#but then i promptly forget about it after finding the answer

[hard-core-super-star]

brought you together so nice [W.Maximoff + N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!natasha romanoff x sub!reader x switch!wanda maximoff

summary: natasha takes care of you until wanda comes back. needless to say, the witch is more than happy about the arrangement you both came up with in her absence.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NO INTERACT -> porn with very little plot but even more feelings; mommy + daddy kink; slightly more established dom/dub dynamics; a dash of pet play (as usual); bondage; gagging; soft domme nat + bratty wanda!!!!; vibrator use [R receiving]; praise + degradation + a dash of humiliation; hair pulling; spanking; aftercare

wordcount: 4.1k

a/n: well, well, well...guess who got too attached to another series? yup, me 😅 these two have taken up more of my mind than i originally thought so here is part three of this little series. i don't have a plan to make another full part, but i might mess around and write a few blurbs here and there. we'll see what happens. anyway, thank you for all your support, especially regarding this little series. i'm thinking of opening my requests back up until the start of the new year so keep an eye out for that ;) [commissions are still more than welcome, though!] okay, i'll stop rambling for now, hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

Natasha could be sweet when she wanted to.

That was the first thing you learned after agreeing to become her and Wanda's submissive. 

The rules and details weren't too clear yet, the redhead promising to answer all your questions as soon as the Sokovian came back from her mission. Still, she did what she could to fill in the gaps of your knowledge, allowing you to ask her as many questions as you pleased before showing you, in great detail, what she meant.

Despite the cold exterior you'd learned to love, she was much softer with you than you'd ever imagined. Sure, she was still a mean domme at heart, but she wanted to show you heights of pleasure you'd never experienced before.

And she went to great lengths to guarantee it.

It quickly became clear to you how much she loved impact play. Even outside of play sessions, she would always come up behind you, landing a hard smack to your ass before pulling you into her arms. You didn't mind, even when she did it in front of the others.

(Although Tony did whistle at you guys once and promptly earned himself a punch to the stomach. He laughed it off but made sure to never tease the Widow about her behavior with you again.)

You knew there were a lot of things you didn't know or fully understand, but Natasha always seemed to find a way to make you feel more excited than nervous about it. It was almost funny how quickly her personality changed once she allowed you to see past her walls.

Sure, she was still a little mean and more than a little snarky (which is exactly how you liked her, if you were being honest) yet there was a softer, affectionate, side that started coming out more and more.

She told you it was simply because Wanda wasn't around and she wasn't allowed to "break you in" without her around. Maybe it was a silly excuse perfectly crafted to keep you on your toes, but you didn't really mind.

Well, except because you really missed Wanda.

Being without the witch was harder than you thought it would be, but the Widow kept you busy enough to forget the empty spot beside you in their bed.

Your bed.

That was the second thing Natasha made you learn. 

Yes, you were technically an addition to their relationship, but you weren't an outsider. You never were.

That was the third thing you learned.

Both Natasha and Wanda had their eyes on you from the very beginning. They loved each other, and their relationship made them happier than they could put into words, and yet they always felt something was missing. A third energy to keep them in check. To stop them from getting too rough, too mean with each other. To help remember how to be soft after spending so much time fighting with the world.

It was...strange, but you couldn't deny what they meant to you. The attraction you felt toward them had always been there and after Wanda opened that door...well, let's just say there was no going back.

You didn't understand how real that was until now.

Because somehow, someway, after carrying guilt you didn't even need to have in the first place, you were here.

You were theirs.

You were waking up in their bed with Natasha's arms wrapped tight around your waist.

A shudder ran down your body as the redhead's lips met your bare shoulder, peppering kisses across the skin. "Morning, detka. Sleep well?"

"Yeah," you reply as a smile forms on your face. "You're a fantastic cuddler."

"Shut up," she mumbles. There's a clear lack of annoyance in her words despite her attempts at sounding tough. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your grip on me begs to differ."

At your response, her hands move to grip your waist, her nails digging into your soft skin. The sensation makes you gasp, your back arching almost instantly. You can feel the redhead smiling against your skin. It hasn't been that long and she already knows your body better than you do.

"Sorry, were you saying something?" She says, taking advantage of your reactions to grind against your ass. "You seem a little distracted."

 It's a bit of a cruel game but it's one she loves to play with you. Truth be told, she loves playing with you, period. You're so different from Wanda, so much more responsive, more honest about your constant neediness.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you mumble, not so subtly grinding back against her.

Just because you were slowly learning the rules regarding your place didn't mean you didn't love pushing Natasha's buttons whenever you could. Which really only happened in the mornings and during aftercare. Those were the only two moments when the older woman allowed herself to be soft with you, to let you see behind the walls she'd expertly put up to keep everyone out. Everyone except you and Wanda, it seems.

Her voice remains low, straddling the border between a tease and a warning. "Is my good girl trying to be a brat?"

Your heart skips a beat at her words. At the mention of being her good girl. Of being hers.

After the rough beginning your relationship had, you never thought you'd be let into her heart in any way. And yet here you are. You're her good girl, her kitten, her darling submissive.

"No..." You trail off, trying to decide whether to behave or push her buttons a little more. Ultimately, your desire to be a little shit wins out. "...Daddy."

Natasha chuckles behind you, her hands moving from your hips and toward your breasts. She gives them a soft squeeze as her thumbs tease your hardening nipples. "Oh, kotenok, you woke up cheeky this morning, huh? You know what mouthing off like that will earn you, right?"

You do know. She's told you many, many times before, usually while she's praising you for being so good for her and drawing out orgasm after orgasm from your overstimulated body.

However, she's never actually acted out any of her warnings. It's a good thing, you know that, and yet you can't stop yourself from wanting to see what it will feel like. To explore what that kind of submission will do to you.

"Yes, Daddy. I know."

She hums before going right back to kissing across your shoulders, nipping at your skin just to get you to arch into her teasing hands. "I see...you want to be punished, don't you? Want Daddy to remind you of your place until there's nothing else inside your mind?"

You're about to reply when you're interrupted by F.R.I.D.A.Y. "Miss Romanoff, Miss Maximoff has asked me to notify you of her return."

Your cheeks flush, even though the disembodied voice can't see what exactly you're up to this morning. At the very least, F.R.I.D.A.Y. is a lot less nosy than Jarvis ever was. Although, if you're being honest, you liked him better before he turned into a robot.

"I'm assuming she'll be at the Medbay for a while?" The Widow replies, her mind no doubt full of the things she'll do to you to pass the time.

"Yes, it seems she'll be there for the next half hour."

"Good. Thank you, Friday."

The AI doesn't reply and you can practically imagine her making a swift exit out of the room, leaving you to face whatever it is that the redhead has come up with.

"y/n..." Natasha purrs, her breath hot against your ear. "I have an idea. Why don't we give Mommy a nice surprise, hmm? Don't you want to be her pretty welcome back gift?"

You're not sure what being Wanda's "welcome back gift" will entail, but you can't deny your curiosity about it. Especially since the witch has no idea what you and her girlfriend have been up to. You have no doubt she has her suspicions, she is a mind reader after all, but it'll still be nice to surprise her.

You agree before you even know what you're doing, and Natasha wastes no time in springing into action.

In a matter of minutes, you go from lying comfortably under the covers to being spread out on your back, your limbs tied to each corner of the bed. You're exposed, vulnerable, and you love every second of it.

Of course, Natasha isn't satisfied with that. No, to top off the pretty sight you make, she places a deep, dark red ball gag between your lips. You shouldn't be surprised since, after all, you did ask for it.

"There we go," the redhead hums appreciatively, her eyes taking in the beautiful sight. "Now, just sit tight, okay, detka? I'll be right back."

You whine instantly, but she pays no mind to you, quickly making her way out of the bedroom and going to look for Wanda. You're not exactly happy about being left alone yet, there's nothing you can do. All you can do is throw your head back in frustration and wait for your lovers to return.

You're not sure how much time goes by, although there's no doubt in your mind that Natasha does her best to draw out their return just to mess with you, but eventually, they make their way back to you.

The sound of the door opening makes you practically vibrate with excitement, your hips wiggling from side to side without thinking.

"Well, would you look at that," Wanda says as she steps further into the room. "Looks like someone was having fun without me."

Natasha follows her in, standing behind her and wrapping her arms around her waist. There's something so domestic about the action that makes your heart clench.

"I had to get her ready for you, darling," the redhead replies as her chin finds the other woman's shoulder. "She looks good, doesn't she?"

"She sure does. I take it you worked out your issues?"

"We came to an...agreement, yes. I couldn't let you have all the fun."

Wanda chuckles, the corners of her mouth quirking up into a fond smile. There's no mistaking the fire in her eyes, though, the desire simmering below the surface. "And you said I was crazy for wanting her to join us."

The Widow grumbles, clearly not quite ready to admit her girlfriend was right. "You're still not off the hook, you let her believe you cheated on me."

"When are you going to let that go?"

"I'm not sure, maybe you should make it up to me."

Natasha's eyes remain on you but Wanda turns around, silencing her girlfriend's complaints with a fiery kiss. All you can do is watch, feeling left out and far too involved at the same time. You're slowly getting used to their competitive antics.

Their kisses turn desperate in nothing short of a few seconds, leaving you far too desperate and needy while you squirm around on the bed. They take their sweet time getting back to you, though, instead letting their hands wander over each other's bodies.

You'd love to complain but you're still gagged so talking is pretty much impossible. More than that...you can't say you're not loving the view. It makes you feel a little dirty, like you're watching an intimate scene you shouldn't be, and it brings a rush unlike anything you've ever felt before.

They know, because of course they know, and your obvious arousal only motivates them to tease you.

Natasha moves first, expert hands reaching for the hem of Wanda's shirt and lifting it over her head in an instant. "I missed you."

"Are you talking to me or my boobs?" The witch replies with a perfectly raised eyebrow.

"I'm talking to all of you."

"Nice save, 'Tasha."

"Shut up."

There's something comforting about the scene in front of you, even as your frustration builds. You've been with them before, but it's different this time. You can feel the change in energy, the easy chemistry that flows between all of you now that Natasha isn't trying to push you away.

"Come on, I think we've teased our good girl long enough," Wanda says, taking the redhead's hand and leading her toward the bed. "Isn't that right, sweetheart? You're feeling a little frustrated, hmm?"

You nod desperately in response, tugging at the rope that holds you down. Your actions only make both of your lovers chuckle.

"Look at her, she's drenched and we haven't gotten started yet," Natasha comments, her eyes trailing up and down your body like a predator assessing its prey.

"I'm guessing this means training's going well."

"She's a quick learner. A bit bratty sometimes, though."

The way they talk about you as if you're not a part of the conversation has you clenching around pure air. It doesn't help that the Widow is so accurate in her assessment of you. You love being submissive, being under their control, but you can't deny how much fun it is to disobey. To push against the boundaries she's set for you, not to defy her but to tease her. Maybe even test her a little.

It's far too fun.

"Is that right, sweetheart?" Wanda asks, even though your body language makes it clear how correct Natasha is. "I thought you liked being our good girl. Because if you don't, well...you know what happens to naughty girls, don't you?"

Of course you know. It was one of the first things the redhead taught you. Sure, the rules and terms weren't too fleshed out yet since Natasha had wanted her girlfriend to be a part of the whole exchange, but she'd gone over most things with you. Rewards, punishments, hard limits, all that stuff.

You're unable to tell the witch that, though, thanks to the gag in your mouth. Your incoherent mumbles seem to entertain her for a few seconds while Natasha sneaks off toward their closet.

Wanda's chuckle cuts through the air. Your attempts at convincing her you've been good clearly amuse her. "I know, baby, I know you like being good. Otherwise, Nat wouldn't be so attached to you."

"I'm not attached," the redhead grumbles.

A month ago, her words would have made your heart drop into your stomach. Now, though, you know she's only playing a part. She has no problem telling you how she feels outside of a scene, but when you're playing, when you're being their pet, she's right back to being mean. Right back to degrading you and humiliating you until you're riding the edge of pleasure and pain.

"Keep telling yourself that, darling."

"Oh, I will."

Their banter is borderline comforting. You've loved spending time with Natasha, but this, being with them and seeing their personalities come together, this is where you thrive.

Well, it's not like you're doing much. Then again, they like you most when you're like this. Vulnerable, at their mercy, and so obviously loving every second of it.

Wanda climbs onto bed with you, crawling over your body until she's hovering over you with a gentle smile that steals all your worries away. "'Tasha's such a liar, isn't she, sweetheart? It's okay, let her act like she's the big bad."

You want to laugh, but it's a little hard when she's leaning down to pepper kisses all over your face. The action is far softer than what you were expecting and it makes your heart soar.

You were ready for a rougher training session, for a trial run meant to show you what you had been missing in the witch's absence. But this? This is really good too.

Wanda continues her loving assault on your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw and toward your neck. You tilt your head back in response, earning a soft giggle muffled against your skin, as she kisses and nibbles all up and down your throat. There's no doubt in your mind that she's littering your skin with hickies and noticeable marks, but you find you really don't mind it.

The witch steals your attention long enough for Natasha to gather a few supplies before making her way over to you. You feel her set a few things down next to you, but you don't get to see what they are. Not that you really mind considering how busy your mind is.

"Stop hogging her attention, that's not very fair."

"It's not my fault you left her so fuzzy-headed. Poor girl didn't even stand a chance, huh?"

You shake your head, a few muffled whines making their way out of you.

Natasha chuckles as she shifts onto her knees next to you. Her hands find their way between you and Wanda's bodies, teasing your skin as she explores the territory she's spent the past few days claiming.

"Oh, please. This is nothing. You should've seen the state she was in last night."

The reminder makes you squirm in your restraints, trying to get closer to them to no avail. You know how desperate you look, how absolutely needy you are, but you can't find it in yourself to care. This is what you had been waiting for. To be completely theirs. To surrender to them and accept everything they were willing to give you. Sure, it was intimidating and yet it felt incredibly right.

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" Wanda responds, working her way down your body, expertly avoiding the areas where her girlfriend is touching you.

"You deserve it. Wasn't this your fantasy?"

"Maybe. It was hers first, though. Isn't that right, detka?"

The change in topic makes you blush. It shouldn't be surprising to hear that the witch had already known about your feelings for her but it's still a little embarrassing. At least she seems to enjoy it.

You nod, your movements slightly frantic and no doubt fueled by the feeling of her lips on your flushed skin. She takes her time dragging her lips up and down your inner thighs as Natasha teases your hardening nipples.

"Such a good little slut. I bet you're already so fuzzy. Just want your cunt played with and nothing else." The redhead distracts you with her words, leaving you completely unprepared for Wanda's continued assault.

You don't hear the thrumming sound of the vibrator coming to life, but you sure feel it against your sensitive clit. Your whole body shudders in response as your hips buck in a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sensation.

Your reaction makes the witch laugh and she leans down to press a few more kisses to your thighs. "There you go, that's what I like to see."

Her words feel more like humiliation than praise and yet you can't find it in yourself to care. Not when it feels so good that it borders on painful.

"Excuse you, we were having a little chat." Natasha's tease is coupled with a firm grip in your hair as she tilts your head toward her. "I'll have to train you if you don't fix that attention span, pet."

"Be nice, Nat, it's not her fault she likes me more."

"God, you're such a brat, Maximoff." Her free hand leaves your body to land a sharp smack against Wanda's ass. "I'll put you in your place too, if I have to."

The witch hums in response, very clearly pushing herself back against the redhead's hand. "You know I'd enjoy it."

Natasha spanks her again and the sight has you bucking your hips faster as you search for more pleasure. You let out a string of whines, already feeling yourself on the edge of an orgasm. It's a little embarrassing how quickly you're reaching your limit but in your defense, you've been worked up ever since you woke up. You were bound to lose from the beginning.

"Don't tell me you want to cum already, sweetheart? We've barely gotten started."

You want to defend yourself, but your attempts are instant failures. Natasha seems to get off on how pathetic you sound, though.

"It's alright, kitten, why don't you go ahead and cum for me? Mommy hasn't earned her reward just yet."

Wanda opens her mouth to object but she doesn't get very far since the redhead goes right back to spanking her.

You're not used to seeing the witch in a slightly more submissive position. She always seem to straddle the border between being fully in control and immersed below Natasha's dominance. This change of pace is more than welcome, though.

The vibrator gets pushed harder against your sensitive clit and the pressure sends you over the edge almost instantly. You don't get a chance to warn them, all you can do is give in to the sudden pleasure as your body trembles beneath them.

They're both distracted by the sight of your orgasm crashing into you so suddenly. So beautifully.

"What a good girl," Natasha murmurs appreciatively. "You could learn a thing or two from her, Wands."

"Whatever." You miss the way the witch rolls her eyes since your eyes are more than a little blurry and there's a soft ringing in your ears. "It won't be my fault when she forgets her place, Daddy."

That earns her another spank, but she's too busy moving the vibrator away from your drenched cunt to care. You whine softly at the loss of contact even though you feel far too sensitive to take much more.

Apparently, you look as out of it as you feel because the older women take a few moments to let you catch your breath.

Wanda's hands gently stroke up and down your legs to keep you grounded while Natasha shifts closer, her hands reaching out to undo the ballgag. "How are you feeling, kotenok? Do you want to keep going?"

Your throat's a little dry, but you manage to form a reply. "I'm okay. Just need to catch my breath."

The Widow nods before reaching over to grab the bottled water on the nightstand. She helps you take a few sips of water while Wanda continues to caress your skin, both giving you as much time as you need to recover. It's such a small thing and yet it's a reminder of why you're so attached to them. Why you need them more and more with every day that goes by.

Your relationship with them might have had a bit of a rough start, but you couldn't imagine a better outcome. Couldn't imagine two better people to surrender your heart to.

"Someone's in a romantic mood," Wanda pipes up with a soft smile.

Her words cause an instant response in you and you feel your face grow warmer by the second. "Why are you in my mind right now?"

