”

“No, for real, that’s…I mean…I just hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable? With the flirting?”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Okay. Well, if you want me to stop, then…just let me know.”

“…okay.”

“Cool,” you nodded, fingers fiddling with the cross-strap of your bag as you felt a couple more of your teammates exit from the door behind you. They too acknowledged both you and Leah as they passed, and you both said bye to them, with you now deciding to take the opportunity to follow them out.

“Well, good talk, Williamson, definitely not awkward at all,” you said over your shoulder as spun around and moved quickly to catch up with Kim and Lia – but you didn’t move quite quickly enough to miss another soft laugh escaping from the blonde behind you, nor the warm flutter that bubbled up in your chest at hearing it.

Yeah, this wasn’t going to be awkward at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You spent most of the evening dancing and drinking with your new teammates, and some randos from the club you were at. You had the next week off, so Kim’s ‘two drinks max’ rule had been thrown so far out the window it probably hit a bird. It didn’t take very long at all to find out why she had the rule, either. Most of the instigation seemed to be stemming from McCabe. You kind of hated that it was such a stereotype, but damned if it didn’t seem to be true. She kept trying to hand you shots and make you dance with Foord, which you thought was weird because you were under the impression they were together, but maybe they weren’t, or maybe this was part of their whole thing, you really had no idea, so you just went with it. Of course you danced with Steph, too, and Alessia, and pretty much everyone else who seemed to want to.

There was one girl from the club who kept coming back to you, and the shots Katie kept handing you pretty much meant you were going to keep dancing with her. She was pretty, you thought, but drunk. But you guessed you were pretty and drunk too, so maybe it was okay. She was really touchy, though, which you didn’t love, and once she asked you to meet her in the bathroom you excused yourself pretty quickly. That was not the vibe you were aiming for tonight.

You left her on the dance floor and made your way to the bar to get a water, which you were quietly sipping when Leah slid up next to you. “You move on quick,” she said with a smirk, tossing a glance in the direction of the dance floor, before turning back to the bar and waving at the bartender. You followed her glance back towards the girl you’d been dancing with while she ordered another drink for herself. You opened your mouth to riposte, but instead just shook your head and took another gulp of water.

“Jesus,” you finally said, “I should’ve stuck with Kim’s rule.”

Leah laughed. “Yeah, you gotta learn not to let McCabe play you so easily.”

“What?”

“She does this to all the newbies. I mean she can handle it, and everybody else knows better, but you newbies – easy prey.”

“Ugh, god.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She laughed again, and you heaved a sigh as you took another long drink, turning to the side and looking back across the club at the rest of your teammates. Your eyes landed on Katie McCabe, who was finally dancing with Foord herself now, and you made a mental note that you were definitely going to get her back somehow. You watched them for a second before turning back towards Leah, who was sipping at her own drink now. This was the first time you really looked at her tonight, and what she was wearing. It wasn’t really terribly revealing or anything, but she was wearing a skirt, which was incredibly rude of her to do.

You weren’t sure how long you were staring at her thighs, but it was definitely way longer than was appropriate. When you finally looked up again, she was smirking at you, and you couldn’t even pretend to hide the giant grin that spread across your face, or the redness that was surely growing across your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you laughed, rubbing at your own face. “That was like incredibly obvious, huh.”

“Yeah, a little bit,” she laughed back.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’re drunk. And I know you like my legs.”

“And still you use them against me like that. You and McCabe, man – I gotta get out of here before one of you kills me.”

You downed the rest of your water and signaled for the bartender to settle up. Leah stayed quietly next to you the whole time, and while she had turned her body away to look back into the crowd, there were definitely a few times you felt her eyes back on you.

“You wanna go?” The words left your mouth unbidden as you slid your wallet back into your pocket. Your head was swimming, but you felt like it was more the blonde’s doing than the alcohol’s – although, if anyone asked, you were definitely blaming the alcohol. When you looked back at her, her head was cocked to the side and she was giving you a look that said we talked about this.

“I don’t mean like—I’m just trying to get to know you. I don’t really know you. I mean, Youtube does keep recommending videos of you to me but they’re all from like seven years ago—”

“Oh god, don’t watch any of those. Wait, if it’s recommending them, that means you’ve watched videos of me on Youtube.”

“Hmm? No. No, definitely not – I don’t think that’s how that works at all, actually.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, my mistake then.”

