#for months before that. that's not normal

[moonlight-alexia]

i'd fight a sim for you | a.p.

alexia putellas x reader | 2.1k | alexia puts up with your yearly random sims obsession

ˏˋ°•*⁀ idk how it got so long, also kind of have mixed feelings on this and idk if i like it or hate it but hope y'all like it! it was a fun request to write :)

any and all feedback, comments, reblogs etc are very appreciated and welcome <3

Alexia had been with you long enough to be used to this yearly routine of yours. At least once every year you’d get overly obsessed, overly focused on, as Alexia calls them ‘tus personitas pixeladas’. 

Every year it started the same, normally when the slightly colder months rolled around, when you’d pull out your blankets and the evenings felt a little longer, you’d retreat into your cozy little world. Scrolling on your phone, coming across other random Sims tiktoks, making you wonder how all your Sims families you’ve created over the years are going. Or falling down a rabbit hole of Sims builds videos, making you grab your laptop thinking you could do even better build. 

Every year Alexia would stand in the doorway, while you didn’t even notice that she was right in front of you, watching you stare at a screen with the most focus she’s ever seen you have. The same ‘oh, it’s that time again,’ look etched on Alexia’s face, slightly amused. You’re lucky she thinks you look cute when you’re so deeply focused. 

The little tongue poking out the side, the frustrated huffs when you can’t get something to look how you had in your vision or when your Sims don’t listen to you, the little giggles. Then her favourite, the way your whole face would light up when you’d find Alexia, ‘Mi amor, you have to see what I made this time,’ You’d look so proud as if you were the one who’d just won the quadruple.

This year was no different, you fell down into your little Sims rabbit hole. Curled up against the couch, your laptop warm against your thighs, almost struggling with how long it had been running Sims while your fingers danced across the trackpad and keyboard fully invested in the screen in front of you.

You had no idea how long time had passed in the real world, it was irrelevant while you were in your Sims world. All you knew was that sim-you had finished a productive day, leveling up a few of your skills, ‘WooHoo’d’ with a sim version of your girlfriend multiple times and only one small fire was started. You’d call it a success. You’d also argue that real you had a productive day too because without real you, sim-you wouldn’t have been productive. sim-you also wouldn’t be real.

Though, in the real world, your actual girlfriend had gone to training, come home, fixed some food and showered. All while you were in the exact same spot, exact same position as when she left this morning.

Alexia leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and hair slightly damp from her shower, she watched you. Mildly amused, mildly concerned.

‘Mi vida, you didn’t even say hi when I came home,’ Alexia’s voice broke through whatever Sims trance you had been in. You could hear the light teasing tone to her voice.

You still didn’t look up towards your girlfriend, ‘I did…,’ You trailed off slightly, ‘...I waved,’ Almost sounding unsure of yourself.

‘You waved at our plant, cariño,’ Alexia let out a small laugh while she watched you instantly pause, your eyebrows scrunching together before you looked up in Alexia’s direction. 

‘It’s – it’s a nice plant?’ You offered weakly, a sheepish smile making its way onto your face, Your eyes darted back and forth between Alexia and your plant, the first thing the two of you bought when you moved in together, ‘It’s not my fault you’re the same height as the plant!’ 

Alexia shook her head, pushing herself off the wall and walking over towards where you sat on the couch. A soft kiss to your forehead, before leaning over to look at your screen. Watching the little characters move around, interacting with each other, ‘And this was more important than greeting your girlfriend, who’s been gone all day, properly?’ Alexia semi dramatically flopped onto the couch next to you, eyebrow raised and a smirk on her lips.

A smirk that was wiped as quick as it came when you responded a firm, ‘Yes,’ Without any hesitation or room for argument in your voice, ‘Because while you were busy being a professional athlete, or whatever, sim-you made me pancakes for breakfast,’ 

Alexia blinked slowly, taking in your words, eyes drifting to the screen where you were putting your sims through more interactions, ‘Sim…me?’ Alexia looked at the screen closely, you’d zoomed in on the two sims you had interacting with each other, ‘That’s supposed to be me?’ Alexia spoke slowly, trying to process, while pointing at the one of the two that resembled her.