"Because your thoughts about me are so loud," she replies almost instantly. "Don't look so embarrassed, detka, I think it's cute."

"Shut up," you mumble, momentarily forgetting where you are and what you're in the middle of doing.

Wanda's smile turns slightly dark and her hand comes down against your thigh before you can even think about what you did wrong. "Where'd your manners go, huh?"

The sensation makes you shiver, but Natasha reaches a hand out to stop the witch from smacking your thigh again. "Time out, darling. I don't think we're quite ready to keep going."

You want to argue with her and yet you make no real effort to. As much as you might want to keep going, you can't deny how overwhelming it all was...and how desperate you are for some cuddles.

"Sorry," you mumble.

Wanda instantly shushes you as she uses her magic to undo the restraints keeping you tied down. "Nonsense, you have nothing to apologize for."

The second your limbs are free, Natasha's hands are on you again. This time, though, she merely maneuvers you onto your side so she's able to slide in behind you. The second her arms wrap around your waist, your shoulders let go of the tension they've been holding. 

Wanda wastes no time in joining the two of you, laying down in front of you and reaching up to play with your hair. "Just relax, we have all day to pick up where we left off."

"Don't rush her, little witch."

Natasha's words make you chuckle and you lean forward until you're practically buried in the witch's chest. "I'm okay, guys. I don't break easily."

A beat of silence goes by as they allow you to soak in the afterglow, in the feeling of their embrace.

But the Widow really can't help herself.

"Are you sure? Maybe we should test that out."

Her words are a tease, but none of you can deny your curiosity...or your arousal.

Needless to say, you spend most of the day tangled up in their bed.

Your bed.

With the two women who mean the absolute world to you.

[autumnrory]

i do not have the energy to devote to my fave celebs that i did as a teenager i can’t fathom having energy to devote to a celeb i hate and the people who like them lol

[reidsgfbf]

under pressure || s. reid

description : in which reader forgets their weighted blanket, but spencer is more than happy to be their substitute

word count : 791 words!

notes : gn! reader, implied neurodivergent! reader, morgan gets bullied

Something you had always struggled with at work was understimulation. You never allowed yourself to stim, mostly for fear of judgement, but also because you feared it wasn’t professional for a seasoned BAU agent to stim in front of your coworkers.

Today was not that much different. After a quick bathroom break to stim happily now that you and the team were on the jet back to Quantico after a gruelling case in Denver, Colorado, you had returned to your spot on the sofa, rummaging through your go-bag to try and find your weighted blanket, only to remember you’d foolishly left it at home in your haste to get to the jet on time for the briefing after Hotch had called you about the case.

A little sigh escaped you. Luckily, most of the team were too preoccupied to hear your dismay; Hotch and Rossi sleeping, JJ and Emily playing snap on the games table, Morgan listening to his MP3 player and Spencer reading. It was him who heard your noise of consternation, and he looked up from his book. Upon seeing your perturbed expression, he closed it and inched out of his seat, approaching you.

“Are… you okay?” he asked, slightly nervously.

“I’m fine.” You told him, but it was clear he didn’t believe you.

Spencer raised a brow. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t have sighed like that. Now answer my question. Are you okay?”

Another sigh escaped you. “I forgot to pack my weighted blanket.” you admitted awkwardly. “I’m feeling really badly understimulated and I need some deep pressure.”

Spencer paused. “Deep pressure?” he repeated, momentarily dumbfounded before a bashful flush painted his cheeks pink. “Uh, would you like me to be your substitute?” he offered timidly.

You paused. Spencer Reid? Offering to be your weighted blanket? The opportunity was way too good to pass up.

“Yes.” you nodded in confirmation, moving to lie down on the sofa, and beckoning Spencer closer. He hesitantly did so, before pausing.

“Are you sure?” he asked, just to confirm. You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, but a small grin tugged at your lips.

“Just crush me, Dr. Reid.” you replied, so he gingerly laid on top of you. “Put more of your weight on me.” you ordered and he hesitated.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Spencer protested shyly.

“Put your weight on me!” you laughed, and he did so after another moment’s hesitation, sensing that you really did need it. You relaxed under him as you felt his weight on you, a blissful smile on your face.

You murmured your gratitude, and promptly fell asleep under Spencer, who smiled in astonishment at how fast you’d succumbed to the Sandman. Though, admittedly, his eyes were getting heavy too… and your soft and slow breathing was lulling him to sleep… Surely you wouldn’t mind if he took a quick cat nap, would you? With that decided, he fell asleep too, his snoring mingling with yours.

Unbeknownst to the two of you sleeping beauties, the rest of the team had noticed what was going on, and even Hotch and Rossi had woken up. Morgan grinned.

“Oh, babygirl is going to flip if she doesn’t get any evidence of the two lovebirds snuggling.” he laughed, taking out his phone to take a picture, Emily following suit.

JJ rolled her eyes. “Leave them alone.” she scolded the two, with no real heat, as she too took out her phone and snapped a few pictures of you and Spencer slumbering together.

“Let them be.” Hotch, ever the hypocrite, added, as he also snapped a picture that may or may not eventually become his wallpaper for the next month.

It wasn’t until the plane was due to land that someone woke you and Spencer up, shaking your shoulders.

“Come on kids, the jet’s gonna land.” Rossi announced. Spencer blinked blearily as he slowly woke up, before jolting up and straddling you when he realised what position he’d woken up in. You did so too, accidentally smacking your forehead against Spencer’s making the both of you groan and hold a hand against your injured brows.

Morgan snorted. “You two really are made for each other. You’re both as graceful as baby deer on ice.” You and Spencer glared at the bald man, who raised his hands up in surrender.

“Shut it, baldilocks.” you grumbled tiredly and Spencer snickered, causing Morgan to fake a gasp of faux indignance.

“Agent.” Hotch scolded you, though there was a grin on his face.

“Sorry Morgan, for pointing out your shiny bald head.” you apologised half-heartedly, making the rest of the team laugh at Morgan’s affronted splutters. A little smile appeared on your face. Who knew forgetting your weighted blanket would lead to this?

[sereneres]

“ln yn forgetting she’s an idol f…” ⁰

le sserafim x lsfm 6th member!reader / 1.1k

summary. — “ln yn forgetting she’s an idol for five minutes and a few seconds (aka yn having no filter).”

warnings. — cursing / somewhat vulgar language / typical slurring from lsfm!yn / yn encouraging parasocial activities / video-format by @/jihyoruri

“unnie, stop touchin’ m’like that.”

chaewon blinks. yunjin freezes. kazuha promptly looks away from the camera, desperately trying–and failing–to hold back her laughter. eunchae was already snorting. sakura, in an attempt to do damage control, continued talking cheerfully to the camera, subtly shifting so that she could cover whatever was happening behind her with her head.

“practice has been pretty hard.” she says, sighing. “not because the dance is hard, though that’s a reason too, but because it ends pretty late into the night.”

“yah, ln yn!” chaewon’s voice is heard, followed by the sound of skin hitting skin–likely her hand slapping some part of your body–and a muffled yelp. “if you say things like that, people are going to misunderstand!”

“but unnie, you keep touchin’ me ‘n weird places.” the younger whines. “what else ‘m i s’pposed t’say?”

sakura, having given up, just slumped onto the floor, letting those watching the live see what was happening behind her.

chaewon was practically on top of you, shaking you back and forth by your shoulders. yunjin was snickering as she attempted to get the leader off of you with little to no success. eunchae was still laughing, her face red, and kazuha, at somepoint, had joined in on her laughter.

“ln yn!” chaewon screams, her cheeks reddening. “you’re an idol, for goodness sake, an idol! don’t say that kind of thing!”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“‘where is yn?’”

“yn is currently preoccupied in the kitchen.” chaewon answered, eyeing something off screen. “both kazuha and eunchae are helping her which is why they aren’t here either.”

“they’re making cookies.” yunjin added, smiling. “erm, chocolate chip cookies, if i’m not–”

the sound of a door opening violently interrupts the american’s words, and the two girls on screen look to their left with surprised looks on their faces.

“chaewon’nie, the stove’s ‘n fire.” following your words is the high pitched beeping of what is undoubtedly the dorms fire alarms going off.

“what?!” chaewon stands up, with yunjin following suit. “what do you mean it’s on fire?!”

“‘s ‘n fire.”

yunjin, seemingly having remembered that the live was still going on, quickly ducked into view of the camera. “sorry, guys, we’ll be right back.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“ow, ow, fuck, ow–”

sakura, frowning, looked over to where you were presumably standing off screen. “ynnie, are you alright?”

she isn’t facing the camera, her head turned just enough so that those watching could tell she was worried by how tense her jaw was but not enough that they could see how her eyes had widened in alarm. you had cursed, after all, and in the middle of a live no less.

“m’fine, jus’ slammed the cabinet on m’finger.” you murmured, trudging into view with a hand wrapped tightly around your wounded finger. “it really hurt, ‘kura-unnie.”

oddly enough, you don’t seem all that worried about having potentially ruined your image as an idol by cursing. if anything, it seemed as though you hadn’t realized you had cursed aloud at all.

sakura, who is more than worried enough for the both of you, hums in response, absentmindedly checking your finger as she glanced at the live’s comment section. fortunately, it looked like no one was put out by your cursing, finding it more hilarious than upsetting.

“‘nnie, why’re they all laughin’? did somethin’ funny happen?”

“err… not exactly.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“unnie, wou’d you accept a kiss fro’me as a present?”

yunjin blinks, visibly stunned by your words. chaewon and sakura, both having realized just what you said, glance at the staff member standing behind the camera nervously. eunchae and kazuha, on the other hand, had quickly got over their shock and were giving you incredulous looks.

“oh my god-”

“…’s tha a yes or a no?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“ln yn, just what do you think you are doing?”

you freeze, giving sakura a panicked look–to which she responds with an amused smile–before slowly turning around to face your angry leader. “erm, h’llo, chaewon’nie.”

“hand.”

behind you, you could faintly hear yunjin and eunchae whispering about how chaewon sounded like she was speaking to a dog, ordering for it to give her a paw or something.

chaewon, unamused by your lack of response, both verbally and physically, raised a brow. “yn.”

you sigh, reluctantly doing as the older girl ordered and give her your hand, where a long cut glared an angry red on your skin.

“ooh~ unnie is in trouble~” eunchae murmured, smiling innocently at you when you turned to glare at her.

“yn, how did you get this?”

“…erm, i accident’lly stabbed m’self with scissors?…”

yunjin chortled, enjoying the scene before her all too much. “cut, more like.”

“not helping, unnie.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“‘kura-unnie’s basically m’ sugar m’mmy.” you mumbled to the camera, eagerly showing off the brand new pair of sneakers you had gotten–been gifted–earlier that day. “see? she bought m’ the shoes i was lookin’ at the other day.”

eunchae, who had been quiet until this moment leans into view of the camera, snorted. “unnie, you call anyone who’s ever bought you anything your sugar mommy.”

“sug-ar mom-my?” kazuha repeated slowly, tilting her head as she turned to look at chaewon, who sighed and shook her head with a look of disappointment on her face.

noticing how irritated the leader looked, the ballerina wisely decided to stay quiet and mind her own business.

“‘m not wrong though.” you point out to the unimpressed girl. “‘kura-unnie ‘s really m’sugar m’mmy. she buys me s’much stuff…” you giggle sleepily, turning back to the camera. “th’nk you, ‘kura-unnie~”

at that, chaewon, probably having realized just how… weird the conversation has gotten, clicked her tongue, drawing both your and eunchae’s attention.

“should i tell her to stop buying you things then?” she asked rhetorically, an eyebrow raised. “after all, we can’t have an idol, much less a girl group idol, being called ‘sugar mommy’ by one of her members…”

panicked, you sit up. “s’rry ‘nnie, i’ll ask ‘em to cut it out, ‘kay? don’t tell ‘kura-unnie anythin’!”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“to those who’re sayin’ that they wanna marry me…” you start absentmindedly, staring at the screen of your phone before raising your head to look at the camera. “‘you bein’ serious? ‘cause if you are…”

[ lsfms#1fan: yes. desperatehoe: YES?!!! reasonableperson: uh no r u not a minor??? desperatehoe#2: PLEASE BE MY GIRFLRIEDNHSJQBWBS ]

reading the more or less desperate comments your fans were making, you smile lazily, though it looks more like a smirk than anything else.

“if tha’s the case, then,” you continued, clearing your throat as you kept your eyes on the camera. “please sign a prenup agreement.” from the corner of your eye, you could see a variety of confused comments. “then, and only then, will i consider being married to you.”

masterlist.

[forlix]

"i did a thing." or, hyunjin needs an expert opinion about his newest piercing.

words・1.4k / pairing・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader / genres・fluff, established relationship / author's note・takes place in the same universe as places, places! and crying lightning but can be read on its own. @astraystayyh your children are back :’)

The parlor door jingles. Hyunjin emerges onto the chilled pavement with his phone pressed to his ear, and you pick up on the fourth ring.

“What is it? I’m busy.” The way your voice shrinks substantiates this claim, like you’ve darted to the other end of the room promptly after accepting his call. “And you’re on speaker.”

Hyunjin ducks into his car and sits back against the nylon with a grateful sigh. He finds himself constantly ill-prepared for Seoul’s Januarys. “Busy with who? Remind me.”

“You wanna say hi?” You ask the person in your company. Who is it? He hears them ask, to which you answer: Hyunjin. You say it softly, in the sense that you’re far away and speaking under your breath, but softly, in the sense that your tongue caresses every syllable of his name with that tacit fondness he’ll never tire of.

He notices the ditzy smile on his face only when he glances into his rear-view. He’s long given up on wiping it off.

A familiar voice drifts into your receiver. “Mr. Hwang!”

Ah, that’s right—you’re working on Aespa’s new music video for the next two weeks. Today must be the first day of filming.

“Hey, Ningning! How are you?”

“In a predicament, honestly. I have the biggest crush on my stylist, but so does this other guy…”

“Damn, sounds tough. Best of luck.”

“Oh, I won’t need luck. I said predicament, not competition.” 

His jaw hits his wheel. “Okay, we’re boxing. Let’s go. Earrings off.”

“Say less!"

You’ve withstood enough. “Alright, nobody is boxing anyone—do not touch your earrings, Ning, what’s wrong with you? God, Hyunjin!”

Now you say his name sternly, hopelessly, like he’s just knocked ten years off your lifespan. He almost likes this version more. He fell in love with you listening to it, after all.

“Did you call for any reason aside from threatening my clients?”

Oh, right. He did.

Hyunjin glances into the rear-view again, intentionally this time. He moves aside a lock of maroon hair to review the silver studs glinting off his right eyebrow.

He smirks.

“Am I allowed on set?”

Half an hour later, Hyunjin reaches the filming site and runs into a few staff members who are so surprised to see him they nearly forget to question what he’s doing there.

But they do their job, and he humors them, utters your name and the word “boyfriend” back to back. Then he watches their eyebrows disappear into their hairlines and basically prances into the dressing rooms.

He loves that everyone knows you. He loves that everyone knows that he loves you.

You were out of bed before he opened his eyes this morning, and he blooms at his first sight of you today, alone in the lounge, curled up on the couch and browsing through your phone. Eyeshadow stains your fingers and a pen sits behind the cuff of your ear. Your figure is framed in a (his) white cardigan with a red heart stitched over its left lapel. So professional, so pretty, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he uses his words instead.

“I did a thing,” he says, plopping onto the cushion next to you.

You look at him, shut off your phone. “I figured.”

“Promise me you won’t get mad.”

“No.”

It was worth a shot. “Can you blink, at least? You’re scaring me.”

In turn, you stretch open your eyes and hold them there. “A blink would be more than you deserve right now.”

Insufferable. He unleashes a bashful laugh and singular clap and looks back at you just in time to see a matching smile on your cordate lips. And to see you blink.

“Seriously, though, no more suspense,” you plead. “What on earth did you do? Should I be worried?” 

You tuck your hand around his bicep and tug lightly at his arm, and his insides pirouette at the gesture.

“No, no,” he answers, letting you pull him close, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I was being dramatic. It’s nothing, really.”

You catch him as he’s trying to leave. A light finger hooks beneath his chin, an anchor to keep his face a mere few inches away from yours.

You look him in the right eye, then in the left, your expression stoic, scrutinizing. He doesn’t remember where he looks, in the meantime. He’s slipping and sliding out of his right mind, drinking in your long lashes and curved cheeks, wondering what heroic deed he performed in his last life to be able to study beauty in such proximity in this one.

“It’s not nothing, is it?” You query, tracing the tip of your pointer finger over Hyunjin’s cupid’s bow.

“No,” he exhales. “It’s not nothing.”

“Did you get it on your face?”

Of course you already know.

He nods, and the finger moves to his lower lip, gently indenting the glossy plush. 

“Hot or cold?” 

“Cold.”

The finger runs over the bridge of his nose, then the perimeter of its prominence, like the drag of a feather. 

“Warmer.”

You lift a brow, give the side of his face a small nudge, and say, turn. The word comes out in a very stylist-esque manner, and you and Hyunjin realize this at the same time, judging by the synchrony of your quiet chuckles.

“Force of habit,” you murmur, and move his hair out of the way and lean in to examine his ear. Nothing new there. He turns his face the other way before you have to ask. Nothing new there, either.

When he looks at you again, your gaze has locked onto his eyebrows. You cock your head slightly to one side as it dawns on you what he’s done.

“Warmer,” he offers anyways, his smile small, his pulse rapid.

With a flourish of movement, you push his purple locks all the way off his forehead. Hyunjin holds his breath. Your expression goes blank. 

But it’s not blank, not really. One just has to know where to look. (He does.)

Your eyes darken fast as if caught in a solar eclipse, your pupils doubling in size, your irises quivering slightly. Your mouth opens, then closes, then purses into a thin line as if suppressing something explosive. Your cheeks blush at their very outskirts, along the edges of your face and the slants of your cheekbones, like how the first rays of sunlight always skim the mountaintops first.