She laughed at you again, and you maybe fell just a little bit in love as you started stumbling backwards. You bumped into someone, so you turned and apologized, but they just moved away, so you turned back towards Leah.

“And you’re like super sure you don’t want to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Just checking. I can wait.”

“You can wait?”

“Yeah, 'cause I’m warning you, Williamson, one of these days—" You wagged a finger at her, as you took another step backwards, but thought better than to end that sentence so instead you just turned and walked away, the alcohol and conversation both threatening you far too much to stay any longer.

You took an Uber back to your flat and practically threw yourself into the shower. You needed to calm down, in several ways, so you made sure the water was as cool as you could really stand and then just sort of stood there for several minutes, letting it rain over you.

You honestly started trying to think about ways you could mess with Katie, but you would be a complete idiot if you really believed anyone but Leah could keep hold of your thoughts for more than about fifteen seconds. But you really did try to think about something else. Well, you guessed, you didn’t really try very hard.

She didn’t date teammates, and that was fine. Boundaries are good to have, and you didn’t want to overstep. But she also didn’t tell you to stop flirting with her. She also didn’t seem to mind you flirting with her, and also seemed to flirt back with you. That was confusing. But you liked it. Like a lot. Like you wanted to do it all the time. Which, honestly, you kind of were doing all the time, any time you talked to her . And you liked it, and she seemed to like it, but she wasn’t going to date you. Which was fine. Really. It was. Totally fine.

Totally.

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Nine: Meet Ugly @rowaelinscourt

Month Masterlist // AO3 Link

Remember when I went to a rage room?

.*.*.*.*.

All the Rage

She comes in late one Saturday afternoon during the middle of summer and the heat has driven everyone inside for some taste of air conditioning.  It’s been a miserable week, and Rowan wants to just close up early so he doesn’t have to deal with the silence.  Fenrys should have been here, but the little asshat decided it was more important to call out with no other reason other than I don’t want to come in.

Rowan is going to kill him the next chance he gets.

But first there’s this customer to deal with.  At first Rowan thinks she’s lost and he’s going to have to explain that her phone is perfectly capable of giving her directions and not him.  He hates giving directions.

And he would have done just that if he weren’t caught up by the blonde curls that tumble over her shoulders and fire that burns in her eyes.  She’s beautiful and determined and he’s certain that turning her away will get him scorched.

She’s wearing a pair of jeans that hug her lean curves and an oversized t-shirt displaying a grunge band Rowan’s never heard of.  Her eyes hold no room for argument, condescension, or play of any sort.

“Can I help you?” Rowan asks, leaning across the front counter.  

“I need to break something,” the woman replies. 

She doesn’t look at him but examines the shop.  It’s small, smaller than Rowan would like, but they’ve got four stalls for throwing hatchets and knives and two soundproof rooms for customers to use to beat out their frustrations on bottles, computer equipment, and the likes.  

Everything else is decorated with black paint and frames of records, music posters, and few black and white photos of early Terrasen that Rowan had inherited from his da.  It’s simple enough, but that’s what makes the shop what it is.

“Sure,” Rowan says, “bottles, computer equipment?”

“Both,” she says.  She approaches the register and hands over a credit card. “I signed your waiver online.”

Rowan raises a brow, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care about how she may be coming across.  Though, he’s never minded an assertive woman.  So, he accepts the card and looks at the waiver that came through recently.

“Aelin?” he confirms, her name rolling easily from his tongue.  It’s an old name, one he’s only seen in the history books.

“Yeah,” she confirms.  

Rowan can feel her patience waning and it only spurs his interest in what she’s doing here.  He confirms her card information and her license to make sure it's her and is surprised to find that she’s from way up north, nearly an hour away.  He thinks better than to ask her about it so he instructs her on a few extra safety precautions.  They provide their clients with gloves, goggles, and jumpsuits and as long as they wear closed toed shoes, there never has been much of an issue.

“You’re the last person I have on the books today, so take your time,” Rowan said.  May as well, he’d be late cleaning up the rest of the shop anyways.

Aelin accepts all his instructions and heads back to one of the soundproof rooms.  There is a distinct look of rage in her eyes (fitting for any one of his customers that wants to break things).  Rowan quietly shows her where she can pick a box of bottles and a box of electronics as well as how to get her choice of music playing.