‘Yes!’ You excitedly zoomed in closer on sim-alexia’s face and moved to hold your laptop up against Alexia’s face, ‘It’s like I don’t know who the real Alexia is,’ You had spent a lot of time on both sim-you and sim-alexia, perfecting them as closely as you could, ‘Sim-Ale even has the same traits, active and self-assured. Oh and romantic,’ 

You added when suddenly sim-Alexia started a little flexing animation and blew a kiss towards sim-you. Sim-you who immediately giggled, blushing and a little happy dance at sim-Alexia’s actions.

Alexia just stared. Deadpan. Her face was unreadable while she just watched the two characters interact, ‘Why is she – why am I…doing that?’

‘She’s flirty,’ You wiggled your eyebrows, playfully nudging Alexia’s arm, ‘You walked past the hot tub, obviously couldn’t resist,’ The way you said it so casually, the way you knew it was exactly how real Alexia would act, if it was just the two of you and if you actually owned a hot tub.

Alexia would never understand your obsession with this game, how many hours you randomly decide to put into it every year. Though Alexia was used to sitting beside you while she watched you explain the lore behind each sim character and house you had created. 

But having to sit here and watch a sim version of the both of you was new, and different and she didn’t know whether to be concerned or impressed with the commitment you’d put into your sim world, ‘We live in a house with a hot tub?’ 

You gave a hum of acknowledgement, moving the camera around on the game to show Alexia the rest of the house you had created for sim-you and sim-Alexia, ‘...And a rooftop garden. We even wearing matching pajamas, we’re adorable here,’

Alexia, slightly offended at your insinuation that you weren’t and didn’t do ‘adorable’ things in real life, moved to lean back against the arm of the couch opposite to the one you had been tucked up against all day, ‘I don’t know whether to be flattered or scared,’

‘I’d go with flattered,’ You smirked looking over at Alexia. She still didn’t know how to feel, thrown off by the fact it felt like a semi out of body experience while watching your laptop screen. 

You had done a scarily good job and replicating everything. Pulling your legs out from underneath you, stretching them a little before moving yourself, and your laptop closer to Alexia again. Missing her closeness when she moved back and also to show her how Alexia like sim-Alexia really was, ‘She even works out all the time, just like someone else I know,’ You teased, your body fully leaning against Alexia’s now. The two of you watching your screen as if you’d just put a movie on and it wasn’t just Sims.

Sim-you was in the kitchen, cooking some grilled cheese and seeming to not be doing so well, almost starting a fire. While sim-Alexia was also in the kitchen next to you randomly deciding to do push ups.

‘She’s going to get injured on that tile,’ Alexia muttered, hand gesturing towards her on the screen with a bewildered expression, ‘Why is she doing that next to the stove?’ Turning to you with an expression that made it seem like she expected you to have all the answers, like you could make her make sense of this little world.

‘She’s inspired. Leave sim-Ale alone real Ale,’ Alexia huffed and rolled her eyes, but wrapped her arm around you and pulled you in closer, holding you against her side. Fingers absentmindedly dancing across your arm.

The two of you stayed like that for longer than Alexia would like to admit. She also would never admit that it was kind of comfy and cozy, you both cuddled up together, playing sims together. Well you were playing and Alexia watching quite closely.

‘Do you think she’s cooler than me?’ Alexia spoke up out of nowhere after having watched way too many romantic interactions between sim-you and sim-Alexia, the way sim-you looked at her like a happy, love-struck goofball. But you were her happy love-struck goofball, not sim-Alexia’s.

You instantly noticed the edge to Alexia’s voice, peering up at her, the eyebrows slightly scrunched and the inevitable frown that was slowly etching into her face, ‘What are you on about, Ale?’

‘Sim-me…sim-Alexia…her,’ Alexia gesturing towards the screen, ‘She flirts with you like that all the time,’ Eyes narrowing slightly, watching as sim-Alexia just offered sim-you a rose and dipped you into, what Alexia thinks as, an unnecessarily dramatic kiss, ‘I don’t even do that,’

‘Hmm, yeah, not since preseason started at least,’ You teased your girlfriend, grinning, ‘Though to be fair to real you, at least you wouldn’t choose to do that right next to the trash,’ You laughed, referring to where the two sims character had chosen to do that. 