He hardly notices the finger you bring to brush over the studs, so carefully he doesn’t feel the contact.

He’s too busy basking in his victory.

Neither of you say anything for a long while. You lean back, then right, then left, your hand pinned to his hairline, your gaze superglued to his brow. He simply sits still, feeling like one of your French girls, simpering, simping.

“You really did it,” you finally say.

“I did,” he chirps. “Any notes?”

At the next part of your lips, your waiting smile overtakes them at long last. You duck your head to conceal it like he hasn’t already melted at its mere image. You deliver your answer to your knees.

“No?” He repeats incredulously, teasingly. “That’s a shame. I really could’ve used an expert opinion.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to tug at your sockets. His boyish grin wipes away your feigned irritation like warm cotton.

“Fine,” you grouse. “Look at me.”

He does. You look back.

“It's nice," you deadpan.

Your resolve wobbles.

"Complements your face…shape.”

The ‘p’ sound pops, and you lose your shit.

The sun fully risen now, you bury your burning face into your hands, your shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Meanwhile, the raucous cackle that leaves Hyunjin’s lips causes the intern hurrying past the lounge outside to jump so high he actually lets go of his coffee cups before snatching them back out of the air with a relieved groan. He doesn’t get paid enough. 

You think you’re getting paid too much. 

“I love it, Hyun,” you whisper. “You’re beautiful. I don’t tell you that enough."

His heart beats so rapidly he thinks it might take off into a sprint; his laugh dwindles into a ditzy smile, one he’s long given up on wiping off.

“You know nothing about that word,” he replies, softly.

You bring your lips to his. His fingers wrap around the crook of your elbow. Yours begin curled in the silken hair at the back of his head. The pen behind your ear falls into the cracks of the couch.

“I’m still mad at you,” you sigh against his mouth, your own statement debunked by the inevitable drift of your touch back to the metal lodged in his face.

He doesn’t need to call you out. You do it yourself: “Ugh. I’ll be mad at you later.”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8

© forlix (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[sixosix]

HE BUILT A FIRE JUST TO KEEP ME WARM | LYNEY

notes wc 2.5k, a LOT of talking. but i hope you can enjoy:)) because im so nervous to post this

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

“So that’s your decision. Alright.”

…That’s it?

The confusion on your face must have shown. Arlecchino casts a glance and smiles in her own way, only a ghost of it.

The ease of her answer feels like walls cracking, chipping slowly one by one, then collapsing altogether. It’s such a surreal, nearly maddening feeling. The glaring reminder that it has always been your choice dawns on you. So that’s it.

“I don’t want to chain you to the throne.” How embarrassing it is to realize that you were the one chaining yourself in, locking it in place, and suffering from the weight of it this entire time.

‘Father’ accepts it; it’s about time you did, too.

“Alright,” you echo numbly, lagging from disbelief.

As it turns out, the teacup in Rosalie’s hands had been the poison ‘Father’ was offering. She wanted to show Rosalie what it looked like, but Rosalie’s answer was pretty clear when she flung it away the moment you entered the room.

‘Father’ offers the cup meant for you, and you inspect it nervously. The glass feels fragile and smooth to the touch. The fate of your future, your memories, the people you’ve met that have led you all the way here, your entire being—

All in one cup.

You already gave your answer. It took a good minute, but still, it was the quickest choice you’ve made yet. The ‘tea’ seemed tempting for a split second: an easy way out, a free restart button. You know better now, though. Arlecchino’s showing you mercy, and Rosalie’s giving you a choice.

You look up at Arlecchino, uncertainty in your nerves. “But I can’t go back here?”

Arlecchino tilts her head. “You mean to return here as a child of the House?” She chuckles shortly. “Of course not.”

Oh. Ah, well. That is to be expected.

“Why would you be? You’re not an orphan anymore, are you not?” Arlecchino’s gaze swings pointedly at Rosalie’s direction, who is talking animatedly to Freminet. Freminet blushes as Rosalie coos and frets over him like she does to you.

You find yourself smiling fondly, then promptly realize that this is what Arlecchino means. You have a new home now, with Rosalie.

“So I guess this is really my goodbye to the House?” you mutter, feeling limp suddenly.

Arlecchino gently places her clawed hand on your head. You stiffen for a tense moment but eventually relax into it, realizing that this could be the last time she would even see you as her child, even when you weren’t a long time ago.

“It’s been your goodbye when you left,” she reminds you coolly.

Your shoulders slump in defeat.

“But I’m sure the children still see you as family, and you would be our most important guest of all,” Arlecchino says, looking ahead. “Don’t underestimate their love for you, even if you’ve already forgotten them.”

“I don’t think I could ever forget my first home even if I tried,” you laugh, a little bittersweet thing.

“Then still feel welcomed here, on behalf of their feelings.”

Her voice isn’t gentle, nor does she assume to be part of the House that would want you back—she still wears that cold detachment in her words, but you know her. You know this is the closest she can give you. You want to hug her, pull her in, and bury your face in like a child, but again, you know her. Arlecchino doesn’t like things like that—so you’ll settle for sniffling and pretending like you aren’t crying.

“Thank you for everything, ‘Father’,” you whisper, voice quivering.

She doesn’t say anything in return, but her gaze is more open. It’s enough of an answer for you.

“Come,” Arlecchino calls out, her voice ringing clearly and making everyone halt to listen. “Let us meet up with Tartaglia; it’s about time he arrived.”

The warmth of her hand slips off as she walks out. You would’ve chased after it, but Rosalie comes dashing over and squishing your cheeks until your lips are puckered. Freminet spares you a secretive smile before he runs after Arlecchino and your vision is swallowed by Rosalie’s worried face.

“Ma chérie,” she coos. “You’re really sure about your decision? I promise I won’t get mad if you stay with Miss Arlecchino!”

“Maman, you’re my home now,” you say. “I’m already grateful that you still choose to keep me. I know it’ll be difficult to adjust—”

“Nonsense.” Rosalie releases your cheek, only to pinch one gently. Her face is stern, daring you to finish. “I’ve raised you as my own long enough; what’s years more? But this time, you share with me, okay? Whatever danger lies ahead of you, I want to be a part of.”

The waterworks continue. “O-Okay.”

You’re positively drained, tired, and fatigued when the long hand strikes 10 in the evening. You yawn, then lay flat on the grass, the blades of green tickling, but that’s the least of your worries. Paimon flutters around unsurely before eventually settling on Aether’s side. Aether smiles stiffly, all tense and awkward, as he pats your arm in comfort but doesn’t even touch you.

You eye his gloved hand. “Do you think I’m going to bite you or something?”

“I— I don’t know!” Aether says, sounding genuinely distressed.

“I already apologized.”

Aether grimaces. “That’s the thing. I don’t feel like I deserve it. If anything, I should be begging for forgiveness for even blackmailing you.”

You shrug. “You can’t blackmail me anymore. Maman already knows.”

“Still…”

“Aether,” you give him a helpless smile that has him blinking dumbly in awe. “I’m the one who gained everything here. I couldn’t even give you anything even when I was supposed to help you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Aether murmurs in embarrassment. “You led me to The Knave. We have a meeting tomorrow about my sister—fingers crossed she knows something.”

“I hope the best for you,” you say lightheartedly.

Aether smiles weakly, a little unsettled by this sudden act of kindness. “So what’s your plan from now on?”

“In the eyes of the public, The Knave transferred me out of her care and assigned me to Master Childe. In reality, I don’t have to leave anything behind by staying with the Fatui. Master Childe will be training me personally, and I can be of aid to the House whenever they need it—I just wouldn’t be one of the orphans anymore.”

Aether hums thoughtfully. “So you’re going to leave Fontaine?”

“Only for a bit. I’m taking maman with me, but I would still get homesick, so I’d convince Master Childe to drop by now and then.”

Aether laughs softly. “I guess we’ll be seeing each other occasionally.”

You stare at him momentarily, wondering what would’ve happened to you if you never met him. “If anything, I should thank you, Aether. Your friendship with Master Childe made me an easy ally for him. I don’t know where I would’ve gone if it weren’t for him volunteering.”

Aether waves dismissively. “It’s nothing. I’m sure Childe’s excited to spar with you. I really did nothing.”

You hug him.

Aether is frozen for about two minutes before Paimon nudges him, and he reboots back into life by throwing his arms around you and squeezing you into a hug. It holds the same warmth as Arlecchino’s sweet gesture, so you stay like that for a little while. You gesture for Paimon to join in, and she beams and envelops your heads with her tiny arms.

At least until Aether drops his arms and suddenly looks anxious. “Okay, we should stop before Lyney hears about this again.”

Your heart jumps out of your throat at the mention of that name.

Right… You need to talk to him next.

Aether seems to know what’s going on in your head and grins. “Good luck.”

It’s the next day. You haven’t heard of Lyney nor Lynette since Rosalie’s kidnapping, and you realize belatedly that they’re giving you space. Or perhaps just straight-up avoiding you. You don’t know which is easier.

With the help of Aether, you stand face to face with the house they moved into once they were adults. It’s small and blended in with all the rest, but the cat blinking up at you slowly in a hat was surely a rarity.

“Hello, kitty,” you say.

The cat responds with a slow, measured blink.

It’s the cat from the party Lyney invited you, but that has led to a series of unfortunate, humiliating events that you’d rather forget, so to you, the cat has done nothing.

“May I come in?” you ask politely as if expecting a proper, eloquent response.

The cat meows and then starts scratching on their door. The worn marks on the bottom of the door imply that this isn't the cat's first time either. One, two, three— Then you’re faced with Lynette, who has that expression on her face that seems to say she had been expecting you, but you were a little late.

“Y/N,” she says as the cat saunters inside.

“Hey, Lynette,” you say, playing with your fingers. “Sorry about… lashing out yesterday.”

Lynette tilts her head. “I was never upset about that. I was simply worried about you—you’re family to me, too.”

Your chest aches. “Lynette…”

She steps aside, gesturing vaguely. “Come inside. Lyney is probably fixing himself up in his room; we’ll give him three minutes.”

“He has a show?”

“No. He’s meeting you,” Lynette says, then doesn’t clarify. She walks in calm strides toward the kitchen. “Want some tea?”

“Um, yes, please.”

Their home looks well-worn in a loved way, with trinkets sprinkled everywhere. There are different models of Lyney’s hats displayed on a shelf, which you find endearing. You ask Lynette about the cat, which she tells you goes by the name Rosseland, an assistant to their shows and their beloved pet, and the cause for the mountain of hats in their home.

It’s a little terrifying how easily she indulges you in conversation, just as with Arlecchino. She resembles ‘Father’ in that way. You feel like you aren’t deserving of their mercy. Lynette should be angry at you; you hurt them by being selfish. Instead, Lynette pours you tea and smiles.

“You seem uneasy,” Lynette observes, sipping.

“Well, I think you know the reason why.”

Lynette shakes her head. “There’s no reason to be. If you think I forgave easily, Lyney has forgiven you long ago.”

“That’s awful.”

Lynette smiles. “I think it’s special. We’re twins, Lyney and I, but I think if I were in his body for even a day, I wouldn’t be able to recreate what you two have. He treasures you deeply, more than you know.”

Speechless, your mouth hangs open. “That’s…”

A door bursts open, and a disheveled Lyney emerges, looking around in confusion until his gaze finally settles on you. He breathes out. You straighten up under the full intensity of his undivided attention, just like it had always been.

“Seven minutes,” Lynette says impatiently.

Lyney flushes, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

Lynette sighs, then turns to you. “Go on. Go to him.”

What! Why do you have to be the one to move? You want to voice your complaints, but Lyney is already moving aside to give you space through his doorway.

You cast a fearful look at Lynette, but she avoids your gaze as if expecting it. Betrayed, you shuffle through the living room and brush past Lyney, into his room. It’s messier than the rest of their house, with makeup, clothes, and props. But you find it endearing—it’s Lyney’s room and reflects him.

“Sorry,” Lyney says. Before you could interrupt, he clarifies: “I couldn’t clean this all up properly before you came over.”

But you had time to fix yourself up? You want to ask in amusement, but you settle for shaking your head instead. You’ve visited to apologize, not bully him more.

“I’m sorry, too,” you say. “For the way I treated you yesterday—no, the entire time we were together, I mean.”

Lynney coughs, turning redder. “I know you are. And you know that I forgive you.”

Just like Lynette had said. “You shouldn’t.”

“It’s my feelings, you know.”

At the mention of feelings, you suddenly recall a few words he said in the heat of the moment and suddenly find yourself flustered, squirming on the bed. As if hearing what you’re thinking, Lyney flinches and stumbles back, his face layers and layers of red.

“I still mean it, though,” Lyney stammers out.

“Mean what?”

“My… confession,” he trails off lamely, blushing like a maiden.

You blink in surprise. “I thought you were just saying that to make me stay?”

At the moment in the flower shop, you had a feeling you knew what he was going to say as if you were reading it from a book, and the sequence would go as follows: Your heart was not the first for Lyney to steal. But there was Rosalie, there was ‘Father’, there was the throne, and believing that Lyney was just using whatever he could to get what he wanted again seemed better.

“What?” Lyney’s face falls, horrified. “No, no, of course not! You asked me why I would go to… lengths for you, and I answered honestly.”

“Oh.”

Lyney frowns. “Y/N, I knew I couldn’t make you stay, but I still wanted to say it.”

You find yourself struggling to keep contact with his eyes all of a sudden. “So you meant it? You actually really like me?”

“Yes,” Lyney says, so painfully sure of himself that your face bursts into flames.

You can’t handle the sight of his eagerness laid bare just for you—vulnerable, open, and unapologetically honest. 

“I’m not easy to love, you know.”

“A little bit late for the warning.” Lyney smiles sadly. “I love you anyway.”

“Even when I’m like this?”

Lyney tilts his head. “This is just one of the many reasons I’m helplessly devoted to you. There’s really no use in trying to push me away, you know. We’ll find each other again eventually— Are you crying?”

Lyney stutters and frets over you like Rosalie does when you’ve iced yourself to her plants. It’s a little funny, so you give him a pathetic, wet laugh.

“W-Was it something I said? Was it too soon? I’m sorry. Pretend you didn’t hear anything. Fuck, I’m so bad at this.” Lyney groans, burying his face in his hands and continuing his self-criticism.

“Shut up for a bit, Lyney.”

He shuts up right away.

You draw closer to him, wiping your tears away. His breathing halts and his eyes have been swallowed up, pupils dilated. You pause until you can feel his breath on your face, looking up at him for permission. Lyney nods but seems confused, so you just show him.

‘Father’, Aether, and Rosalie have their own kind of warmth, but kissing Lyney is entirely different. It feels as if he’s burning you from within, from your cheeks down to your toes, in a pleasant shiver.

notes last chapter next:( I AM KIND OF SAD ACTUALLY

taglist moved to comments because Tumblris strange

[defectivevillain]

slashers & thrillers

individual pairings: Reader/Demon Brothers, Barbatos, Diavolo, Simeon, and Solomon

It's horror movie night at the House of Lamentation!

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

word count: 4.2k | ao3 version

this was just my excuse to write horror movie headcanons for the characters. there, i said it.

warnings: blood/violence/gore typical of horror movies; slight angst in Simeon and Diavolo's parts

Asmodeus tends to be more preoccupied with the attractiveness of the actors than the story itself. In fact, he often forgets that you’re watching *horror* movies, as he usually enjoys watching romance films. Sometimes you’ll catch him leaning forward when two characters are in close proximity, only to flinch and fall backwards when the villain evidently appears. 

And, safe to say, showing him the Friday the 13th films is a huge mistake. You had forgotten the sheer amount of nudity and sex in the first movie until Asmodeus was dazedly remarking, “I like this movie.” You shake your head in disbelief. 

It’s rather surprising to learn that he enjoys the gore. You wouldn’t have necessarily seen him as the type, but he’s often leaning closer to the screen when people are being ripped apart. You want to joke that he may be part vampire, but you know that he’s just fascinated with the grotesque. Surprisingly, he even enjoys the films with monsters in them—especially if they’re rather unsightly and have sharp teeth or slime. It’s oddly touching (albeit in a weird way) that he can find beauty in the most unlikely of places.

Beelzebub is just there for the snacks. He doesn’t really care about horror movies one way or another. He’ll often leave to get snacks and never return. One night, you track him down after to ask if he disliked the movie, only for him to blink at you owlishly and go, “What movie?” He’ll see the way your face contorts slightly at his answer and try to remember. “Oh, right! It was good, I was just hungry.” Beelzebub admits. Your lips quirk at the edges. 

“We should just watch it in the kitchen next time,” you respond playfully. Despite the fact that the suggestion is clearly a joke, Beelzebub brightens at the idea. You resist the urge to laugh at his reaction, instead trying to think about how you could keep him in the room longer. “Maybe we need a popcorn machine or something, huh? A spare fridge?”

Beelzebub is practically salivating at the mention of a spare fridge in the room where you watch movies. He nods excitedly, neglecting the food in his hands to reach out and give you a hug. You happily embrace him back, glad that he doesn’t feel left out or guilty for leaving.

Belphegor falls asleep nearly every time. It doesn’t matter how gory or violent the movie is—by the time it’s nearing the end, he’ll be peacefully sleeping. It’s honestly a pretty impressive skill, considering the sheer volume of the movie and the chaos occurring all around him. After all, with all his brothers, you, Diavolo, Simeon, Solomon, and Barbatos, you’re sort of a rowdy group. 

Belphegor usually sits next to you, so you often end up with his head slumped on your shoulder at some point throughout the movie. You can’t find yourself to be bothered by it—he’s a peaceful sleeper and doesn’t make so much as a single sound. His brothers, on the other hand, are rambunctious as ever. They often bicker about whether they should wake Belphie up or not, but you violently shush them and they eventually let it go. 