He leaves her to her own devices, only partially wondering where all that rage had come from.  The other part returns to Fenrys when the younger kid asks if he can take tomorrow off too.  Rowan wonders if having a staff meeting about work ethic will have any sort of effect when the music starts blaring from the room where he left Aelin.

Even with the soundproofing work they’d done on the rooms, there was still a bit of noise that happened.  Not that it got too bothersome, in fact it could get pretty humorous in learning what people listened to or screamed in their sessions.  It ranged from the usual rock to Adele.  He always found the Adele rage roomers to be the most concerning.  The rooms also had large viewing windows so if a large party came in, they could watch before switching off.

Still, Rowan can’t help but look up and smirk to himself when the opening notes of “Master of Puppets” began beating through the walls.

…

Aelin has never considered herself an angry person.  She’s never had reason to hate anyone with too much of a burning passion or talk negatively about them.  She’s always been a live and let live, a forgive and forget kind of a person.

Until her dad died and she lost her job.  Until her boyfriend left and she had to pick up the pieces of a life that she has come to realize is a bit of a joke she has no idea what to do about it.

To say the least: rage is child's play in comparison with what she’s feeling.

So she throws bottles against the wall and beats a printer until a plume of toner coats her jumpsuit.  And she screams.  

Metallica, AC/DC, Skillet, and artists she doesn’t know continue to beat through the speakers and she continues to scream.

It isn’t until she has a sheen of sweat on her forehead and she’s out of things to break that she pauses.  Her heart thrums in her chest with a mix of exertion and energy.  It’s the most alive she’s felt in months.  The metal bat in her hand clatters to the ground, crashing against the broken glass laying at her feet.

She wants to do more.  She wants to destroy everything she can get her hands on.  But not tonight.

Aelin leaves the bat where it lands and stalks back to the exit of the small room.  Overall, she’s rather pleased with the destruction she weaved.  Certainly, she got her money’s worth with the hour spent and attention she gave the phone.  She’d beaten that thing to a pulp.  All she wanted was to see the guts and innards spilled out.  

At her job—the phone had been the bane of her existence and seeing its destruction was more therapeutic than actual therapy.

Once out of the room, she strips out of the jumpsuit and gloves, settling the goggles and earmuffs in their respective bins.  Sweat still clings to her skin and she can feel bits of hair sticking to her neck.  But it’s a good feeling, the sense of accomplishment that comes after physical labor.  Rolling her shoulders, she glances back at the man who’d checked her in.

When she’d first entered the shop, she’d been so intent on getting into the room and breaking things that she hadn’t really paid him enough attention.  Sure, she’d noticed he was attractive in the rugged, tortured soul sort of way but she hadn’t taken the time to really look at him.  Like she does now.  He’s built like a brick wall, well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and muscles barely restrained in his black t-shirt.  His silver hair is pulled back in a half knot, leaving the rest to fall to his shoulders.  The styling offers a view of his chiseled jaw and sharp nose.  His golden-brown skin gleams in the overhead lights.

He looks up as though sensing her.  Just like when she first came in, he doesn’t smile.

“Finished up?”

“Yes,” she says. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No—” he begins, then stop when he glances up at her. “You’re bleeding.”

Aelin freezes, frowning as his words register. “Bleeding?”

She glances down.  Her jeans and t-shirt look fine, the bare skin of her arms normal, just the nearly invisible scars at her wrists, her forearms.

The man moves from around the desk at a quick pace, scowl cutting across his handsome features.  The look in his eyes shocks her enough that Aelin steps back.  Either not noticing or not caring about her reaction, the man continues towards her.  He reaches out a hand and snags her chin before she can pull away.

“What are you doing?” she demands.  Being manhandled was not on her list of things to have happen to her today.  Been there, done that.

“Cut,” the man says succinctly.

Aelin stares up at him, because of course he has to be a giant. “So?”

Later, she will berate herself for such a stupid response.  For now, all she is concerned about is how close he is to her and the scent of pine that wafts off his skin.  He also has a scar along his jaw, small but there.  Which she has no business noticing.

“A piece of glass must have flown back and nicked you,” the man says to her oh so pithy retort.  He raises an eyebrow and forest green eyes bare into her.

It is only then that Aelin feels the sting on her cheek.  Her sweat has finally rolled down into the wound.  She inhales sharply before trying to pull away.  The grip on her chin remains too strong.

“I’ll fix it up myself,” she says. “No big deal.”