You laughed to yourself, and on purpose kept making sim-Alexia be overly flirty and romantic towards sim-you. You definitely hadn’t expected Alexia to react this way. Little huffs at every interaction, the ever growing frown and the grip she now had on you, keeping you close against her as if she was about to lose the real you to her sim version.

‘She’s too smooth. I don’t like the way she’s looking at you,’ Alexia mumbled, you pulled away a little, as much as Alexia would allow so you could look at your girlfriend. Highly amused at the situation.

‘She is you, amor,’ Pointing between the screen and Alexia.

‘She…’ Alexia now also pointing towards the screen, eyebrows raised in disbelief,’...has too much time. Keeps making grilled cheese and pancakes. Slow dancing with you like that. I don’t trust her,’ It was the way Alexia spoke, as if this was entirely real.

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, having held in as much as you could. You put your laptop to the side, turning so you were fully facing Alexia almost completely on her lap. Your hands rested against the side of her face while your laughter subsided.

‘Mi vida, she’s not real,’  Your fingers caressed her face, you looked at Alexia properly since she’d been home, only someone like her could manage looking that pouty over some pixels still look so beautiful. You leaned down, kissing her cheek, ‘For someone who’s mad over a video game, you’re still holding me like I might get stolen,’

You laughed, even when you’d shifted, Alexia’s hands never left, instead finding their way to rest against your waist, ‘I have to,’ Alexia looked so serious, the corners of her mouth starting to twitch upwards now instead.

Leaning in, you brushed your lips against Alexia’s cheek, pressing them against the corner of her mouth, letting your lips linger before sitting back a little. Your lips almost ghosting over Alexia’s, your voice low, barely above a whisper, ‘For what it’s worth, I very much prefer the real you, Ale. I’d rather slow dance with you in the kitchen, rather have you make me or I make you breakfast in the mornings,’

Alexia’s expression softened, her grip lessening a little, fingers trailing against your waist, ‘Hmm, and what else would you rather do with me, cariño,’

You tilted your head a little, kiss on the other corner of her lips, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ 

‘Oh, yo quiero saber,’ Alexia said almost too eagerly, making a huff of a laugh escape your lips.

You smirked, fully leaning back, your touch disappearing briefly before returning to wrap your arms around her neck, ‘Then maybe you should stop being jealous of sim-Ale…fake-Ale… and remind me why real Ale is still my favourite,’ You had Alexia wrapped around your finger, everyone knew it. Alexia liked challenges, you liked to push her buttons, a challenging tone and you knew Alexia would take control to prove to you.

Alexia hastily pulled you in, her lips against yours in an instant. A deep kiss that always had you wanting more. Mumbling against your lips, ‘Anything to get you away from her,’

[seijorhi]

Divine Rights

for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy as a somewhat late, sort of birthday present aka the royal fic y'all have been waiting weeks for oikawa tooru x female reader w.c 5.6k tw: non-con, yandere themes, blood and a little gore, murder, violence, abuse, pregnancy & childbirth, breeding kink, smut, nsfw

“Miyuki forgot to bring me my tea this afternoon.” At the blank look you get in response, you hasten to clarify, “The maid– the new one, I mean. She always brings it after lunch, but today she forgot.” 

Guilt needles you with every word. You like Miyuki. Quiet as a mouse, most of the time she can hardly bring herself to meet your eye, much less talk with you, but on the days she finishes her tasks quickly enough – the days the guards aren’t watching the clock – she’ll sit with you while you sew or practice your reading. For a brief moment, you can imagine her a friend. Perhaps if you were her friend, or at least a better friend, you’d ignore the gnawing unease in the pit of your stomach, keep your mouth shut and spare her. 

Because there will be consequences, of that you’re certain. Whatever grace the King affords you on a whim does not extend to the servants scurrying throughout the castle. Most especially those few he allows within your presence. 