One time, you’re so engrossed in the movie that you don’t notice Mammon and Satan trying to throw popcorn at Belphie until you’re promptly hit in the face with a kernel. You blink and look over at them, watching as they try and fail to hide your laughter. You then glance over at Belphegor, only to find that he has a few kernels stuck in his hair. Feeling strangely sympathetic, you pick them out and throw them back at Mammon and Satan. 

If there’s a movie Belphegor really enjoys, he’ll make sure to drink some caffeine before watching—so that he doesn’t fall asleep. He will still lean into your shoulder and act as if he’s an unmoving pile of limbs, but he’ll watch with unusually rapt attention. You haven’t quite picked up on the pattern between the movies he likes, but you hope to learn more as time passes.

Levi’s interest really depends on the movie. He enjoys the stories that are fleshed-out and have compelling characters; slasher films without much plot tend to bore and irritate him. If he doesn’t like the movie, he’ll often pull out his gaming console on low brightness and start playing that. Sometimes, if you find a film boring too—which is usually a rarer occurrence—you’ll rest your head on his shoulder and watch him play. Levi will let you, but if he loses or messes up, he’ll often blame it on you. He gets strangely embarrassed in those moments, as if ashamed of letting you see him fail. At that point, you’ll try to lift your head off his shoulder and give him some space, but he’s quick to tug you back and insist you watch him try again. 

If he is watching the movie, Levi is prone to letting out sarcastic and spiteful comments like Mammon—especially when he doesn’t like it. The two of them together are a pretty lethal combination, and they often render a bad film to a complete dumpster fire by the end. 

Truthfully, Levi enjoys psychological thrillers. There are a few of his favorites—and when you watch those, he’s practically shaking at your side as he resists the urge to explain the story, characters, and everything to you. You nudge him on the shoulder, encouraging him to speak. He’ll spend at least ten minutes of the movie whispering the details to you. And when Mammon turns around and hushes you both, you promptly throw the nearest object at him and urge Levi to continue.

Lucifer is a bit difficult to read. You can’t tell if he’s here to watch over his brothers or watch the movie. You suppose it could be both. He’s often tagging along to events like these, even if it seems as if he doesn’t want to be there. 

On the rare occasions that you find yourself near him, you always have a strange urge to make conversation with him. Whether it’s to reassure yourself that he’s not bored out of his mind or to make him more comfortable, you’re not sure. One time, you look pointedly to the main character on-screen, who is making their way through a dark cavern alone. “If you were ever in that situation-” You ask Lucifer, trying to make conversation. 

“I wouldn’t be,” Lucifer responds with almost unfounded confidence.

“But if you ever were-” You try to interject.

“I wouldn’t be.” He says with a prideful finality. 

“You’re just too good for the entire genre, huh?” You huff. Lucifer smiles knowingly and stares at the screen. He almost seems to relax after your small conversation; you swear you see his shoulders slowly lose their previous tension. 

Lucifer is often watching his brothers more than the movie itself. He’s always been the unofficial caretaker—and that role is never more apparent than during nights like these. He’s often anticipating fights before they happen; getting up to fetch things for his brothers when they need them; talking to them when they seem to feel off. You admire how much he cares for his siblings, but you always feel a little guilty. It never seems as if he has the chance to actually enjoy himself. 

At least, that’s what you think. But after one night, he pulls you aside and thanks you for organizing the event. You can’t quite control your thoughts at that moment. “It didn’t seem like you were enjoying yourself.” You immediately freeze and stare at him helplessly. 

Lucifer laughs goodnaturedly. “I appreciate your concern,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “My brothers are enjoying themselves. To see them so carefree… means more to me than you could ever know.”

“Oh,” you respond, feeling slightly foolish and embarrassed now. As if sensing your quickly spiraling thoughts, Lucifer squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. 

“Besides, seeing Mammon’s reaction was worth it.” Lucifer smirks. 

“It was, wasn’t it?” You smile in return. “He was talking such a big game earlier, too… Saying he wouldn’t be scared…” You think back to the way he flailed and screamed at the jump scare, practically hiding behind the couch. 

Lucifer’s hand falls from your shoulder and he pulls out his phone, tapping it a few times before showing you. Upon closer investigation, you find a picture of Mammon and him: with Mammon recoiling backwards in evident fear while Lucifer looks on with a blank expression. 

“That’s incredible,” you laugh. “Send that to me; I want it as my wallpaper.” 

“Will do,” Lucifer hums, clearly amused. He pockets his phone and studies you for a moment. His expression morphs into his typical stoicism, but with a hint of something uncharacteristic. Concern, perhaps? “Get some rest.”

“You too,” you respond. Lucifer nods and departs, leaving you to stand in the hall with a fuzzy feeling in your chest.

Mammon is the type to yell at the characters as if they can hear him. He’s often berating them for their stupid decisions and making sarcastic comments once they encounter the villain. He can be quite the talker, to the point where his brothers are frequently hissing at him to be quiet. Mammon will then cross his arms and pout exaggeratedly, until you tell him that he can just whisper his comments to you. 

He has somewhat dramatic reactions to the movie and its jump scares. Sometimes, you’ll catch him and Mammon will immediately stiffen, muttering something about how he was just acting. It’s never very convincing and he seems to know it, if the flush on his cheeks is anything to go by. 

Mammon enjoys seeing the cruel or vicious characters getting what they deserve. He’ll often be the one cheering when a filthy rich, abusive businessman gets cut in half or a criminal gets their eyes torn out. It’s amusing to see him so passionate, even if his glittering eyes and excited smile seem a bit misplaced. 

He also tends to brag about how he’d survive or fight through a situation the character is going through. Mammon is adamant that he wouldn’t take shit from anyone, ever, and it’s very amusing. He’s often pretending as if he’s in the scene himself, throwing fake punches with exaggerated sound effects. Mammon is a very active movie watcher, ultimately. It’s endearing most of the time, but when a movie is very quiet and requires you to really pay attention… Well, you often have to watch it again at a later date. 

Satan is infuriatingly knowledgeable about the specifics of horror movies: especially the medical practicalities. A needle jabbed into the neck of a person is enough to make him throw his hands up in the air in disbelief; a sacrificial cut to the palm will make him flip a table. “That’s not how it works!” He’ll hiss. 

“It’s fiction, you’re supposed to suspend your disbelief a little,” you try to remind him. This only makes him turn his infuriated attention towards you. 

“Oh, right,” he scoffs. “Because it’s totally smart to go to a hairdresser where someone was just murdered. This is stupid!”

“Satan, shut up!” You hiss, pointedly gesturing at the others, who are very engrossed in the movie. The two of you keep bickering for a while, until Mammon gets pissed and pauses the movie, chewing you both out and ordering you out of the room. (The irony of him telling you both to keep it down is not lost on you.) Satan and you exchange annoyed glances before you’re being pushed out of the room and sentenced to sitting in the hallway like two elementary students being disciplined. 

You adjust your posture and let your head fall back against the wall. “That movie was stupid,” you eventually acquiesce. Satan looks at you in disbelief, clearly not expecting you to concede the point. He was right, though. It made virtually no sense. It was just gore without plot. 

“Yeah,” Satan agrees after a second. “It really was.”

You tap your fingers restlessly against the ground. An awkward silence descends across the space, before you find yourself breaking through it. “Do you think Cat’s Eye is still open?” You ask. Offering to go to Satan’s favorite café seems like a pretty good peace offering. 

Indeed, Satan blinks for a moment, before a grin rises on his face. “It better be open.” He gets to his feet, walking over to you. Satan then offers you a hand and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. You walk through the halls and head outside to where the car is parked. Satan promises to drive and jumps into the front seat, a devilish smirk on his face. You sit in the passenger’s seat and pretend not to feel nervous… but it only takes moments for the reality of the situation to set in.

“...Lucifer’s going to kill us.” You realize aloud. He hates when you leave unannounced; as the eldest brother, he feels responsible for your safety, too. 

“Yep.” Satan smirks, looking thrilled at the prospect. 

Barbatos is just grateful to be there. It’s hard for him to escape the feeling that he’s just a third wheel… but you went out of your way to extend an invite to him specifically. If the other brothers are surprised by his presence, they don’t show it. Diavolo just raises his eyebrows at him, which Barbatos pretends not to notice. 

As for the movie itself… Even without his powers, Barbatos is usually able to intuit what will happen. He tends to keep his suspicions to himself, but one time he mutters something under his breath and a few of the brothers hear. Since then, they seem excited to test his theories. 

He doesn’t react to jump scares. At all. Even if he’ll truly be scared or frightened by something, Barbatos will remain stock-still with an unaffected expression on his face. When the brothers notice this, they soon take to attempting to scare him outside of movie nights. Unsurprisingly, their efforts never work. No matter how many times Mammon pops out from behind a corner or Asmodeus appears out of thin air, Barbatos is never affected.

“They’re never going to scare you, huh?” You ask him one time, after Mammon jumped out from behind a door and screamed loudly at him. Admittedly, it scared the shit out of you—but it didn’t even phase Barbatos. Mammon had departed after that, clearly conflicted between feeling proud of scaring you and disappointed for not scaring the demon. 

“I don’t think so,” Barbatos responds, a hint of amusement gracing his features. “But it’s fun to see them try.”

“Wow, that’s brutal,” you remark, unable to suppress your laughter. “It is funny to see them fail, though.” Barbatos is silent all of a sudden. You feel your lips rising into a smile. “What, now you’re going to deny it? Come on, it’s fun to mess with them.”

He’s still quiet. You feel strangely determined to break through his professionalism, to get a glimpse of the real Barbatos. “You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone. Hell, I live with them—if anyone gets it, it’s me.” You try to persuade him. 

Barbatos averts his eyes for a moment, as if making eye contact with you is growing to be too much for him. “Very well,” he acquiesces. “It is… amusing to mess with them.”

“There you go,” you smile, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You feel strangely proud of yourself for getting him to say it. 

Barbatos shakes his head in disbelief, a bit of color rising to his cheeks. “You are insufferable.”

Diavolo really enjoys himself at these movie nights. It’s not often that he can sneak away from his work—and few people treat him as a normal person. This movie night is refreshingly mundane. Here, he doesn’t have to be Lord Diavolo. He can just be Diavolo.  

He likes the movies too. Truthfully, he didn’t have much of a childhood: this is the first time he’s ever watched a movie. Diavolo doesn’t want to make that big of a deal about it, and he tells Lucifer as much as they’re talking in lowered voices. But then you whip around, somehow hearing him, and stare at him in disbelief. 

“You’ve never watched a movie?” You ask quietly from over the back of the couch. Fortunately, in the chaos of having all the brothers in the same room, the remark goes unheard. 

Diavolo stares at you for a moment, before looking to Lucifer for assistance. But Lucifer is just watching the exchange between the two of you, clearly unsurprised by your persistence. Diavolo rolls his eyes, before turning his attention towards you. “That’s correct.”

You stare at him for several seconds, studying his face. Lucifer is still sitting there, clearly sensing the tension but not making any move to diffuse it. It’s almost as if he’s amused by Diavolo’s suddenly precarious situation. Before Diavolo can muse on that thought any longer, Mammon and Satan are fighting—leaving Lucifer to walk off and break them up. 

“You’ve really never watched a movie?” You ask again, as if you genuinely can’t believe it.

“That’s what I said.” You can sense that he doesn’t want to talk about it, but you do get up from your seat and move to sit next to him. Diavolo chances a sidelong glance at you, confused. “What are you doing?” He eventually asks. 

“Sitting next to you,” you answer, as if the answer is obvious. “This is your first movie, I want to see how you like it.”

“Okay,” Diavolo frowns. 

“You don’t really seem like the horror type, but who knows?” You mutter to yourself, just barely loud enough for him to hear. Diavolo arches a brow and stares at you, expecting you to retract the remark. You just stare back at him unflinchingly, and he’s reminded of one of the many reasons why he likes you so much. You aren’t afraid of him. You treat him as if he’s a regular person. “You can pick the movie next time.” You offer. “Even if it’s not horror.”

“Thanks.” Diavolo says, not quite sure how to feel about what’s happening. On the one hand, you’re sitting next to him and conversing with him as a friend would. On the other, he can see you occasionally looking at him from the corner of your eye—as if seeing him in a new light. Somehow, Diavolo gets the feeling that you’ve intuited what his childhood was like. And that’s something he’s hidden from everyone in the room, save for Barbatos. 

Diavolo can’t shake the instinctual dread that’s assaulting his chest, as he imagines you worming your way into his heart and prying all of his secrets out of him. He’s seen the way you’ve interacted with the brothers—how you’ve grown closer with each and every one of them, despite their unwillingness. He knows it will likely only be a matter of time before you’re becoming a staple figure in his life, too. While before, he would’ve jumped at the chance to get to know you better, he finds himself in a strange balancing act. Diavolo can’t lie to you—he promised himself never to lie to others—but, at the same time, he can’t deny the appeal of closing off and remaining the elusive Headmaster. By all means, he should be nothing more than an acquaintance to you. Yet, here you are, sitting next to him during movie night and looking at him as if you’re actually worried for him, the future ruler of the Devildom. 

Diavolo doesn’t know how to feel about any of it. He doesn’t know how to feel about you. You’re igniting feelings within him that he had sworn off of. 

You must sense his racing thoughts, because you lean over to whisper to him. “You don’t have to talk about it,” you reassure him. He can feel the body heat practically radiating off of you. Humans are strange. “Just know that I’m here. If you ever need someone to listen.” You say, before leaning back and enforcing the distance between the two of you once more. 

Feeling strangely appreciative, Diavolo nods silently—pushing past the unfamiliar burning feeling in the back of his throat.

Simeon hates horror movies. He’s troubled by the violence and gore. You don’t realize this until it’s a bit too late—until he’s leaving the room with a flimsy excuse and not returning. After a few minutes, you decide to go looking for him. You eventually find him standing on one of the balconies outside, staring off into the distance. His shoulders are drawn tight and he looks tense. 

“Hey, are you alright?” You ask him as you approach. He almost flinches, before glancing back to find you and relaxing.

“Of course,” he responds deceptively. Simeon is rather adept at keeping his composure, but you’ve grown to know him better and are able to understand what he’s thinking. You frown and chance a sidelong glance at him, noticing the firm draw to his lips. 

“I’m sorry,” you hear yourself say. Your chest feels tight and you feel terribly guilty for not having the forethought to consider how violence and gore would distress him. 

“For what?” Simeon asks, his brows furrowing as he continues staring ahead. 

“I should’ve figured you wouldn’t like horror movies,” you frown. “Being an angel and all.”

Simeon just takes a shuddering breath. He’s shaking slightly, you realize. Concerned, you reach out and place a hand on his—which is gripping the railing of the balcony with an unnecessary amount of force. With your support, he slowly loosens his grip. You’re sure he must have bolts of pain sliding up and down his fingers, but he doesn’t show any sign of feeling it. 

You squeeze his hand for a moment, feeling helpless. For a moment, Simeon doesn’t respond verbally; then, he extends his arms and hugs you. You’re quick to reciprocate, secretly surprised that he’s initiating the contact.  “I’m sorry.” You murmur again. 

“You apologize a lot,” he chokes out. 

“Says the angel,” you huff in amusement. You pull back for a moment, worried by the uncharacteristic tone of his voice. To your surprise, there are tears falling down his cheeks. You swallow past your remorse and take a slow breath, bringing your hands up to cradle his face and wiping his tears away with your thumbs.

“You should get back,” Simeon says, a note of something unreadable in his voice. “The brothers will be worried.”

“They can be worried.” You say with an amused smile. They’re not the ones who need you right now. “They’ll survive.” 

“Doubtful,” Simeon responds, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He’s grateful you stayed.

Solomon isn’t the biggest fan of horror movies in particular, but he enjoys spending time with you—especially doing “human” activities. It’s refreshing to do ordinary things—to maintain an air of normalcy, even when surrounded by demons and angels. It helps calm him down from the day’s events, from the pressure he sometimes threatens to buckle under. 

As it turns out, the Devildom’s horror movies are kind of bad. The two of you have to convince Lucifer—and later Diavolo—to let you snag some classics from the human world. This is how Solomon and you find yourselves standing in the middle of a superstore, sifting through a bin of clearance DVDs. 

“Will these even work with Devildom tech?” You realize aloud. You make sure to keep your voice down so any other humans don’t hear you. Solomon stares at you for a moment. 

“That’s a good question,” he huffs. “I guess we’ll find out.” 

You shrug and continue sorting through the seemingly endless pile of DVDs. The majority of the movies are rather old, but you glimpse Halloween out of the corner of your eye and immediately grab it excitedly. 

“What’d you find?” Solomon asks, evidently sensing your growing anticipation. 

“Halloween!” You respond. 

He looks down at the DVD in your hand and frowns. “Never heard of it,” he hums. 

“What?” You choke out. “You haven’t heard of it? It’s one of the most iconic horror movies of all time.” Solomon just shakes his head. You find yourself shaking your head in return, although your head shake is born out of disappointment. “I thought you were a human,” you say sarcastically. 

“Okay, low blow,” Solomon responds, clearly amused. “And, what, I’m not a human unless I know every movie ever made?”

“No, of course not!” You roll your eyes. “But Halloween? Seriously? Next you’re going to say you’ve never heard of Silence of the Lambs.” He doesn’t respond. “For real? How? Don’t you like The Quietude of the Black Lambs? It’s pretty much a plagiarized version!” 

Solomon throws his hands up in mock-surrender. “Okay, okay,” he says, attempting to calm you down. “I didn’t realize this was such a big deal for you.”

“It’s a huge deal,” you respond exaggeratedly. “We’ll have to fix this immediately. With a full night movie marathon, when we get back.”