She’d signed a waiver about injury anyways.  And if this is just a little cut, she really doesn’t care.  She doubts it will leave much of a mark after it heals anyways.  It’s not like she doesn’t have any other scars.

“I’ve got a kit,” the man replies in a way that tells her no amount of arguing will be tolerated.  It makes her hackles rise and her scowl deepen.  She doesn’t care much to be bossed around like this.

“And I said I’m fine,” Aelin insists.  She manages to pull away from him, her skin still burning for where he’d touched her.  It’s not that he hurt her, rather the way it lingers.  The feel of his skin on hers and the brush of calluses from his fingers.

He jerks his chin toward a stool sitting by the register. “Just sit down.”

“I signed a waiver,” Aelin reminds him.

A glare in return.

Damn he really needs to work on his customer rapport.

“I’m leaving you a mean review on Yelp.”  

“I’m terrified.” A deadpan response.

She thinks briefly about making a break for the door.  Having someone else touching her…being so close…well it makes her a little jumpy and desperate to leave.  But she saw how quickly he crossed the room once he noticed the blood.  Reluctantly, Aelin shuffles to the stool and huffs as she takes a seat.

The man goes around behind the register to grab said first aid kit.  What she is not expecting is a giant canvas duffle to slam onto the desk beside her.  The camo design is scuffed and beat to hell and back, duct tape slapped on in a few places, and faded Sharpie marks.

“It’s a scratch, not a gushing wound,” she says.  Why she bothers, she doesn’t know, her comment is ignored as the man unzips the bag and grabs a pack of gauze, disinfectant, and band-aids.  “Seriously.”

“My shop, my rules,” is his only reply.

Aelin sighs again and crosses her arms in front of her. “Fine.  What’s your name then?  Or can I keep referring to you as Asshole?”

Not even a twitch in his lips. “Rowan.”

Not the name she would have first associated with him, but Aelin’s not the best at naming things.  She named her dog Fleetfoot for crying out loud.  Really, what kind of a name is that?

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” she asks as he takes her chin again to tilt her face up.

“Sure,” he says, far too casually. 

Aelin wonders for a brief moment if she is possibly running the risk of being murdered.  Or maybe some sort of smuggling ring?  Rowan has enough dark surliness roiling around him that really, she won’t be surprised if the worst happens.  

She shifts on the stool.  Well, she does take self-defense classes.  And she knows where to find a metal bat to hit someone with.

“Relax,” Rowan says, as if sensing her discomfort. “I was a paramedic.”

“And now you run a store where people beat the shit out of things,” she says, “interesting.”

Rowan douses the gauze with disinfectant. “This’ll sting.”

That’s all the warning he gives before pressing the gauze to her cheek.  Aelin hisses out a curse, trying her best to sit still.  She can deal with pain.  She knows pain.  And this is hardly more than a mosquito bite.  One deep, slow breath later and she is fine.

“Good job,” Rowan murmurs.  He sets the gauze aside, leaning in to examine the spot on her cheek.  His fingers have gone soft as he gently probes the skin around the injury.

Aelin feels her heartrate ratchet up and she has to fight to keep a blush from rising on her cheeks.  There is no reason for her to be reacting the way she is.  No reason to be focused on the way his fingers are light as air against her skin.  Nor how close he is.  Apparently, assholes can still be attentive to the injured.

“It’s not too deep, but I wouldn’t argue against a stitch or two, though, no use getting a scar.”  

“Just a butterfly band-aid of steri-strip is fine,” Aelin tells him.  “No use going to the hospital for this.”

She’s had enough hospital visits to last a life-time.

Rowan fixes her with another frown and Aelin drops her gaze from his.  She doesn’t owe him an explanation, no matter if he is helping her.

“It doesn’t even hurt that much,” she adds. 

Her mutters under his breath and the only thing Aelin is somewhat sure he said is “damn woman.”  She can at least pride herself that she’s giving him a hard time.

“What’d you even do in there?” he asks, surprising her.  She really thought he was only capable of giving one or two syllable responses.  “Haven’t had an injury in six months.”

“Six months?” she frowns. “That’s how long you’ve been open.”

“Yeah, well opening night a bachelor party reserved the whole place with a bunch of idiots that didn’t know how to listen,” Rowan says.  He shakes his head and grabs a small tube of ointment for his bag-o-tricks. “And then they were drinking and we don’t have a test for that.”