Stretched out languidly beside you, Oikawa arches an eyebrow. “Your tea?” he repeats.

Your cheeks flame. What you’d give right now to squirm away from him, crawl out of his bed, this room, and disappear entirely just to avoid him and this mortifying conversation. 

There’s a voice in the back of your head that reminds you that there’s a decent chance Oikawa’s ignorant of all of it. Why should he have to concern himself with trivialities like contraception or pulling out? He’s the King, there’ll always be those who trail along after him, cleaning up his messes. No royal bastards. No loose ends when the blacksmith’s youngest disappears behind the walls of the castle keep. 

“So that we don’t– there’s no chance of a– a baby. I meant to say something earlier, but…” you trail off, the slow trickle of his seed oozing from the raw ache between your legs speaking for itself. 

With your oldest sister and her husband, it’d taken months for her to fall pregnant. Newlyweds don’t always conceive within the first year. If every accidental slip left women pregnant, the streets by the brothels would run riot with unclaimed bastards. It’ll be fine. 

You drank the tea Miyuki brought you yesterday, so long as she brings it shortly, and you take it as normal again tomorrow–

Long, elegant fingers coax at your chin, derailing the runaway thought in its tracks. His chuckle, deep and low, registers a split second before the kiss. “Not a mistake,” he tells you, murmuring against your lips. “You’re going to give me an heir, sweet girl. Two, actually. An heir and a spare, and maybe a few after that, if you’re very, very good for me.” He says it indulgently, his own breath catching on a low shudder when his index and middle fingers curl up into your pussy, pushing his spend back inside of you, “Where it belongs,” he whispers.

You seize his forearm, “T-Tooru–” you gasp.

He has to be joking. You can’t– He wouldn’t–

The tea made sense. You’ve no title, you’re not his wife nor his Queen, not a Lady of the court or the daughter of some important, foreign dignitary. Outside the walls of these chambers, you do not exist at all. You aren’t anyone, anything beyond what he desires you to be.

You cannot have his child. 

“Please, I don’t want this. I’m not– I’m not ready.” Your nails are digging half moon circles into his skin, and the prickle of tears unshed and the lump in your throat make your voice thick and strained, but the King meets your panicked gaze with a twinkle in his eye. 

“You are,” he kisses your forehead, “and you will,” your mouth, sucking on your lower lip. “Trust in your King, love. Everything is as it’s meant to be.”

The woman who brings your meals the next day doesn’t linger, she scurries about, shoulders drawn, flinching when you ask her name.

There’s no tea – not that afternoon, or any that follow. 

—

When you were younger, you used to pretend you lived in the castle up on the hill. 

Your two older brothers would fight over which would play King while you and your sisters danced and sipped honeyed drinks and pretended to give your favour to one or the other, only to order them about once they’d been crowned. You imagined dances and feasts and thrilling hunts, tournaments with brave knights and roaring crowds. Never a dull moment. 

A life of luxury forever out of reach. 

Until it was forced upon you, but only a shadow. 

You eat delicacies you could only have dreamed of, taste rich, heady wine on the King’s tongue – once, a mouthful from his lips, Oikawa laving up the droplet that spilled down your chin.

But while you hear the distant, muted melodies that play somewhere down below, you’ve never sat in the hall by his side. Only a few of the names he rattles off you recognise. The others remain blurry figures in your head, characters in a play you’ve yet to attend. Won’t ever attend, if the King has his way. 

The court gossip you learn in dribs and drabs, never enough to paint a complete picture, and for all that he chatters away in your ear, Oikawa shares little. You aren’t privy to the schemes that run through the castle, the kingdom at large, from its highest echelon. Nothing for you to trouble your pretty little head over.

It should come as no surprise then that news of his upcoming nuptials doesn’t come from the King himself. 

“I imagine they’ll be moving you,” the maid – Miyuki’s replacement – says one afternoon, out of the blue. And it might not come as such a shock if she’d ever spoken to you before that, if the comments weren’t accompanied by a wide eyed, frantic look at odds with her stilted delivery, if you had any idea what she was on about to begin with.

You blink at her. “Moving me?”