Solomon just sighs. It appears you’ve adopted the brothers’ stubbornness.

thanks for reading! <3

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[prettybean]

TOXIC BEHAVIOR (COD +18)

* just for fun, don’t take it too seriously 🍌

I DO NOT SUPPORT THIS KIND OF RELATIONSHIP, if you find yourself in these situations, ask for help

If these topics make you uncomfortable, please avoid reading further.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

Ghost

He just can't accept the fact that you ended things with him. It's been three months since the breakup, but Simon has completely lost it, especially when he found out that you're engaged again.

He keeps calling you persistently, and out of habit, you always answer. You hear him say the same old phrases: "I'm better than him" or "Come back to me, you know you can't be happy without me."

Despite the breakup, you've agreed to have sex with him several times. The way he pleases you makes your heart race faster and faster. Deep down, you know it's not fair to your new boyfriend, but when Simon touches you, you forget about everything else.

After years of being together, he knows your body inside out. He knows exactly how to make you moan, and he's not afraid to remind you of that. "I bet you don't scream like that with him." And as he says it, he fucks you like only he can.

"Do I have to kill him to win you back? You know I would." And as he says those words, he takes you to new heights of pleasure.

Soap

He has an unhealthy fixation on exerting control over you. John wants to demonstrate to others just how much you are under his command and how obediently you follow his every instruction.

"I've got something special for you," he informed you, as he fasten a collar around your neck, tightening it to the point where it became difficult to breathe. He didn't care about your discomfort; the tighter the collar, the more possession he felt over you.

"Do you like it, sweetie?" he asked, gazing at his name engraved on the collar, emphasizing how much he had invested in you. "If you ever remove it, it would truly break my heart."

You had no choice but to comply; it was the only option available to you. You kept the collar on, and he took advantage of it more and more, forcing you to go out in public with fewer and fewer clothes, showcasing you as his prized possession.

"No panties today, baby," he forcefully rip them off, leaving you to walk around without them. You belonged solely to him, and you had to face the consequences by fulfilling his every desire.

Price

His protectiveness quickly transformed into possessiveness. He never bothers to inquire about your dating life, your activities, or your whereabouts. Your outings are solely determined by his decisions.

If he doesn't suit your preferences, he might even tie you up to acknowledge his authority.

"Darling, it's all about your safety. I don't want anyone to harm you."

He accompanies you everywhere, and you must remain by his side. When you walk, he clings possessively to your arm. "Stay close to me, sweetheart."

If you attempt to engage in conversation with someone else, he tightens his grip on your waist, glaring at you. "What did I tell you?" he growls before promptly escorting you home.

Nevertheless, you adore his way of expressing love. You have always obeyed his commands because, after all, he is your boyfriend.

Gaz

You never truly loved him and he couldn't accept that fact. For months, he persistently tried to flirt with you, but you rejected him in every possible way. However, he refused to give up.

You couldn't help but notice his strange attempts to manipulate you. Strangely enough, you found yourself enjoying the attention and the way he tried to make you fall for him.

Every day, he would tell you, "You're the reason I'm so miserable, don't you see? It's all because of you." With a disappointed expression, he would repeat this over and over, gazing into your eyes.

He started writing you letters, each one becoming more explicit, expressing how he would pleasure you if only you would accept his love. He even went as far as to say he would eliminate any competition just to have you.

Slowly, you found yourself giving in to the temptation and his relentless manipulations. In the end, he succeeded in making you fall in love with him.

Graves

He's consumed by jealousy, and he doesn't even try to hide it. He repeatedly tells you how jealous he is and how wrong you are in your relationship. "If you could just stop thinking about other people, then maybe we wouldn't fight so much."

He wants to have complete control over your every move, to the point where he even took your phone to read all your messages, from the very first to the very last. If he finds anything he doesn't like, he doesn't hesitate to delete the contact of the person involved. "I'm sick of you and your damn friends."

You want to tell him that he's a psychopath and that he needs to respect your privacy, but you simply can't. He keeps blaming you, saying, "It's because of you that I'm like this."

There have been multiple instances where he's punched walls out of anger or broken your phone to cut off your contact with others.

But in the end, he always comes back to you with open arms, apologizing. And every time, you forgive him.

König

He's been tailing you nonstop. It's been ages since you two called it quits, yet every time you step out, you can't shake off the feeling of being watched.

He's always there, meticulously tracking your every move, whether you're alone or with your friends.

König watches you from a distance, careful not to get too close and blow his cover. He even went as far as snapping some pictures of you, which he proudly displayed on his wall, among others.

He used to keep you company during those long nights, lurking in your backyard, peering through your window just to catch you changing or totally naked.

You were well aware of it, and to make things easier for him, you purposely left the curtains open. König was undeniably creepy, but deep down, you still harbored a hint of affection for him.

Keegan

He’s in love with you. Keegan expresses his love through the most unexpected gestures, but only when you're alone together. When there are other people around, he transforms into the perfect gentleman - kind and flawless. Your friends have even praised you for choosing such a great guy.

But when you return home, everything changes. It's happened multiple times that he's embraced you from behind, gently caressing your hips and leaving a trail of wet kisses along your neck. You tilt your head back, giving him more space, only to feel something cold against your skin.

"The only way I can make you do what I want is by holding a knife to your throat?" he says, his words making you flinch. Every time he threatens you like this, it feels as if it's the first time.

"I know you enjoy provoking me, otherwise you wouldn't do it so often," he claims. You haven't done anything wrong, he just likes making you believe that. He enjoys seeing the fear in your eyes as he grabs your wrists and forces you to your knees.

You beg him to continue, knowing that he doesn't appreciate it when you oppose him. You have no reason to resist. He controls you, able to do whatever he pleases with you, especially when he lets the knife glide across your body.

"Tell me you'd die for me”.

[milkteahood]

not a good man 2

Simon Riley x fem!reader, part 1

Summary: Simon crawls back to apologise

You have asked and I have delivered. I might or might not make an alternative ending where reader doesn’t take back Simon and starts dating König instead

Warning: light smut (just a paragraph, oral f receiving), still mdni

The next weeks were spent by Simon drowning in alcohol, refusing to admit it’s because of you. He didn’t call or text at all after that last fight, but you didn’t either.

You on the other hand, spent the first week falling asleep crying next to your phone. You hoped that, for once, it would be him who fights for you. But he never called, which only worked to break your heart further.

“Silly me I guess” you’d tell yourself.

On the base he was more distracted than usual, but not enough for anyone to notice. Well, not enough for someone that wasn’t close to him. His captain, John Price, noticed. So one day, while he was having lunch, Price took a seat across the table.

“Captain” Ghost nodded his head.

“Ghost. What’s on your mind?” John’s eyes softened slightly. Simon was very dear to him.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re distracted”

Those words cut through him like a knife. Distracted? Him?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he responded, tone more cold now.

“I think you do”

John wasn’t one to back down and Simon knew that. And John also wasn’t someone Simon could intimidate. He was trapped.

“Just a fight”

“Your girl or something?”

Simon didn’t respond and John knew silence was an answer too.

“Have you tried to apologize?”

“What makes you think it’s my fault?” he raised his voice ever so slightly. As much as Price annoyed him in this moment, he wasn’t going to be disrespectful to his captain.

Price only gave him an amused look.

“Look Riley, a word of advice. Not from a superior, but from a comrade”

Simon looked at him straight in the eyes, waiting for him to continue.

John smiled “just because she loves the monster you are, it doesn’t make you less of one. You cannot be Ghost where you should be Simon” and with that, John stood up with his cup of coffee and departed, leaving Simon alone with his thoughts.

And that is how Simon found himself in front of your apartment door. He stood there for at least 20 mins before he knocked.

You were on the couch, nose deep into one of your books. The past weeks have been rough, finding yourself unable to focus on much else.

The soft knocks on your door made you snap back to reality. They were so quiet you almost missed it. You stood up from the couch and made your way to the door.

Your heart jumped in your throat when you looked through the peephole and saw him. His hood was up, and he was looking down.

For a while you contemplated ignoring him, but part of you, the big part of you, the one that still loved him, won. So you opened the door.

“Simon” you said, coldly.

“Dove—“ he looked up and paused. Your eyes were red, you have been crying for god knows how long. He looked back down. In that moment he wanted to punch himself into another dimension.

“‘M sorry” he mumbled.

“What?”

“‘M sorry” he said again, still looking down.

“Is that all? Really?” you were getting angry.

“You know what? Forget it” you said, starting to close to door, which he promptly stopped with his hand.

“N-no. Wait. Look. I know. I’ve been nothing but a cunt to you since the moment we started dating… and— I’m sorry, ok?” he sounded almost desperate.

You let go of the door and stepped aside, which he took as an invitation and walked in after you, closing the door behind.

“You’re soaking wet” you remarked.

“I— I waited for 30 minutes in front of your apartment complex. Then 20 more in front of your door..” he was still not looking at you.

“So it took you about an hour to debate whether or not I was worth an apology?” your voice was cold and full of venom.

“No. It’s not like that” he looked up, his eyes almost pleading for you to stop. Just accept his apology. But of course you weren’t going to and he knew that.

“Look Y/N. I can’t be what you need me to be. I don’t know how to do love you. Not in the way you want me to”

“But are you willing to try?”

“What?”

You left a crack to your heart for him to use. It was up to him to make the effort to squeeze through it.

“I asked—“

“Yes” he cut you off. “Yes I will try. Please love”.

He took a few steps towards you, but this time, you stood where you were. You extended your hands to cup his face and he instinctively leaned into your touch.

“Don’t ever—“

“I won’t” he didn’t let you finish.

“Okay” you said, gently stroking his face with your thumbs “you will have to prove that to me”.

He only nodded, leaning more into your touch.

“I’m sorry love” he said again.

“Good. You should be” you said before standing on your toes and kissing the corner of his mouth.

His eyes widened “I thought you’re mad at me” he blinked a few times, not yet daring to touch you.

“I am. Incredibly so. But— I also love you” you said before kissing him back, not letting him get another word in. In a way, you were scared to wait, scared he wouldn’t say it back.

He didn’t wait too long before kissing you again, one of his big hands holding the back on your head, deepening the kiss. His other hand squeezed your lower back, closing any space between you.

“Seems like you can’t stay away for long little one” he smirked once you pulled away from the kiss.

“Look who’s talking. Last I checked, you’re the one that crawled back”

He gave you a quick look before pulling you into another kiss and picking you up. You wrapped your legs around him until he made it to the bedroom, dropping you on the bed and taking off his wet hoodie before climbing on top of you.

As much as he wanted to fuck you silly, he knew that wouldn’t build him a strong enough case. He didn’t want to make you feel like he was just here for a quick fix. He heard you sob about that enough in the past.

“You’re worth crawling back to” he said, kissing you again before you had a chance to answer.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.

Once he pulled from the kiss, he latched onto your neck, sucking on all the spots he knew were sensitive. His hand traveled down your abdomen, running circles over your wet, needy clit.

Your moans were suddenly making his jeans feel too tight, causing him to grind against the mattress.

“Si— let me help you”

“No” he said, standing up on his knees and pulling your underwear down “for once let’s not make it about me dove”. And with that, his face was between your legs, pushing his tongue inside of you.

“Oh fuck—“ you moaned, arching your back.

He kept eating you out like you were his last meal before death. One hand held you firmly in place and the other was completely abusing your clit.

“Si— fuck— just like that, oh fuck” it felt so good you didn’t even realize you were tearing up.

“I’m gonna—“

“That’s right babe, come for me” he said, while his cock was still throbbing in his pants.

You didn’t need more encouragement before coming, your body twitching as Simon refused to let go of you, licking every drop.

You were panting, your eyes were glossy as you watched him climb on top of you again, kiss your forehead and then lay down next to you.

“What about you?” you asked, rolling on your side to face him.

He caressed your face with the back on his hand. It was rough, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. “I came here to apologize dove”

“But—“

“No buts little one”

He pulled you to him, nuzzling your hair. The room was dark, and the rain was still strong. How you take him back over and over, he couldn’t wrap his head around. He didn’t deserve you, that was for sure. His own ray of sunshine into the void his life was. He would never feel good enough for you, but for what it’s worth, you’re stuck with him. And he promised he would do better.

He didn’t remember just for how long he held you, but it must’ve been a while, for you started to snore.

This made him smile to himself, and he wrapped a blanket around you.

“…. I love you too” he said, but you were already asleep.

tag list: @blackhawkfanatic @milavk13 @thychuvaluswife @darkravenqueen98 @fruitymoonbeams-blog @coooookie15 @fictionallifestuff

if I missed anyone I apologize

[slayfics]

Your sister Shinobu finds out you have a crush on Muichiro

This was requested by @bberrydommi - for some reason this request never showed up in my inbox. I only received it through my email notifications. I’m not sure what that’s about, but I wanted to let you know in case this is happening to your requests to other writers to ;-;- thank you for being patient~

Shinobu walked around the estate searching for her little sister. It was unlike her to be late for a training session. Her little sister was always promptly on time and even made it a point to arrive early for every training session.

Shinobu was surprised to see her little sister still in her room, sitting at her desk giggling as she wrote a letter.

"Good morning," Shinobu spoke startling her sister into a jump.

"Oh, good morning!" You greeted your sister then quickly turned back to your letter.

"Ahem-," Shinobu cleared her throat indicating for you to return your attention to her.

"Yes?" You asked a little annoyed.

"Did you forget about our early morning training session?" Shinobu asked sweetly, although her aura gave off waves of frustration. You felt your heart sink. You had totally forgotten. You received a crow from Muichiro early this morning and were so wrapped up in writing him back you had forgotten about your training.

"I'm so sorry! You apologized genuinely.

"Hm- I wonder what's distracted you," Shinobu said as she seemingly disappeared and appeared again by your desk snagging the letter.

"No wait!" You pleaded trying to snatch the letter from her, however, you were no match for Shinobu's speed.

"This is a letter to Lord Tokito yes?" She asked curiously.

"Yes." You answered honestly.

"Hm... I did notice you were quite eager to help him out the last time he came through with injuries. Please inform me what's going on." She spoke evenly her frustrated aura fading into a protective one.

"Nothing! We agreed to exchange letters every now and then the last time he was here," You spoke, trying not to make your crush on the Mist Hashira obvious.

"Mhm, I see. Well send this letter off then meet me in the training room at once," Shinobu said.

You followed your sister's orders and made your way to the training room shortly after sending off your letter.

Today's training felt as though your older sister was being even harder on you. Giving you fewer breaks, not holding back, and even extending the training to be longer than usual. It wasn't until your crow flew into the room with a letter that she gave you a moment to pause.

Your crow flew idly above your head as you took some deep breaths. Before you could catch your breath from the endless sparring, Shinobu snatched the letter from the crow. Her eyes grew wide as she recognized the handwriting instantly.

"Hey, what are you doing give that to me!" You begged.

"This is from Tokito," Shinobu said half stunned. "But you just wrote him back this morning..." She looked pensive for a moment. It was unusual for Muichiro to be so responsive in letters. Shinobu made a quick judgement and scanned the letter reading what he had said to you.

"Hey, that's private!" You yelled trying to grab the letter but failing due to Shinobu's speed.

"He wants to meet with you," Shinobu said, her voice sounding a bit shocked.

"Really?" You asked, face flushing.

"Hm," Shinobu stood contemplating for a moment. "I don't know if I like you meeting with a boy, regardless of him being a Hashira or not." She spoke.

"But I-," You began to protest before Shinobu cut you off.

"Hold on I did not finish," She said placing her hand in the air indicating for you to listen. "I will allow it. IF- he agrees to meet you here where I can keep my eye on you two. AND- only if... you can grab this letter from out of my hand." Shinobu finished.

"You know that's not fair you're way faster than me!" You complained.

"Hm, oh dear it appears you won't be meeting with Tokito then," Shinobu said giving you a teasing pat on the shoulder.

"UGH FINE!" You gritted your teeth out of frustration and made a move to grab your sister as she sped around the room, knowing you wouldn't give up until the letter was in your hand.

[callumsluvr]

summer loving

After a long car ride, your family’s car finally pulls up to the front of the expansive main lodge for the lake resort. Once you get settled into the private house, you excuse yourself from your parents to take a look around and stretch.  

While getting ready for dinner, you call your friend from home, Gia. “Babe! Any cute boys?” Gia asks as soon as she answers the phone. 

“I haven’t even seen anyone up close yet. But, I doubt it.” You say, curling your lashes. 

“Seriously? Ugh. You need to find someone while you’re there. I mean- are you seriously going to spend the whole summer with just your parents at this stupid camp?” She responds. 

“I dunno, G. It’s the first day- and there’s no point. I don’t want anything long distance and what about Peter?” You say, cleaning up your makeup products and shoving them back into your bag. 

“Forget Peter! He’s a loser, you know that. Plus, what do you really think he’s doing in D.C? You think he’s spending the whole summer at a UN Summer Camp and not flirting with girls?” She says, sighing and moving around on her bed.

“He’s passionate about it. Maybe he’s really just involved, you know…” You sigh, slipping on your shoes. “Give me a break, Y/N/N. You deserve better than Peter. Maayyybbeee he’s there right now.. Hm? Good luck. Have fun at dinner.” 

“Bye, G, love you.” 

“Byeeeee!”

---

“The Cameron’s will be joining us for dinner tonight.” Your dad says, while looking at the mirror in the front hallway in the private house, fixing his tie. “Who?” You say, standing next to him, fixing your lipgloss. “Y/N, The Camerons. We talked about Ward in the car here. You went to summer camp with his son, Rafe.” He says, turning to look at you. 

“Rafe?” You say, furrowing your eyebrows, “What kinda name is Rafe?” 

“Y/N.” He sighs, “If it helps, his name is Rafferty, but he goes by Rafe, he always has.”

You giggle. 

“Rafferty? Does Mr. Cameron hate his son or something?” 

“Y/N.” He sighs, moving to the door when your mom comes out, dressed for dinner. 

---

Once you and your parents walk to the main lodge for dinner, you get stuck listening to an old man talk to your parents for fifteen minutes. Suddenly, you’re praying that Rafferty and his family shows up, insteading of wishing they’d call and say someone was sick and can’t make it. 