Aelin read something like that in their waiver, something along the lines of an honor policy mixed with they didn’t have that proper authority to ban, even on suspicion of drinking.  Which seemed like a stupid rule, but she wouldn’t bring that up.

“The groom didn’t release his ax properly,” Rowan continues, “his wedding night could have been a disaster.”

Aelin lets out a startled chuckle.  Rowan too finally releases a smile of his own.  Though, when she blinks, it disappears.

“We’ve been a bit more careful about how we take reservations,” he says.  As he dabs some of the ointment onto her cheek, they fall into silence. “This’ll help with infection and keep it clean.  But you should go—”

“No.”  Aelin reaches for the bandage he set out; the butterfly strip doesn’t require too much thinking. “This is plenty.”

Rowan plucks the bandage from her fingers. “Stubborn.  That why you had to smash things to pieces?  Work out some anger?”

She doesn’t feel the need to reply to that, so she only adjusts her face up for him to apply the adhesive.  He may not have smiled again, but his eyes do have a bit of a gleam in them.

“I’m not the one who opened the shop, seems to me you’ve got more anger bottled up than me,” she says.  Granted…it sure feels like she has enough anger boiling up within her to fuel the sun.  Everyday.

Rowan flattens the bandage with his thumb.  His dark gaze sweeps over her face one final time before he steps back to start collecting the trash and other discarded items.

“All good,” he says. “But—”

“Good-bye, Rowan,” Aelin interrupts as she rises from the stool.  There is still a flood of endorphins running through her body over not just the rage room, but what came after.  And that’s what spurs her on.

“Do I need to prepare for a negative review?” Rowan asks.

She is already at the door, ready to burst out into the early evening warmth.  Aelin glances over her shoulder and offers a delicate shrug.

“We’ll see.”

[leewritestoomuch]

Gen x Personal Assistant! Reader

Warning: NSFW, Grinding, Handjob

Request: Could I request a nsfw gen x reader who was his personal assistant? Could be pre or post petrification.

GN! Reader

As soon as the two of you step off stage, he’s looking at you. The look in his eyes is hard to read. You figure maybe he was trying to ask for something, but then again, it’s not like Gen to just not speak. He’s not shy. So, the two of you make prolonged eye contact.

The car ride back to the hotel was filled with an awkward silence. It was odd for him not to speak, and you didn’t notice anything go wrong during the show. So maybe he’s just tired?

Would a tired man invite you into his hotel room? You convince yourself that he, in fact, would. And you hold this delusional belief to your chest out of fear any other assumption would be wrong, up until he stands beside you. Then he smiles, and asks softly to kiss you. And though you don’t know where it came from, you give him permission with a gentle nod of your head.

It’s not like there hasn’t been tension between the two of you. The public thinks the two of you are secretly dating anyways. And the paparazzi takes photos of you two like they caught you two red-handed. Despite your title as assistant, many people have claimed that you were actually his partner, the title was a cover up for that. An excuse for you to be on stage with him.

Despite you minoring in Psychology in school, because that didn’t matter to these people.

And they don’t matter to you, you realize as his lips meet yours. You didn’t fully realize yet that you have been waiting for this moment for months. It’s never been a clear, purposeful thought, but you’ve long stared at his lips, or him at all, when you spaced out. Really, the mentalist has had your attention, rather you realized it or not.

Another thing you realize, is that he is not taking things slow. His tongue pokes at your lips. At this point, it seemed forward, but welcomed. So you part your lips, and meet his tongue in the middle with yours.

Gen’s hand caresses your face, thumb stroking just below your chin, his arm goes around your waist. And he walks you backwards until your knees hit the bed in the middle of the hotel room. You let yourself fall back against then bed, and he looks at you for a moment, as if to ask if it’s okay before he climbs on top of you.

He pins you down to the bed as his lips trail from your lips, then your jaw, to your neck. He kiss the shell of your ear, then behind your ear, nibbling on the skin there. After he leaves a small bite mark, he licks over it a few times before moving on to a new spot. A few more repeats off this before he gets to your collarbone.

His hands make their way under your shirt, running along your bare skin. For a while, they don’t dare to touch your chest. His hands hold your waist until your shirt, rubbing smalls circles into the skin while he marks up your collarbone.

The air suddenly feels hotter, like a tropical rain forest popped up around you two. Your shared body heat beginning to make you desperate to get your clothes off. Or maybe it wasn’t the heat that made you want to strip.