She nods, a shaking jut of her chin. “When the King marries at week’s end. If he decides to keep you, it won’t be here.”

If.

Oikawa’s never bothered with sweet lies. Every vow he’s ever made to you, he’s followed through on, every threat delivered – no matter your tears. In that, at least, you trust him. When he withheld the tea and told you he wanted you to give him an heir, you believed it. He had no reason to lie.

Your mind spins, trying in vain to pluck the threads of an unravelling tapestry; the colours wrong and the image distorted. 

A Queen doesn’t bode well. Moving you would be the logical step; there’s no doubt a plethora of nooks and crannies he could lock you away in until he’s gotten what he wants – but now that makes even less sense than before.

A cold feeling prickles at the nape of your neck.

And then what? What happens when you give him the child he wants? What happens when you outlive your usefulness?

You’ve become stone, blank faced, frozen if not for the slight tremor in your – the hand she seizes by your wrist, fingers digging in tight. Dropping all pretence, she steps closer, voice lowering to a frightened whisper, “You need to leave. Whatever you think you’re gaining from this, you aren’t. He’ll kill us all before–”

“Enough.”

The maid snaps back like she’s been scalded, dropping into a hasty curtsy, eyes fixed to the floor as one of Oikawa’s Royal Guards – knights in their own right – Matsukawa, strides into the room, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. 

He spares you only a glance, a quick, cursory look to determine you’re unharmed. A laughable notion, really, when one considers his King’s penchant for manhandling.

“She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She had her hands on you,” he counters. And the King will not abide that.

You bite your tongue, sinking down onto the bed as Matsukawa steps aside and the maid – she never told you her name, never answered when you asked – all but flees with a hand to her mouth, muffling a sob. Matsukawa leaves behind her, the door quietly shut in his wake.

For a long time after that you sit in silence. 

Eventually, the door opens again – a boy this time, no older than seven, carrying a tray from the kitchens. He stares with wide, awe filled eyes, and bows and stammers out an apology, cheeks flushed apple red. Only the ache in your chest draws the corners of your lips upwards into a paper-thin smile.

Your sister’s boys would’ve been his age. 

If, if, if–

“I hear you’ve had an exciting day, my love.”

The sun has set. The King has returned home to roost. 

“Is that why?” you ask, hardly glancing up as he makes his way over towards you.

“Why what?”

“I-is she barren? Hideous? Too old to bear children, or too– too–” you can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Cruel, heartless and selfish he may be, you have to believe there’s at least one boundary he wouldn’t cross. “What happens to me when all this is done? When you have your heirs, or you grow weary of this– of… me?” you ask instead.

You don’t realise tears are rolling down your face until he’s looming over you, having pushed his way between your legs, cupping your cheeks to wipe them away. The gesture could almost be construed as something comforting, something genuine, if not for the preening satisfaction behind his sigh. 

“My stubborn, sensitive girl, twisting yourself into knots over things that aren’t yours to worry about. We’d both be much happier if you just left well enough alone and trusted me, hm? You know I can’t stand to see you cry.” Liar. “But if it will ease that tender heart of yours, know that she’s a whining cunt, I have a sizeable new merchant fleet courtesy of her father, and there is no scenario, in this or any other life–” his expression doesn’t waver, but every trace of levity bleeds from his voice as his thumb slides between your lips, “–where I will ever be done with you, do you understand?”

You nod. With his thumb hooked in your mouth, pressing against your tongue, it’s all you can do. 

“Good girl. Always so good for me.”

It isn’t unexpected when his other hand moves to unlace his breeches and fish out his cock.

“Get it wet,” he breathes.

When he’s feeling generous, your King’s the one to sink between your knees, tongue and fingers working at your core until you’re panting, dizzy on the edge of pleasure, warm and welcoming, dripping with a need that’s his to sate.

But the King isn’t feeling generous tonight. Gathering your hair in his fist, he lets out an anticipatory breath, a near hiss, when your fingers curl around him and you lean in, lips obediently parting.  Your tongue swirls around the velvety head giving it a light,  experimental suck, and his hips buck, chasing the sensation.