Conveniently, once you wish that, your father’s face lights up, looking at the entrance. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Graham, our dinner guests are here.” He says, shaking the old mans hand, and walking towards Mr. Cameron, while your mom stands up to greet them, pushing you to stand up, subtly. Mr. Cameron walks confidently with his wife slightly behind him, and a trio of kids who look less than excited to be at a hidden business dinner. 

“Ward!” Your father exclaims, shaking Mr. Camerons hand. “You know my wife, and this is my daughter, Y/N.” You give the whole group a tight smile, shaking Mr. and Mrs. Camerons hand, before everyone moves to sit down. While your mom pushes you out of your chair so that Mrs. Cameron, whose name you learned was Rose, could sit next to her. 

You end up sitting in between Rafe and a girl a little younger than you. Rafe gets sat next to your father, and across from his father, and he seems unbelievably displeased about it. 

The girl on your right turns to you. “I’m Sarah, it’s nice to meet you.” She smiles.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you.” You smile back, happy that you didn’t have to make the first introduction. 

“That’s Rafe, and this is Wheezie.” She says, pointing to the younger girl on her right. 

“How did you-”

“Get the name Sarah?” She laughs softly, and you nod. “Rafe’s name is Rafferty, still stupid if you ask me. But, Wheeze’s real name is Louisa.” 

You smile at her joke, and nod. 

---

During the dinner, you promptly ignore the men at the table, mainly talking to Sarah, but also answering questions about school and colleges from Rose, and listening to Wheezie talk about the latest book she’s reading. 

However, it was physically impossible to ignore the, shamelessly, beautiful boy on your left, who smells good, and is much taller than you thought. Not forgetting how nice his arms look in his suit and, Peter had completely left all of your thoughts when you accidentally brushed Rafe’s leg when you bent down to fix your shoe.

---

The next day, your mom had a scheduled salon appointment with Rose Cameron and your father wanted to mingle with potential businessmen at the men’s lounge. 

This meant you were left completely to your own devices, deciding to go to a lakeside morning yoga session that Sarah had also drug Wheezie to, so you joined them.

---

Rafe had waken up late, his father had told him about the men’s lounge and how it would be good for connections, hinting that Rafe should join him, but in his opinion, he was tired of connections and needed a break. 

He pulled a shirt on, and stumbled out of the private house, realizing that it was completely empty, he walks to the kitchen to see Sarah had written on a lime green post it note and stuck it to the countertop, “Taking Wheeze to yoga, Rose at salon, Dad gone to lounge. Meet for lunch at 12.” 

He looks at the time displayed on the stove, 11:45. 

---

“Will you come to lunch with us? I promise that Rafe will be better company this time around.” Sarah pleads, in her hot pink matching lulu lemon set.  Wheezie nods, pushing up her glasses, “He always gets so tense around dad. I think it’s dumb, but he always does.” Sarah gives you a look, almost begging you not to push that topic further. You nod, “Okay, sure. I’ll come, but only if you’re sure he won’t mind.”

Once you, Sarah, and Wheezie show up to the resturatnet in the lodge, you see Rafe already sitting at a table near the large floor to ceiling windows overlooking the lake. 

He watches the three of you walk over, as Wheezie finds a seat next to him, while you stand awkwardly, waiting for Sarah to sit across from Rafe. Naturally, however, she doesn’t and she gives Wheezie a look as she sits across from her, forcing you to sit across from Rafe, smiling awkwardly as you make eye contact with him. 

Sarah and Wheezie excuse themselves to use the restroom. Once they’re out of earshot, the boy sighs, looks out to the lake, and straightens his back, “I’m uh- I’m Rafe, by the way, I don’t think I ever actually introduced myself.” He says, turning his head to look back at you. 

You smile softly, “Y/N.” 

He nods, “Nice to meet you.” You take a sip of water, “you too.” 

i hope you girlies liked this chapter, it's a little slow rn sorrryyyy, let me know if you're liking it and if there's anything you'd like to see, i'm totally down to incorporate things into the story MWAH

taglist: @sunny1616 @haruvalentine4321

[featherandferns]

daylight - five

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 5 of the daylight series | read part 4 here

content warnings: sexual content (f receiving); alcohol

word count: 3k.

blurb: after avoiding JJ for a week, the two of you end up trapped together in the Chateau during a storm.

Whilst Mimsy’s advice was golden, you promptly ignored it. Avoided JJ like the plague. Bailed on nearly every Pogue meeting: met with the group one-on-one instead. He’d texted you a few times, checking if you were okay, asking if you were sick, offering to come around, apologising for the other night. You rarely replied, and if you did they were simple answers that left no room for further questions. I’m fine. Not sick, don’t worry. Just been busy. It's all good, I forgot all about it! 

But you hadn’t. 

That one fleeting touch of JJ’s hand on your chest had replayed in your mind like you were some budding virgin who had never been touched by another human before in your life. It was truly pathetic. The porn that got your body burning was the thing that a nun would gloss over without pause. You loathe yourself. 

It’s stupid, really. You’d decided that maybe Mimsy was right. Maybe it was time to stop punishing yourself for Tyler, for the damage he inflicted. Maybe it was time to remember that all people are different people, and the acts of one careless man doesn’t equal the acts of another. But then you thought about it, really thought about it, and the thought of being so open like that with another person terrified you. Made you sick. Love was bad but heartbreak was worse, and you had a habit of falling hard and fast. If JJ wanted casual, you couldn’t do that. You felt too much for him already. Sleeping with him would only make it worse. But if JJ wanted serious, you couldn’t do that either. And so, you were at a stalemate. 

“Can’t I just give you it tomorrow?” you ask Kiara over the phone. 

“No! Cause you’ll quote-unquote ‘forget’ and go another week with it!” 

“It’s a good camera!”

“Yes, that’s why I want it back,” Kiara laughs. 

Sighing, you smile. “Fine. I’ll drop it at the Chateau, though. That hurricane’s getting close and I don’t wanna get caught out near Figure Eight.”

“Alright, that works for me,” Kie agrees. “You talk to JJ yet?”

“Sure,” you lie. 

She sighs. “What is going on with you two? I know he can be a dumbass; did he yell at you or something?”

After knowing JJ for close to two months, you had seen his temper. It was short and explosive, and at times, scary. But he came down regretful for the things he did and said, and you’d learnt just like the others to understand it. 

“No, he didn’t yell. It’s nothing. We’re fine, really,” you tell her. 

Kie hums and you know she isn’t convinced. Grabbing your shoes, you say, “look, I’ll head to the Chateau now before the storm hits and leave your camera for you.”

“Icon. Thank you!”

“Talk soon,” you say before hanging up.

With Kie’s camera in your trademark backpack, you head downstairs. Leaving a note on the kitchen for your parents and pulling a thin raincoat over your sweats and crop-tee, you penny board to the Chateau. The journey is familiar now, the same way heading to and from the local store in Vancouver was less than a year ago. As you walk up, you find the Twinkie missing. 

“John B? You home?” you call as you pass through the door. Nobody answers.

You head to the table and place Kiara’s camera down, then send a photo to her as proof. Before you make the journey back home, errand now complete, you use the bathroom and raid the cupboard for a snack. As you pull back the wrapper on a month-out-of-date clif bar, the sky grumbles menacingly. You stare up at the ceiling when it does as if it might be to blame. Suddenly, everything is dark. Grey clouds loom overhead and cast the world in gloom. More thunder follows, and the distant flash that you catch through the window hints of lightning. You hadn’t managed to skip the storm.

“Shit.”

Through the tantrum of nature, the high-pitched humming of a motor passes through. You venture to the front door of the Chateau, wondering whether John B has come back. When JJ rounds the corner, your stomach drops like a black bear has wandered into sight. The rain has started now, pelting hard and heavy pellets, and JJ cusses as he rushes up the steps. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he finally looks up, now in the Chateau.  

“Jesus Christ!”

“Sorry.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he repeats, perhaps a little dramatic. 

You roll your eyes and tug your raincoat off over your head. It’s not like you’re going anywhere anytime soon: mother nature had decided so. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Where the fuck have you been?” JJ asks, frowning at you. 

You shrug. “At home.”

“Oh. Yeah, duh, how dumb of me,” JJ sarcastically mumbles. You head into the kitchen for a soda and JJ is hot on your trail. “I’ve been hitting you up for like a week and you’ve been ignoring me.”

“I replied to you.”

“Yeah with like two word responses. I’ve heard dogs talk more,” JJ fires back.

Once your hand is safely removed from the fridge, JJ slams it shut. It catches your attention; forces you to look up at his face. “It’s about what happened in the van, isn’t it?”

“JJ, grow up,” you say. 

“That’s not a no.”

“Because it’s a stupid question,” you reply. “I’m not twelve years old, JJ.”

“Don’t need to tell me that,” he mumbles. You pass him by, heading for the sofa whilst JJ stands in the kitchen and stares at you. “So that’s that?”

“I guess,” you say with a shrug, sipping your soda. 

He stares some more and then scoffs. You know he’s annoyed. His jaw clenches and he glances off to the hallway of the cabin. You take his distraction to remind yourself of his body. Of how fucking gorgeous he is. 

“What? What’s wrong?” you can’t help but ask. 

JJ shakes his head. He purses his lips, calms himself, and looks to you. “You hurt my feelings.”

On the surface, it sounds like an immature statement. The sort of thing a child would say to another on the playing field, after shunning them out of an imaginary game. But not now, not here. You knew more than most how much hurt feelings can wound. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, and you hope it sounds as genuine as it is. 

JJ contemplates before nodding. He heads over to you and sits beside you on the sofa. Kicks his feet up on a dining chair as he reclines into the sofa. 

“Do you forgive me?”

“I will if you give me a sip of your drink,” he mumbles. You hand him the can and watch him begin to drink. Your face contorts with horror as JJ backwashes into the can, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“JJ! Ew!” 

He splutters a laugh as you snatch your drink back. It’s spoiled now. You glare at him and ditch it on the floor. Smack his shoulder jovially.

“Dumbass.”

The storm reigns on and for a while the two of you sit side by side listening to its petrifying symphony. Lightning flashes through the windows and illuminates the cabin for a fraction of a second, time and time again. It feels nice being in JJ’s company again. He calms you somehow, even in silence. Maybe it’s his smell, but if you admit that, you may sound a little insane or creepy. But the calm is only momentary. Soon you’re losing yourself to your thoughts, given too much freedom with the quiet. Thoughts of him. Thoughts which turn to glances, which turn to longing and yearning and…

“Wanna play a board game?” you blurt out. 

JJ quirks a brow at you, hitting his vape. “Sure. What game?”

You get up and head to the rickety wooden shelves, inspecting the games John B has. Most look thrifted. Jenga, Twister, Monopoly…

“Trivial Pursuit?”

JJ sniggers. “I don’t think either of us are smart enough for Trivial Pursuit.”

A hand slowly rises to your chest in mock offence. “Ouch.”

You slide the game out as JJ gets up and transforms the sofa into a pullout. The power is holding up good enough so far, in the summer storm turned hurricane. Taking a blanket, you cosy up on the couch and set up the game. JJ takes the time to retrieve a beer. You each take a game piece and fall into the game. It only takes about five rounds for JJ to be proven right: trivia was neither of your strong suits. 

You grab a card from the pile, reading out the trivia question. “What distance is the earth to the sun?”

JJ’s face contorts in bewilderment. “What kind of dumbass question is that?”

“A trivia one,” you say, watching him with a smile.

“I don’t fucking know. A hundred?”

“A hundred what?”

“Miles?”

You blink at him. “A hundred miles? From our planet to a huge ball of gas?”

“Who’s actually measured it, that’s what I want to know,” JJ says.

“Scientists.”

“But like how?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh, leaning back on the sofa. “With science, I guess. Answer the question.”

“‘With science’. ‘With science’?”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t know I was in the presence of a genius,” JJ announces.

You roll your eyes and prod him with your toe through your blanket, careful not to knock over the pile of trivia cards. “Answer!”

“This game is dumb. Why couldn’t we just play strip poker?”

“Jesus Christ – answer the question!”

“I did! One-hundred miles!”

“That’s such a dumb guess!” you laugh, placing the card at the bottom of the pile.

“Was it right?”

“No!”

By now you’re in hysterics, shaking your head. JJ’s watching you, sniggering away. He takes another swig of his beer and offers the bottle to you. You have a sip. JJ’s still watching you. Swallowing, you quirk a brow. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what is it? Is there something on my face?”

“No, no,” JJ says, stopping your wiping of your cheeks. “You’re just really fucking pretty.”

Your body chills like a winter breeze hit. Smiling bashfully, you glance down. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Course,” JJ replies. He takes the bottle back gently and has another sip. Clearing his throat, he grabs another trivia card. “Alright, uh, what we got here? Who wrote the novel ‘Pride and Prejudice’?”

“Jane Austen,” you reply. 

“Yep,” he says, returning the card to the pile.

And just like that, the moment has passed, and you’re only slightly surprised to realise how much you wished it hadn’t. 

You wordlessly take another ‘cheese piece’ for your counter. JJ takes the dice and rolls and as you wait for them to land, everything suddenly goes pitch black. You let out a screech as it does. 

“Oh shit,” you hear JJ say. 

“What happened?” you ask, though the answer is obvious. 

“Power went out,” JJ says. “Shit.”

You feel the pull out move and you flail a hand out, grabbing his t-shirt with your fist. “Don’t go.”

“I’m just gonna try and find some candles or a flashlight or something.”

“Wait, can you just…Can you stay until my eyes adjust, at least?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, course.”

JJ settles back into his spot. There’s the clink of his beer bottle carefully finding place on the floor. His hand gently pats around before landing on your leg. 

“You’re shaking.”

“I don’t like the dark,” you tell him. You’re waiting for him to laugh but he doesn’t. Instead, he coaxes you closer to him. 

“Come here.”

You comply. Shuffle until you can feel JJ’s body pressed against yours. You slowly, nervously lower your head onto his upper chest. The sensation of his chest rising and falling evenly calms your panic. You’d never grown out of your fear of the dark. It was stupid, something Tyler used to tease you for, but you couldn’t help it. Even still, you slept with some form of nightlight. JJ’s fingers begin to stroke the back of your hand. And just as his accidentally grope of your tit had, his barely-there touch turns you on. 

But this time you don’t flinch away. Don’t panic and startle and spiral. 

Maybe it’s the black out serving as some sort of safety net, or the storm making you feel disconnected from the world, or maybe just the effect of JJ in general, but you find yourself moving to face him. At least, what you assume is him. Eyes slowly adjusting, you can make out the vague silhouette of his face. Lord knows you’ve stared at him enough times to make good guess work of where his lips are. You lean forward so slow, you can convince yourself you’re not at all.

Your lips press against his lower lip tentatively. Testing the waters.

This close, you can hear when JJ’s breath catches in his throat.

You wait for JJ's next move.

JJ’s hand lands on the back of your head, returning your lips to his frantically. It’s messy and sloppy as the two of you kiss. Teeth and lips and hands, which caress down your body, grabbing greedily at your skin, landing on your ass to lift you into his lap. He’s getting harder and harder with each kiss, each brush of your tongues. You gasp a moan against his lips. Leaning back for air, swishing your hair from off your face and shoulders, you finally get to see how it feels to have your hands around his neck. Plant your fingers there, one by one,. JJ’s panting, his hands restlessly tracing your body. Reconnecting your lips with his, he mumbles against them. One word.

“Yes.”

His grip is tenderly mean in your hair as he pries you away to only plant kisses down your neck. Maybe he has a fascination with yours just as you do with his…JJ’s cold hands thrill your body as they slip under your shirt. Blunt finger nails rake soothingly against your back, juxtaposing the assault on your throat that has you whining and gasping. Fuck, you forgot how good this is. How good it feels to have another person pressed up against you. Touching you. You instinctively rock against his crotch. JJ groans, head dropping onto your shoulder. His fingernails press harder and it makes you grin. Leaning down to his earlobe, you kitten lick the skin just below. You feel him shudder under you. You tease your teeth against the lobe before gently catching it between your teeth. JJ lets out a moan. 

“You like that?” you whisper into his ear. 

“Yes,” he mumbles. You let out a gasp when he tugs at your hair once more, pulling you to face him. Now you can make out his eyes. They’re hooded. Crinkled like they do when he smiles. “You like being in control or something?”

“Or something…” you reply, finding your own smile. 

“Just like I said,” JJ says, eyes flitting down to your lips. “Exactly my type.”

His hands slide down from your ass to the back of your quads, and he practically tosses you onto your back. You land just shy of the game board. Can hear the cards and game pieces scatter. JJ unconcernedly brushes it away, making the two of you laugh, breathless. Then his lips are back on yours, figure looming over you, and you let your hands venture up along his body. His gaping t-shirt grants you expanse of his skin. It’s soft under your touch, ripples from it, rises and falls with his breathes. JJ pushes your shirt up and kisses down your sternum, down your chest, towards your crotch. And now, without him desperately close, despite his attention to your body, you feel lost. In the pitch black, you can confuse JJ with someone else. 

Tyler. 

No, no, it’s not. It’s JJ. You can smell his cologne. Feel the cool metal of his rings against your burning skin. Yes, JJ. 

“JayJ?” you mumble, fingers tethering into his hair. 

“Mmm,” he hums against your skin. Yes, it’s JJ. His fingers hook into the band of your sweats and he lowers them down your legs. Presses wet, open mouthed kisses to the newly revealed skin that you’d caught him staring at too many times to count. 

And you should be enjoying it. Should be turned on beyond belief, desperate for his touch or his mouth or something on your aching cunt. But instead you’re just trying to stay present. Drilling it into your head that it is him, that it is JJ, that this is different. It makes no sense. Tyler never abused you. Never too advantage of you. Or did he? Did he–

No, not Tyler. JJ. The same JJ who’s mumbling things against your thigh, dragging your panties down your legs. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy…”

But when he teases a finger to your folds, you’re dry. JJ pauses. 