His knee finds its way between your legs, putting pressure against your crotch. He grinds that knee down a little bit, causing you to squirm. And by now, your reactions spur him on to grope your chest. His lips make their way back up to yours, kissing you with a fever.

You tug his shirt over his head, and he smirks before pulling yours off too. Then he moves his knee, grinding his own hips against yours instead, causing both of your breathing to pick up. Your mind is hazy now, the only thing you can think about is him already, and how good his body feels against yours.

He whimpers over how tight his pants are, pulling his belt off desperately, then the button of his pants, then he pulls the pants off all together. And quickly you reach out, hands finding the waist band of his boxers, looking to him for permission. When he nods, you pull them down, letting him kick them off somewhere neither of you pay any mind to.

You spit on your hand before taking his length into your hand. You keep eye contact with him until he closes his eyes as you speed up your pace ever so slightly. Your hand, jerking him off, moving up and down with the perfect amount of pressure. His legs are shaking a little to hold himself up, and he’s gripping the sheets. He lets out shaky breathes, groans, and a few whimpers.

Your hand speeds up, so does his breathing and noises. And soon he cries.

“Please.. fuck… I’m gonna cum.” He moans, before seconds later releasing onto your hand, arm, and a bit of your chest.

Your lips smash back together, and it dawns on both of you, your relationship has changed forever.

[enjoythesilentworld]

I can’t believe I almost missed the chance to ask you to write smth. That’s what I get for having a busy tumblr dash. Anyway. “Join me” as a prompt pls? 💜

hello my darling Lia. you know i'd write anything you asked me to. for today, here's a (not) little ficlet in which Simon neglects to read the fine print and somehow it actually turns out really well for him.

💜enjoy xx

Alone in a foreign country, Simon must find a stranger to join him on the romantic couples food tour he’s accidentally booked. (a 2.3k strangers to lovers, fake dating, speed-run of an AU) if you see this again for day 2 of simon's month dont worry bout it

Simon curses under his breath as the confirmation email comes in.

So, he’d booked the food tour a little quickly, possibly without reading all the fine print. He can’t even blame a language barrier because he’s in Spain and, thanks to his mamá, his Spanish is really better than his English.

The solo-travel thing had been a bit of a last-minute decision. Spurred by the post university graduation crisis of, ‘Oh Fuck What Am I Doing With My Life?’ whichled twenty-somethings around the globe to grab a backpack and buy a one-way plane ticket. Simon’s decision was also encouraged by the fact that he’d woken up one day and realized he was in a toxic relationship, quickly packing his bags and saying Hejdå to a two-year relationship. He’s only about three weeks into the whole self-discovery shtick, but it seems to be going well so far. He enjoys the independence of it all. Not that he’s not independent at home — in fact, he’s been a little bit too much of an adult since he was 10 — but more so that he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else. Simon goes to museums when he wants to, stays for as little or as much time as he wants. He eats when he wants, goes to shows he likes, and doesn’t spend every second of every day worrying about everyone else. (Of course, he’s called his mama and sister nearly every day since he left, but he’s working on it.) He also, apparently, incorrectly books guided food tours that are actually romantic couples excursions. 

Glancing around the nearly empty breakfast room at his hostel, he chews on his options. One is to show up to this tour alone and look like a dumb tourist. Two is to find someone willing to go on it with him.

There’s a pair of British girls in the corner, giggling over their plates of breakfast. Simon recognizes them from the stand-up comedy show the hostel had organized the night before; they’d been attached at the hip the whole night. Slim chance of separating them. Crowding around the cereal bar is a group of American guys who all look like fraternity brothers. If Simon remembers correctly, he’d overheard some vile words from them in the bar last night, and so he’s is not too keen on participating in any sort of tour with any of them, romantic or not.

The only other person in the room is sitting a few seats down at the communal table: a very good-looking man with light auburn hair and high cheek bones. His long fingers, nails painted a deep purple, hold up a book with one hand and gingerly lift a coffee cup to his lips with the other. He’s dressed quite casually, in an un-done button up over a tank-top and baggy trousers, but somehow makes it look refined. Simon noticed him yesterday afternoon in the hostel café, noticed the way the man’s eyes tracked Simon from across the room.

His pretty brown eyes are no longer locked on the pages of the book, but have found Simon again and caught him staring. Simon forces himself to hold his ground and smiles, glancing down at the book title. It’s by a Swedish author, he realizes, and a gay Swedish author at that.