Usually, Oikawa enjoys your mouth almost as much as your pussy, preferring to draw it out, edge himself, let you demonstrate your ardent devotion to your King, your love – but there’s none of that now. Your scalp screams for relief when he tightens his grip, and though you should have been expecting it, the sudden thrust into your mouth takes you by surprise, eyes shooting wide, choking on the intrusion.

It’s rough and graceless, the wet, gagging sounds that spill out amidst his panting, the tears that spring to your eyes and the burn in the back of your throat. You barely have the presence of mind to work your tongue, hollow your cheeks. Suck like he wants you to.

The reprieve comes without warning, Oikawa yanking you off by your hair. True enough, every inch of his thick, flushed cock shines with your spit, gleaming in the flickering candlelight.

“Lie back,” he orders.

You sprawl back onto the bed. 

None of your earlier nerves have eased, but the tremor in your heart has everything to do with the naked desire that bleeds across his expression as he finishes ridding himself of his clothes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

You shake your head, fingers fluttering in the sheets either side of you.

“No?” he purrs. “You don’t wish it were you I were putting in a crown–” Your insides twist into knots as he crawls onto the bed taking an ankle in his grip. A soft whine escapes, but he simply trails his fingers lovingly along your calf, pushing your shift up and sliding closer. “–pledging myself to in the eyes of God and our Countrymen?”

Your breath hitches. He knocks your legs wider, slotting himself into the open space. “I–I wouldn’t dare to be so bold. I’m already yours, that’s… that’s enough for me.”

He laughs darkly, pressing a kiss to your knee and lifting it to his shoulder. “You are mine, but if you want a crown, I’ll give you one.” 

You seize the sheets, gasping for air when his cock slides into you in a slow, punishing thrust. 

“I’ll give you a crown, the dress, all the pretty diamonds and rubies you like so long as I can have you like this you while wear them– fuck,” he moans, eyes closing, head tilted back as he savours the tight warmth of your pussy, squeezing at his cock. 

He leans down, seeking the taste of your swollen lips. With his tongue licking greedily into the open seam of your mouth, he rolls his hips and falls into a rhythm which leaves you writhing and squirming beneath him. The drag of his cock stings. The King’s never cared that it hurts and it doesn’t affect him now, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh, dragging you closer, shifting your hips so the angle is better. Deeper. Every inch of you claimed, every inch of you his. 

“I’ll marry you too, if that’s what you want,” he pants. 

Each whimper, sharp, stuttered breath, plea for clemency, for a second’s reprieve – they spur him on. Drive him to the brink. You’re sweltering from inside out. Sweat forms at your forehead, beading along the nape of your neck – through hazy eyes, you watch a droplet trickle down Oikawa’s bare chest, struck with the strangest desire to push yourself up and lap at it, all the while the King’s cock rocks inside of you, deep, hard strokes that rob you of sense. 

Your bones rattle with each slam of his hips against the cradle of your thighs, your cries swallowed by his tongue, soothed with a kiss. Pain and pleasure war, bleeding over until they’re indiscernible from one another. “We’ll do it in the Old Ways,” he tells you, his eyes alight, his smile almost savage in its raw pleasure. “Oaths sealed in blood and fucking, witnessed by a Priest. I wouldn’t let any of those old fucks anywhere near you, but Iwa should suffice.”

All you can do is cry out, clutching at his forearm. You’re sure that your nails break the skin, but it only urges Oikawa on. 

“You want Iwa to come watch me split you apart on my cock, hm?” His weight drops, leaning over and nearly folding you in two, and on the next thrust you see stars that blink out your vision. “You want him to marry us?” You shatter beneath him, eyes rolling back, body shuddering as pleasure explodes inside of you, fizzing through your veins til every part of you is alight with it. 

The King swears violently, the heat of your spasming cunt driving him over the edge. With his forehead pressed against yours, he cums with a gritted out moan, fucking his release deep inside of you. Where it belongs. 

—

The disparity between the two of you is never so stark as when Oikawa dons his regalia. From the deep teal of his fur-lined cloak, clasped with chains of gold, to the glittering gemstones set into his crown, he wears finery like a second skin. Even his leather boots would fetch more money at market than your family had ever seen in their lives.