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum. Now your brain is busy with panic. He’s been turning you on like crazy so why the fuck is your body not doing what it’s supposed to do? Embarrassment stings your eyes. This has never happened before. Never. JJ continues to ease his finger up and down but to no avail. He shifts up your body, kissing delicately at your neck.  

“Are you…not into this or?” JJ tentatively asks. 

“No, I am, I just–” You cut yourself off with an exasperated sigh. Gently pushing JJ off you, you shift to sit up, hiding your burning face in your hands despite the black out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why.”

“It’s alright. Hey, no, it’s alright, don’t worry,” JJ reassures.

As you tug your shirt down, JJ climbs off the pull-out. You hear his footsteps depart. You busy yourself with pulling your sweatpants back up. A flashlight guides JJ’s return. You squint when he shines it directly in your face. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, flicking it back down to the floor. He steps over the mess of the board game and joins you on the sofa. Passes you his half drunk bottle of beer and the alcohol helps wash away the initial sting of embarrassment. In the shadow of his flashlight, you still see his boner through his sweatpants and you instantly feel guilty for accidentally blue-balling him. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. 

“Don’t apologise,” JJ chuckles. He takes the beer back when you offer it to him. Has a swig. 

“S’just embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“Nah. Guess it’s just like ED for a guy,” JJ thinks aloud. 

“Oh, and ED isn’t embarrassing?” you half-heartedly joke. 

JJ chuckles. “Alright, fair point. But you don’t gotta be embarrassed with me. It’s cool.”

You nod. The two of you sit there in the pitch-black as the storm billows on outside. You look out the window. The wind throws twigs and sticks and leaves around; you can see it through the porch netting. 

“Did I ever tell you about when I lost my virginity?” JJ asks. 

You snort and look to him. “Yeah, funny enough, that never came up in any of our conversations.”

JJ smiles, amused. “Fair point.”

He relaxes against the back of the sofa and you decide to join him, settling your head against his chest. One of his hands loops around your body, fingers stroking your thigh over your sweatpants soothingly. 

“I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen?”

“I was an early bloomer, I guess,” JJ replies, making you chuckle quietly. “There was this smokin’ Toron visiting the island. I mean, not as hot as you, but a close second - I’m not gonna lie. Way better than what my thirteen-year-old wet dreams cooked up.”

“Gross,” you cringe, scrunching up your nose. 

“So, I started talking to her and she asked if I had...and I hadn’t, and neither had she and…Yeah. And then, when it came down to it, and we were macking and stuff, I couldn’t get it up.”

You shift to look up to him, lips apart. “Wait, really?”

“I’m dead serious,” JJ chuckles. “I was flippin’ out cause I’d never had a problem with it before.”

“What happened? Did you guys end up calling it off or…”

“Well,” JJ says, scratching the back of his neck, “the problem seemed to go away after she showed me her tits but–”

“Ah. That makes sense,” you snigger. 

“But the point is, it happens to all of us,” JJ tells you. “So, you don’t gotta be embarrassed.”

“Well, thanks,” you hum. Snuggling your head against his shirt, your eyes slip shut. The madness of the storm was strangely soothing. “I’m sorry for disappearing, JayJ.”

“It’s alright,” JJ says quietly. “I do it too, sometimes. When I need to think or it gets too much.”

The two of you understand one another. Guarded behind self-built walls of which only the other seemed to have the sledgehammer for. It's something you want to talk about more but with your eyes closed, in the comfort of JJ’s hold, you find yourself drifting away into sleep.  

read part six here!

taglist:

@princessuki21 | @psyches-reid | @heybank | @avengersgirllorianna | @rrosiitas | @yourmumstoy | @jjsfavgirl | @void21 | @fictionalcomforts | @gsp420 | @redhead1180 | @wearemadeofstardust0 | @mrs-jjmaybank | @ifilwtmfc | @heybank | @lilyw1235 | @belle101200

[lesbiankimdahyun]

good evening i've been um.,,.,. Thinking about GP!Momo lately...

CW: degradation, light bdsm (Momo slaps R, has control over her but it’s CONSENSUAL)

The bed shakes as Momo plows into you, her favorite little stress reliever. She’s been extra vocal in bed this time and it only sends you further and further into subspace. “You’re so pathetic,” she says with a grunt, greedily stuffing more of her cock inside you. “Look how wet your pussy got for me after I called you stupid. Do you really like that?” She notices you looking at her breasts instead of her eyes and promptly slaps the side of your face, making you look up at her with a moan. 

“Dumb little slut, is my body that distracting to you?” Momo’s voice is a mix of honey and venom and your cheek burns as you watch her lips move. “Can’t even answer me when you’re being fucked, huh? At least you take my cock well.” 

Her words sink deeply into your head. You relish being degraded like this, talked down to  and humiliated until your body and mind are free range for Momo to wreak havoc on. Your eyes are hooded, your mouth open. Her cock fills you so deeply, it takes almost all of your energy just to keep your eyes on her and pant with each of her thrusts. 

“That’s it, baby,” she coos, one hand moving closer to grip your throat lightly. “Keep that pretty little head nice and empty for me. No need to try and think-- I know you can’t. Not when your sweet little cunt is being filled, right? I’ll do all the thinking for you.” 

Both of you pant heavily, sweat forming across both of your brows. Your pussy clenches around her length eagerly, and Momo laughs at the lewd squelching sounds. 

“Damn, baby,” she says with an amused huff. “You really like this? Maybe next time I should offer you to Jihyo first if you wanna be used so badly.” You look up at her and her hand around your neck loosens for a moment. She meets your gaze readily, challenging you to call her bluff.  

Except, you realize, she really means it. And you’d let her.

You nod a little, making her smirk.

“Oh, now you can respond?” she says, gritting her teeth. Her hand finds its place around your throat again, gripping a little tighter this time. “God, you’d really let me share you with anyone as long as they’d breed you, huh? You’re really fucking filthy, aren’t you?”

Her pace is merciless now and you cry out, scrabbling to grab onto her, any part of her for some support. Your hands claw at her back and arms but by this point it’s nearly useless– you were both about to reach your peaks. 

“Don't forget, you easy little whore,” Momo leans down to purr in your ear, “No matter who I let touch you… you belong to me.”

Your jaw drops, but no sound comes out. It’s enough to send you both over the edge– knowing that not only would you let Momo say the most degrading things to you again, but she would let you be passed off to one of her friends like the toy you so badly wanted to be. 

You come at the same time. She’s surprised since you usually come after her, but it adds even more to both of your pleasure and she shudders a little, spilling into you with a sharp exhale. 

Momo thrusts a few more times into you, wanting to make sure you're nice and bred before she finally starts to come down a bit from her high. She peers down at you, making sure you’re okay while the two of you are still connected at the hips. It’s that tiny slip— that microsecond of tenderness while she’s still in a more dominant headspace that flips a switch in you, making you a little more desperate suddenly.

As Momo catches her breath, you whine a little, moving your hips with her still inside you.

“Baby?” She watches your hips start to find their own rhythm as you work fervently to grind down on her. Her cock was still hard but sensitive; she wasn’t quite ready to go again. 

“N-need more,” you whine pathetically, finally finding your voice as you started to fuck yourself on her cock. 

“Fuck,” Momo replies, sucking in her breath. She watches as you begin to mewl, desperate for stimulation, and some of her sensitivity subsides. She still couldn’t fuck you, but she hums from the pleasure of you working yourself around her cock. “You’re unbelievable,” she says, her tone cruel as ever. “You just came and already need more? Cock-hungry slut.” 

You can only nod and whine, reaching for her. She denies you of being able to hold onto her, instead taking your hands and pinning them down to the side of the bed. “Ah, ah," she says. "You wanna come so bad? Keep riding.” Momo watches in satisfactory amusement while you do just that, working yourself back up to the edge of another orgasm. 

It doesn’t take long at all. Your body is incredibly sensitive like hers and it's borderline overwhelming, but you can’t stop. Momo lets out a low moan, watching you intently. Her gaze makes you feel small and exposed as she watches you squirm and whine, your hips gyrating and thrusting desperately while you rub away at your soaked clit. 

“Go on baby,” she purrs, seeing your own slick start to drip down your fingers. “Come on my cock again, I know you want to.” 

It’s as close as you’ve ever gotten to coming on command. Your breath hitches and you gush around her length, trembling and gasping. Momo, feeling you clench around her cock, bites back a moan. She’s ready to have at you again but holds back, releasing your hands from being held down and leaning in to kiss your sweaty forehead instead.  

She brushes her hand against your cheek lightly, admiring the redness from her earlier slap and you relax into her touch. When you’re finally able to, you sit up a bit and Momo slides out of you slowly. Your cum runs down her stiff cock, making her dick twitch with want as she watches a mix of both of your cum leak out of you. You’ve made a mess on the sheets again, but Momo never minds cleaning you up (or the sheets). 

The two of you sit back together for a minute or so, and then Momo helps you stand. You wobble unsteadily on your feet, barely able to speak. In lieu of your voice, you plant appreciative kisses along her cheek and neck, making Momo laugh lightly. 

“Baby,” she says, gripping your ass in her hand. “You’ve been so good and I understand if you’re too tired…but if I hold you up, do you think you could take me once more in the shower?”

Your eyes light up immediately. “Yes,” you breathe eagerly. You will your tired body to lead the way for her, but she holds onto your arm, slowing you down so you won’t fall on shaky legs. “Easy, jagi,” she murmurs, a smile at the corner of her lips. “One more time and then we’ll clean you up and get some rest, yeah?”

[applesontheground]

I have a big, beautiful, fat fucking request for you. Let me get, some Danny Johnson, him totally, ferally obsessed with the reader. He is down BAD for her. He has so many cravings, he doesn't know where to *start* when he finally breaks into her place. He wants to do it all and has a knife, rope, duct tape and nothing but time since your vacation just started and no one is expecting to see you for DAYS. All he knows is he wants to fuck you and see you cry and bleed, ruin you for anyone else. <3

last night never happened 📞

SO, THIS IS GOING TO BE THE FIRST DIVE INTO DANNY, HUH?

As someone who's coming out of one hell of a break, i'm very excited to find my writer's muscle again, and what better way than to finally get started on some of my requests? :D

This is also a part of celebrating @bisexual-horror-fan's birthday today! I told Bex I wanted to do something special for this, and give a good reminder I sure don't forget about any ideas that get thrown at me... even the ones that have sat in the inbox for far too long.

Hope you like it, Bex. Happy birthday!! ❤

NSFW | Word Count: 3,138 | Danny Johnson x Female Reader contains MAJOR DUBCON THEMES, stalking/obsession, masturbation, B&E, sadomaso, knifeplay/v light bloodplay, titfucking, BDSM, gagging, fingering, orgasm denial 🎼: x, x

“How do we know the stories that come from that beat are always going to center around this part of town?”

“Well,” A pause, a knowing pause that was tired of answering the question, “How do we know it isn’t? This is downtown, [Y/N].”

Then came a small murmur from the group. You were silent, but you didn’t lower your head. It was a standard meeting with the head photographer, and you were merely sitting in. More of an intern than any sort of employee, it was almost mindless to speak up like you did. You appeared not to understand that it was all supposed to deter you from being so steady on your pedestal, of once-believed expertise that you were ahead of some nonexistent curve in reasoning. Your unwavering blink, a denial to be crushed despite the odds falling against your face, was tantalizing.

It made the muscles in his hands flex, white knuckling as he folded his hands and craned his neck to force his eyes on the space in front of him. You had no right to know just what those hands wanted to do, no one besides him did – at least, while he was forced to exist so identifiable in public, surrounded by others.

Someone could gut that pretty little body like a fish and she still wouldn’t find the need to run from the knife. That idea raced to the forefront of his head, a realization that made him need to shift uncomfortably, pretend his nose itched to explain to the world why a jolt of energy had just shot down his leg, made him almost leap at some thought up opportunity.

There was a scheduled break in the work – for all of the team, including you – after that session. A full week to catch up on the work at hand, take the time to do what mattered if you were already there. Although the weather was great for travel, for visiting friends, you had been idly chatting about it after the meeting, mentioning there were no plans outside of “decompressing”.

It was perfect, and he nearly moved in closer to get a look at you, mere steps away from where he had been sitting. He couldn’t meet your eyes just yet. It all came from deep in his chest, something that drummed sweat in his hands and made him promptly leave the meeting room without another look around.

Some time that evening, remembering the curve of your jaw when you would turn to look at the clock on the wall and melting into the hot sweat against his hand that stroked to the rhythm that he’d believe resembled a pulse under his fingers, Danny decided you were going to be his next project. He had been sliding ideas of others that he saw along with you day in and day out, and you were a babe, sure… but this oblivion you showed, a deer with no thought behind the eyes in the face of an oncoming car. It made him want to get under that skin.

When he had seen you before this decision, it was all casualties: picking up pencils that slipped off your desk, null glances when you passed each other in the hall. He would then observe from afar, over the edges of a novel he was reading or a laptop screen, acting like he was far more preoccupied with his work and you none the wiser. He could care less about editing photos he took, the program making his computer grow hot as he would instead shift his stare to you, fixing flyers on a corkboard or chatting with another body.

The way your hair framed your face and made you appear so friendly, mundane being too stale and homely being too chaste. You had a quirk in your lips, a scoff to your giggles; that all made you seem a little more than something plain.

Finally, there came the photographs. You walking by the building, mostly outdoors settings where he could perch somewhere perfect, capture your likeness without any sort of hints or the confines of indoors closing off noises, the way he had to sometimes move alongside you. When people approached, there was always a bird in the trees, something else happening to make Danny look unsuspecting. No one noticed anything close enough to see you in the background each time he was out on field work.

It was an easy plan to put together, because he figured he’d just need the basics: a hunter’s knife, curved and ridged in little spots for the variety and the flare. Then, a basic nylon rope, something itchy and uncomfortable to add to every reaction that he was seeking, knowing he could tear from you. He had gotten it on sale.

The idea to save his zipties, wanting to use them but recognizing there should be other times, only made a smile quirk on his lips. It would be the perfect plan for another visit, and that possibility would make him suck in a breath. He took the duct tape instead. That’d be far more fun than his other supplies he had used just as soon as a month prior.

The entering itself was as simple as he had imagined it would be. He had watched you come home from an evening’s grocery shopping, ready to hide from the world for this long week. He had waited until the streetlights on your corner turned on, a sign sundown was well underway, before standing from the bench he had been lounging on. One eye had been kept on some photographer’s notes he had been working on – he had to actually get some work done, form that alibi nice and early – and one on your front door, your windows as you passed through like a sweet visage only for him. He slipped the cloak on, the mask in hand as he walked across the street, found a bush outside your home, and got into position.

The first star in the sky rearing its luminous face was what got him to stand again, slipping through an unlocked garage door on the side of your home. You were so trusting of anyone who could find their way through the cracks of your personal life, your abode that maybe had enough locks to keep guys like him out…but unutilized.

He’d be sure to hold that faith up to the light for you. How real was it, [Y/N]? You’d really let anyone have a hold of your security, seeing that your coworkers treat it so poorly, laugh at you?

You barely yelled, more so yelped in shock before slipping in your socked feet around the kitchen when he let himself inside. He had considered making it more explosive, but sliding from a curtain and imposing with a feverish desire to feel that exposed skin he was seeing was far more interesting.

Moving before thought only made the soles of his shoes feel heavy on the floor, solid in his own movement.

“Where are you going, baby cakes?” he asked, laughing when your jaw dropped open. Again, it made a crick in his muscles tense, shiver as he willed self-control that was merely buying time.

He couldn’t go ballistic, not yet. Maybe not even during this visit.

He was heaving breaths, silent laughter in his chest and bubbling along the brook of desperate gasps for air. You tried to push your body away, the skin of your thighs and back squeaking painstakingly against linoleum. With a lunge that sent him on his hands and knees, the assailant merely prowled after you, eye contact much easier now from behind the slim shape of the mask.

He took his time; it wasn’t like you could make your way to the door in any way that would cut ice. Those eyes of yours, confused but still meeting the mask’s own in some unwavering attempt to comprehend what was happening. It only made the connection of pressing flush into your body more rewarding.

The first audible sound was an ecstatic giggle from his throat, one that could blow the whole lid off his entrance and his identity should you be able to recall what “Jed Olsen” from work sounded like, remember anything in the brief interactions you two shared…

You wouldn’t, and he knew that when you choked out, not sure what to even ask first, “Who- What are you doing!?”

He nodded quaintly down at you. “Something I should’ve done a long, long time ago.”

On your back, you really could've found the leverage to wiggle him off. Still, when the steady throb protruding from a pair of dark jeans and curtained with the robe touched your chest, it disarmed you.

It only got worse for your composure as his hand trailed between your breasts, and he then realized a knife wasn't ready for that spot yet. You jerked your hips against his own slightly, a meek warning with no bite that was met with his gloved hands touching them next, and you felt the way his palms were shaking. The shudder from your abdomen was involuntary.

Danny wasn't untrained, just at the hilt.

You shuddered, a hard swallow fighting gravity and the threat of that hunter’s knife now being grabbed from the floor, touching your bare thigh in an idle drag. It was in sync with a gentle motion he was making with his hips. One could assume it was just him trying to keep balance, but you saw his free hand go to his belt and start undoing it, and you sucked in a breath again. Breathing was all you could really bring yourself to do.

“Not gonna stop me?” He asked with a huff, opening his hands with the blade rolling against his palm idly. You murmured something intelligible, bracing the floor as his thighs squeezed the outside of your hips. He froze, a second of breath before grabbing you by your shirt collar, the knife sawing into the hem of your collar and making you jerk back. Still, you didn't scream as he tore through it, and let its messy remains fall behind you, a weird bump in the smooth floor that only gave you a little more discomfort.