Gesturing with his head, Simon asks, “Is it good?”

The pretty man places his coffee cup down clumsily. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorites.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“I’ve read it a million times,” he says, closing the book. “I’m Wille.” 

The light blush on his cheeks is endearing.

“Simon.”

Wille smiles softly and nods, “Trevligt.”

He’s polite and looks suspiciously rich to be in this hostel, but his eyes are kind and has a rainbow pin on his tote bag so, before Wille can say anything else, Simon slides one chair closer.

“Are you doing anything today, Wille?”

Wille moves to the chair across from Simon. “Nope.”

Simon props his head on both his hands and gazes at this beautiful stranger, wondering why he didn’t speak to him the day before. “Would you like to join me on a romantic food tour around Barcelona?”

Wille quirks an eyebrow, then mirrors Simon’s position. “I would love to.”

The tour doesn’t begin for a few hours, so they sit and chat while the breakfast room fills up around them. Wille laughs when Simon explains how he’s gotten himself into this situation, and the sound sets little sparks bursting in Simon’s chest. What luck he’s had this morning.

Simon learns that Wille is also at the beginning of a self-discovery trip, running away from a family legacy and a desk job he desperately did not want. He also learns that Wille is incredibly funny and quite flirty, though whenever Simon starts flirting back he becomes incredibly flustered. His stare, though, is the thing that gets Simon the most. Wille looks at him so intently, gaze flitting between Simon’s eyes and his mouth, listening to every word and seemingly staring directly into Simon’s soul. It would be troubling if he wasn’t so goddamn beautiful.

The conversation flows so easily between them that Simon, so wrapped up in Wille’s laugh and crooked teeth, almost forgets they have somewhere to be.

They walk quickly through the streets of Barcelona together, heading towards the café at which they’re meant to meet the rest of their tour group. Wille’s fingers brush against Simon’s a few times, though his voice never falters, so Simon isn’t sure if it’s just him that feels the jolt of electricity each time.

“You said this is a romantic food tour?” Wille asks, reaching out to pull Simon out of the way of a passing cart.

The city is bustling with life around them, the sun shining hot between the buildings, people hanging off balconies, chatting with neighbors or stringing up laundry to dry. It’s absolutely beautiful, and somehow it seems a bit more colorful than it had the day before.

“Yes.”

“Is it going to be obvious that you and I just met?” he says, letting Simon go ahead of him to squeeze through the crowd, staying close, with a hand hovering over Simon’s lower back.

“Well,” Simon muses, “we could make it a bit of a game. If you’re down.”

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Wille’s eyes light up with mischief. “I’m down. What kind of game?”

Simon chuckles and shrugs, checking his phone to make sure they’re still headed in the right direction. “We could pretend to be a couple. You know, really put on a show.”

“That sounds very, very fun, Simon.”

For the last ten or so minutes of their walk, they establish some basic rules. They’ll hold hands and gaze lovingly in each other’s eyes and ramble to anyone who asks about their beautiful love story. The goal is to one-up every other couple there by acting sickeningly in love. By the time they make it to the café, only a few minutes late, they’re holding onto each other and cackling at the increasingly ridiculous ‘meet-cute’ ideas they’ve come up with.

There are three other couples in the tour: one looks like a very young newly-wed couple, another is a pair of middle-aged ladies, and the third is a pretentious-looking, older couple who already look fed up with everyone else. As the tour-guide starts on their spiel, Wille wraps a tender arm around Simon, pulling him close and whispering jokes into his ear, somehow making them look more like a couple than even the newly-weds.

They sit down to start, and Wille lets Simon order for them off the selected menu. They feed each other bites of tomato toast and gently wipe crumbs from each other’s cheeks, all the while giggling to each other and only half-listening to the explanations of the food. It also seems they’ve unintentionally started a competition with the other young couple of who-can-look-more-in-love. When Wille hands Simon a napkin before he can even ask to wipe up his splashed juice, the man of the other couple tries to lovingly whisper something in his wife’s ear but gets brushed off as she’s too busy listening intently to the tour guide. When Simon holds out a forkful of potato omelette for Wille, the man tries to do the same, but his wife shakes her head, smiling, and fondly pats his cheek then turns back to her own plate.

As they move through the next few stops — a restaurant, a food cart, and an open-air market — he and Wille fall even further into their ‘game’. There’s plenty of very intentional touches and exchanged loving glances, but Wille also asks Simon about himself. About his family and his dreams and where he’s going next. Simon learns even more about Wille’s obsession with frogs and his love for lakes and his passion for writing. The rest of the tour group fades away, and things between them start to feel a little less like a game and a little more real. The prolonged eye contact becomes less playful and more loaded. The lingering touches become less out of competition and more out of some deep urge. Simon’s eyes flick more often down to Wille’s lips, watching him lick cream off his fingers or clean gazpacho off his spoon.

Maybe it’s the wine, but as they head to their last stop of the day, hand in hand, trailing behind the group, Simon finds himself hoping Wille isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He’d made a few friends over the past few weeks, but it always seemed to work out that when he was having a great time, the person would be leaving the very next day, heading off to some new country or heading back home.

Wille grins over at him and points out a pretty sculpture, mumbling something smart about the artist and looking absolutely ethereal in the light of the early evening with his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. Maybe it isn’t just the wine.

Their final destination is small tapas place on the beach. Simon and Wille have given up any pretense of listening to the tour guide or of playing their little game. Instead, they sit close at their table and chat about their favorite memories growing up and tell embarrassing stories. Simon, as he’s done at every place, translates every bit of Spanish on the menu and giggles helplessly as he corrects Wille’s pronunciation. They share a plate of pulpo and split a liter of sangria and it’s one of the most perfect days Simon’s ever experienced.

“I’m really glad I misread that website,” Simon says, fiddling with his fingers. When he glances up, he finds Wille grinning at him. He takes Simon’s hand.

“Me too.”

After the tour concludes and their guide bids they all farewell, their group mostly scatters. But, Wille and Simon stay at their table, finishing off their pitcher and becoming increasingly rowdy with their jokes. After a few annoyed looks from their waiter, they collect their things and stumble down to the beach. Simon jumps onto Wille’s back, laughing loudly and savoring the feeling of Wille’s strong hands wrapped securely around his legs. Wille wades out into the shallow water of the beach, and Simon yelps when he pretends to nearly drop them both into the cool water.

Eventually, Wille lets him down but takes his hand instead, and they walk down the sand, talking about the food tour and realizing that they maybe didn’t pay attention at all.

There’s a warm buzz in Simon’s body, making him giddy and calm all at once. When they make it to a small concrete pier, Wille pulls him out to the edge of it and they stand, arms wrapped around each other, staring out at the Mediterranean.

Simon sigh happily. “Beautiful.”

“Yeah. Very,” Wille says breathlessly, and Simon looks up to see Wille staring down at him. He smacks Wille’s chest playfully.

“You’re an idiot, Wille.”

Wille laughs, “I’m being serious!”

“Sure,” Simon hums, turning back to the water, biting back a smile.

“Hey.” He turns back again and Wille’s face has sobered, and he’s now gazing down at Simon with that same intense stare. “You are beautiful, Simon. You’re also funny and kind and— I had a really, really great time today.”

He squirms slightly at the force of the words, the conviction in Wille’s tone, but can’t help but let his eyes flicker down to Wille’s lips. He’s so close and looks so pretty in the cool lighting of the twilight evening and Simon’s never thought it could be possible to fall for someone like this, this hard, in one day.

“Me, too,” Simon whispers. Then, “Wille?”

“Yes?”

“Can I—”

Wille nods, gasping, “Yes,” before Simon can even finish his sentence and then they’re both rushing forward.

Finally, after thinking about it nearly all day, Wille’s lips connect with his. He tastes like fruity wine and olives and something so Wille, and Simon melts into his arms, coming up onto his tiptoes to press further into him. Wille’s hair is soft under his fingertips and though they’ve basically been touching all day, this is different and overwhelming and everything.

When they break apart, giggling into each other, the lights have come on along the paved pathway by the beach.

“Maybe we should head back?” Wille suggests, looking just as much like he doesn’t want to head back as Simon feels. But, it’s getting late and he’s also starting to feel tired from all the wine and walking, so Simon nods and takes Wille’s hand again.

They trail slowly back through the streets, pausing occasionally to exchange a quick kiss, or to slip into an alcove and exchange a slightly longer one. By the time they make it back to their building, Simon’s limbs feel syrupy with sleep and his chest feels warm with the events of the day.

Two steps up the stairs to the front door of the hostel, Simon stops and turns.

“Where will you be tomorrow?” he asks, looking down at Wille.

Wille smiles. “Wherever you are.”