"Awe, I appreciate you keeping your voice down." He cooed, idly pulling his pants zipper down and freeing himself. His cock fit between your tits, a slow motion that went up the middle portion between your stomach and your chest, a slow slide up your sternum, and then back down in an experimental pull. You didn't look down on the first thrust, but the second time warm metal brushed your face. A Jacob's Ladder twitched slightly at getting some attention.

The noise you let out, appalled by your own enjoyment, got him to falter again. You felt his own in the way he had to roll his shoulders. You turned your head, looking at the closest thing to you on the kitchen floor and only seeing the stretch of tile. The cool sensation was appreciated against your face, if nothing else.

“Come on, [Y/N].” The weight of your name, your actual name, made your throat tighten, meeting eyes with him in a snap of your head. This couldn’t be a stranger, a sure tone as he insisted with another trace of your searing thigh with a nitrile roll of texture up your skin, touching the marks of the knife and making you grit your teeth from behind shaking lips.

“You could at least try.”

He had to start pointing his energy into something that wasn't going to leave you in a pool of blood on the floor, take the urge back into sliding his dick in between your breasts and look down at it rather than you. He wondered if you could tell where his eyes were, and from where you saw it between the fight to keep from actually getting pleasure from this, he just looked focused on either you or what he was doing to you.

Still, you couldn't deny the weight of the assailant against your stomach, the way he pinned your legs together with his own in something far, far from chaste. You could do more, your unbound arms and hands could push him. Your free legs could come up, push a knee into his stomach, right in that cock that was helping itself to your bare skin. Still, he let a choked noise slip as his pace went a little quicker, and he then snapped the mask to face you more clearly, show he was looking up at your face.

"Hey, be a sweetheart for me." He asked, one hand on his own thigh and the other still holding the knife, the flat side of the blade tapping your shoulder and making you flinch slightly. "I have a proposal to make this easier for both of us. You can either hold your tits together for me, or I'm going to go ahead and tie them up."

You furrowed your brow, and he then warned you, "Five seconds." Quickly, and to your own disgust, your hands came up to cover your collarbone, arms and elbows squeezing together to give him what he wanted. The first slide between them was a little rough, skin catching before pre-cum from a few more thrusts made it easier.

He was far too worked up already, and more so than you. It only made the recognition that he was busting and able to leave before you even recognized what had happened a goal he was desperate for. The weeks of watching you from afar, getting to feel that jaw and those eyes on him was almost too much.

"Jesus," It wasn't reverent, it wasn't grateful. The first intelligible word out of your mouth was a plea, and it only made Danny stop thinking and falter as cum started to spurt out in the middle point between your breasts, deep between the valley. Bending almost perpendicular to you, the mask was inches away from your face, and you let out a gentle moan to the sensation.

One of your hands had his cum on the finger, and it was an insane move on your part, but what better way to try to end this than to scare him? You lifted a finger to your lips, and he saw your tongue lick up its length, his labored breathing stilled and the knife scratched tiled floor as he fumbled with it.

He had to shake out his hands to keep from letting them snug around your neck, scoffing under his breath to keep from snarling like an animal. He reached for the tape that he had placed on the counter in his setup, a loss of pressure on your body but your head was spinning to fast to take advantage of that, heaving breaths and trying not to make more noise as he ripped a strip off.

“Oh. Do you think you’re good enough to taste me?” He pressed the cool tape to your mouth, eliciting a shocked noise that you had been holding back until now. He leaned in, tilting his head and the chin of the mask brushing yours in a callous scratch of plastic. He turned attention to your wrists, taking them off your chest and pulling them down to sit on your still clothed abdomen. The rope had been fastened to his belt, weighing down off his hip from him unbuckling it. He unraveled it, still shivering from the exertion as he got them around your wrists.

“When do you think you’ll get that chance again. Huh, slut?” You just gawked, lips pushing against the tape, unable to answer and unable to consider what the fuck he meant by that. He played around with the idea of getting to see you again, “Next week? Next month, maybe?”

The rubber nitrile of his glove framed one side of your face as he then spoke in a more severe voice again, “Because I’m not done with you, [Y/N]. Not tonight.” He laughed when you let out a noise, trying to sound horrified. It became real as he finally slipped under your waistband, the cozy shorts and underwear barely acknowledged by his hand as he found your entrance in no time.

“Think you can wait?” He asked, hearing a more confident, more aroused noise from you from behind the tape as you rolled your head. He slid his middle in, the pressure along with all the fiddling he had been doing to stop himself from the choking, the tearing, only got his limp dick twitching slightly and another one going in with it after a few prods.

He worked until that shudder from your lower body came again, and you were in an even string of moaning under him, the mask all you saw in shy glimpses as you had to quickly forget this situation and let the pleasure take you down. When you clenched hard around his hand, he then pulled out, and the tears were quick to form in your eyes as you put on a pathetic display, glaring at him as your bound hands slapped him in the chest.

"I think I can wait." He giggled, like he was in trouble with you as he yanked the rope from your wrists, gathering it up as he stood again. You used the leverage to touch your face, and he suddenly knelt down.

"Don't cry, baby." He reminded you, a gentle tap on your face as he then paused to cup your cheek, rub the remnants of your slick against your face, "I'll be back for you."

He tore the duct tape off, a glance down to make sure the cum on your chest was dried and not going to be enjoyed in a way that mattered again before doing it. The wail was the first and only noise that had gone above confused moans and murmurs, and it was more involuntary from the quick motion, the pain of an industrial tool used on such gentle skin.

You caught a look at yourself in the reflection of the knife as he quickly took it from the floor and stood a final time. There was blood on your face, too, and looking down you saw he had done more than just dance the blade of his knife across your inner thighs.

He was already rushing out again, closing the door behind him in an insanely casual move, so you took the moment of utter shock and still on the floor of your own house to pull your leg into better view.

[How did he know my name starts with a D? / Why did he carve a very clear, concise letter "D" amongst the other marks?" ]

[the-ace-with-spades]

When Ice and Mav actually moved in together for the first time (after dodging it for about five years) when Mav had to take in Bradley, Ice found pretty soon that Bradley and Mav had no sense of safety --- would always forget to lock the door, either while leaving the house for the day or retiring for the night.

So he installed locks that would lock automatically as soon as the door shut.

Of course, Mav and Bradley didn't remember to lock the doors because they didn't remember to take the keys with them. One can imagine this becomes a problem.

After the twentieth time Bradley biked from school only to wait three hours for Mav, and then another two to wait for Ice because Mav also forgot his keys, Bradley decides to do something about it.

He's very much Mav's kid so instead of doing the normal thing and making key copies and putting them in some secret spots/his locker room, he decides he's just going to learn to pick locks.

It's the nineties so he basically just goes to a locksmith and asks if he can buy some tools off him and the guy is so fascinated by this scrawny thirteen-year-old who wants to learn to pick locks to break into his own house, he not only teachs him basics but also gives him lock picking mags and a book.

So Bradley learns on old locks and bike chains and then one day, he forgets the keys and breaks into their own house. It happens again and again.

Mav finds out when he picks Bradley up from the principal's office one day and arrives at the house to promptly realize he didn't take his keys in the morning. He asks Bradley if he has the keys, he doesn't, and Mav just gets fed up because there's no way they're waiting six hours until Ice comes back so he has to go back to base.

Bradley makes a deal with him. "If I get us inside, you won't ground me."

Obviously, Mav agrees. And Bradley picks the lock.

And like, Mav probably shouldn't indulge this, but it also means he doesn't have to worry about carrying keys again so, yeah, he buys Bradley a new lockpicking mini tool belt. And Bradley gets even better at it.

One day, Ice is supposed to be at home the whole day, brought a suitcase full of confidential documents with himself, the type that has both a lock and a code, and tells Bradley to tell Mav he's only going to be at the office fifteen minutes tops, he'll be home the whole day, please don't blow a gasket Mav. Bradley asks why, Ice explains he forgot the goddamn key for the suitcase and Bradley is like, "If I can open it, can you buy me that keyboard before my birthday?" and for funnsies, Ice agrees.

Before he finishes saying, "This is government property, kid, no way you'll be able to open it with some funny screwdriver," Bradley is reading the top secret mission plans out loud.

He gets that keyboard. Ice is the man of his word.

One time, Slider arrives on base in his new fancy BMW, showing it off and boasting so much he locks the key in by accident.

Ice is like, "Don't call the locksmith, I got it," and calls home and asks Bradley to check if he can open it and Bradley's answer is, "Only if Uncle Slider agrees to teach me to drive in it." Slider, obviously, agrees because there's no way --- he doesn't know what Ice is playing at but Baby Goose is not going to open his car.

Bradley opens the brand new BMW with about twenty Navy guys cheering him on in the parking lot.

Now, when Bradley is all alone at college, it's very tempting to use it for bad stuff --- to steal cars or rob shops, especially when money gets tough --- but the worst he does is breaking into the cafeteria and stealing sandwiches and bags of chips. He knows having a record would kick him out of NROTC, fast, so the lockpicking becomes a bit useless --- he does charge people from his dorms (which all have the same automatic lock on the doors) ten bucks to open them and avoid calling the RA.

Next time it has any significant impact on his life, Jake Seresin just forgot his key to his locker. He's got his flight suit but his boots and a space to leave his bag is behind the closed door.

Bradley only says, "You're not going to ask questions and you're going to owe me one."

He takes out a pin he always has attached to his car keys and within minutes, Seresin's locker is open.

He doesn't know it but Jake stares at him, not because he's wondering how much shit he's stolen (that too, a little bit) but also because apparently he finds lock picking really hot.

Now, Bradley goes about his life and soon enough finds out that Seresin's definition of 'owe you one' meant taking Bradley out on a date. Which, honestly, Bradley isn't that opposed to even if he puts on a face, Seresin is nice to look at and it's hard to find a guy to fuck when you're training six days a week in flight school.

They have a little routine of Jake calling with, "Hey, I locked myself out, can you get your ass here?" and Bradley lockpicking his door and then pinning him to said door as soon as they're inside. He's pretty sure he's seen Jake's keys in his back pocket a few times it happened.

This continues but Bradley keeps on staying longer and longer at Jake's place, more of his already small collection of things makes its way there, to the point that it's more like he's living there too and just breaking in every time, like back at the house in San Diego.

Obviously, he gets spooked, badly, when Jake finally says that when they move to Lemoore after they finish training, he's giving Bradley an actual key. The last time he shared a key with someone, he's been told he isn't enough and isn't ready and had all his dreams shattered --- like hell he's letting Jake chew out his heart, again.

So he requests change of target stations and doesn't say shit until the winging ceremony.

Next time he picks a lock, it's Nat's car in the NAS Oceans parking lot. He doesn't say she owes him one but she offers him a drink at the nearby bar as a thank you. He says no, just not to risk it again.

Nat sticks but nothing like with Jake happens.

Years go on and the second time around Bradley is at Top Gun, with Mav hovering over him like a goddamn shadow, with Nat's judgemental eyes and with Jake's big pretty mouth not knowing what he's saying, he gets a text.

I locked myself out. Can you get your ass here? with a base house location pinned in the next message.

Maybe he's naive but he goes.

"I really did lock myself out," Jake tells him straight away. "Don't think this means anything."

They haven't talked since he took out Bradley's dirty laundry in front of everyone in the debriefing room. Bradley opens his front door and is about to leave when Jake asks, "You wanna step inside?"

It doesn't solve anything. He doesn't know if Jake actually locked himself out or not.

When he and Mav are discharged, waiting to leave the base again, and Mav swears and mutters, "I forgot my goddamn keys," and Bradley knows Ice is currently in Hawaii, Bradley asks, "You got some paper clips on you?"

It doesn't solve anything but he breaks into Mav and Ice's house.

It doesn't solve anything but it's a start.

[meowzfordayz]

when you wear baggy clothing — kyojuro, sanemi, muichiro

Author’s Note: friendly reminder to be kind toward yourself. 💓 Easier said than done, ofc, but you deserve it❣️

when you wear baggy clothing — kyojuro, sanemi, muichiro

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tokito Muichiro x Reader

Word Count: ~1,000

CW: implied body insecurity, mild sexual content

Emergency Request Fulfilled: Hey, so I'd like to ask for a Emergency Request of Sanemi, Rengoku and Muichiro (if you want you can add anyone else) with an S/o that is very Insecure of their thighs and always wear baggy things on their legs no matter how hot it is because they just don't like them.

~faqs, image~

“Would you like to change?” Kyojuro asks, “It is quite hot out today!”

“Is there something wrong with my outfit?” you raise an eyebrow, quickly backtracking as alarm races across his expression, “I’m just teasing!” shaking your head with a fond smile, “I know what you meant.”

“I am relieved!” he exhales loudly, almost pouting as he watches you put on your shoes, “I would never ask you to change like that.”

Chuckling patiently, you pucker your lips, giggling as he squats down to kiss you, “I know, Kyo. I love you.”

“Let me,” he hums contently, gently nudging your hands aside to finish tying your laces, “Your outfit is wonderful, by the way.”

“As is yours,” you wink.

“I really am fine with waiting,” he tries again, “If you feel like changing,” standing up with a soft grunt, “Your comfort is my priority.”

“I’m comfortable,” you answer simply, “Thank you though.”

“If something else is on your mind,” he says abruptly, hesitant to approach the aching suspicion in his chest, “Then,” sighing as he mentally shelves the subject for later, “Then please remember that I care about you.”

“How could I forget?” you murmur, linking your pinky with his, using him as a counterweight to stand up beside him, “I’ll be alright.”

And though Kyojuro ultimately believes you, he still finds himself silently promising to love you better — to press your perfections into your skin, fingertips warm and trembling, until even you can no longer doubt their truth.

“You’re going out in that?” Sanemi scoffs.

“Piss off,” you snort, smacking his bicep, “I like this dress.”

“Aren’t you afraid of tripping on the hem?” he smirks, “You might need taller shoes.”

“My shoes are just fine.”

“And if you trip?” he drawls.

Blinking pointedly at him, you shrug, “You’ll catch me.”

“But watching you fall on your face would be much funnier,” he promptly quips.

“Are we done talking about my outfit?” you scowl, “We’re missing all the sunshine bickering in here.”

“So let’s bicker outside,” he winks, “Maybe I’ll toss in a compliment once I’m warm enough.”

“Oh yes, because you’re a plant who becomes much more agreeable after soaking in X amount of sunlight.”

“Your legs aren’t gonna tan,” he quips, opening the front door for you.

Eyes rolling, you pat his chest in thanks as you walk past him, exhaling softly as summer air caresses your face, “Sanemi, the last thing I’m worried about is tanning my legs.”

“And the first thing?”

“None of your business,” you retort without thinking, delayed panic setting in as you realize There’s no way he’s letting that slide.

“My love.”

You nearly wince at his lowered, serious tone, refusing to turn around, almost certain he’s glaring thoughtfully—or worse, staring softly—at you.

“What are you worried about?”

“This doesn’t feel like bickering,” you mutter weakly.

“You can always wear sunscreen,” he says slowly, “No need to resort to tripping hazards.”

Relief floods your lungs at the delicate humor in his voice, dress twirling gently as you carefully meet his inquiring gaze.

“Maybe I want you to catch me.”

“I already warned you, watching you fall on your face would be much funnier,” arms crossing as his jaw tenses slightly, “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here to listen,” continuing smoothly before your panic can flare again, “For now, know that you look amazing,” cracking a wry smile, “And I’m grateful I get to enjoy your beautiful, untanned legs.”

“Would you actually let me trip and die?” you answer breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at his intuition and patience.

Laughing roughly, he waves a nonchalant hand, “If it looked like you were gonna die, then of course I’d catch you,” raising a smug eyebrow, “But chances are you wouldn’t die, so who knows…”

Despite his teasing reply, the moment he offers you his elbow, a sarcastic yet attentive glint in his eyes, you know better  — Shinazugawa Sanemi will always catch you.

“Why are you wearing those?” you raise an eyebrow, gesturing at Muichiro’s grey sweatpants, “It’s like, a hundred degrees outside.”

“Because you are,” he shrugs, offering you a faint smile, “We’re cute when we’re matching.”

You poke his shoulder with a snort. He doesn’t budge.

“Y’know what’s not cute?”

“What?” he deadpans.

“Both of us melting into puddles.”

“So you’re allowed to be a puddle, and I’m not?” his head tilts.

“I don’t want to be a puddle,” you huff, arms crossing good naturedly, “But it’s better like this.”

Nodding slowly, his eyes narrow with confusion, “What’s better like this?”

“Never mind,” you sigh, reaching for his hand, nose scrunching happily as his fingers immediately intertwine with yours, “We’re gonna be late.”

“I’d like to resolve this first,” he replies, tone frustratingly smooth, “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to change,” you explain patiently, nudging him with your elbow, “After all, we are cute when we’re matching.”

“But I feel like you don’t want to wear sweatpants,” Muichiro retorts, stubborn as ever, “So why don’t we match in shorts instead?”

“Don’t like them,” you mutter quickly.

“You could wear mine? They’re longer, more baggy, more comfortable,” he assures you, brow furrowing, “Because I’m absolutely not putting on booty shorts.”

Giggling quietly, the tension between your shoulders lessens, his oblivious consideration easing your nerves, “We don’t have to match.”

“But I want to.”

“Fine!” you exclaim, eyes rolling playfully, “Let’s go change into shorts, your, shorts.”

“And for the record,” he murmurs, dutifully following you as you tug him toward the bedroom, “Just because I refuse to wear booty shorts doesn’t mean you can’t.”

“I know.”

“And I know we don’t have to match,” he pauses, affection warming the back of your head as he gazes fondly at you leading the way, “But I want you to know that I support you and your fashion choices, no matter what.”

He might be somewhat off the mark, but his sentiment calms the butterflies in your stomach nonetheless, voice soft as you respond carefully, “Thank you Muichiro. Me and my fashion choices appreciate you very much.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Now let’s put on some long, baggy, comfortable shorts!”