You, meanwhile, are barefoot, hair unbound, wearing a shift stained with last night’s blood. Oikawa smiles down at you with a fond sort of benevolence while you fiddle with the last of his fastenings. At one point of time, he must’ve had a servant to help him with this sort of thing. 

Now, he has you, and seems all the more pleased for it.

“Are you coming back tonight?” you ask.

He catches your hands when you pull away, bringing them back to rest on his chest. “Where else would I go?”

These are, of course, his chambers. 

“And… her?” you choke out, refusing to meet his gaze. 

“You mean the blushing bride to be?” He laughs, the sound grating on your already fraught nerves. “You wouldn’t happen to be jealous, darling, would you?” 

If he fucks her here tonight, with you in the room, you might actually vomit. 

Biting down on the tip of your tongue, you force a nod. It earns another laugh from the King, “My little liar,” he croons. “How quick you are to forget the promises we made to each other.”  Like a dance, he spins you to draw your back flush to his chest, turning you both to face the mirror. 

The reflection paints a stark, ugly picture. Baleful eyes shadowed and drawn. Skin sapped of its healthy glow. You might’ve been a great beauty once – in the eye of certain beholders – in the King’s covetous embrace, there’s something hollow that stares back, aching and endless. A stranger plucked from the wilds. 

Oikawa rests his cheek against your hair and smiles at your reflection, tugging at the top of your shift until it slips low enough to reveal the marred flesh above your breast. He hums appreciatively. “The Queen isn’t your concern. She won’t be setting foot in here.”

The finality in his tone stops you from prying deeper. 

That, and the sharp double rap at the door. 

A quiet curse tumbles from his mouth. For a split second, his grip tightens, the beginnings of a scowl flitting across his handsome face before he smooths it out with a huff. “Later,” he promises, dragging himself away like it pains him to do so.

Rather than leaving, though, you watch as he steps aside to allow someone else entry – a guard.

Kyoutani. Mad Dog. 

Presumably nicknamed for his scowling, vicious mien and the rabidity of his temperament, of all the Royal Guard, he is definitely the last you’d pick to be alone in a room with. Somewhat darkly, you wonder if that’s the sole reason Oikawa says what he does next. “I think we’ve been a little too lax with your safety, my love. Mad Dog will be here to keep a closer eye on you for the foreseeable future.”

Honey brown eyes bear down on you, sharp and shrewd, and a chill rolls down your spine.

“Be good for him, won’t you?”

—

True to his word, she never appeared in his bedchambers; he returned alone, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed and handsy, tugging at your shift with clumsy hands and a sloppy grin before you’d fully roused.

Nothing changes – with the exception of your new guard. 

Gone is any semblance of privacy. For every moment that your King does not dog your every waking breath, Kyoutani takes up watch. You cannot ignore him. You cannot relax, pinned under his stare like a rabbit in a trap. If you thought your maids were nervous before, it’s nothing to the unbridled panic the latest exudes working under the eye of the King’s loyal hound, walking on eggshells like he’s one wrong breath away from snapping her spine. 

After Matsukawa and her predecessor, you’re not entirely sure she’s wrong. With the way he watches you, tracking your every move with narrowed eyes and a perpetual scowl, you’re more afraid that when he snaps – when Oikawa loosens that leash ever so slightly – it’ll be your neck that finds its way between his salivating jaws. That maybe this is your end, and he’s making you face it day in, day out.

You believe Oikawa, and the oaths he made – but only to a point. 

It’s why the morning they bring you eggs for breakfast and the smell sends you hurtling to the bathroom, it isn’t a sense of relief or happiness that fills you. While Oikawa rubs soothingly at your back, kissing your neck, your hair – whatever parts of you he can reach, cooing praise that goes in one ear and out the other, there’s an edge of hysteria that winds its way through your chest and constricts util it feels like you’ll choke under the pressure of it all.

In your womb, a noose and a lifeline. 

“I want my sisters. I want to see them.”

Breakfast long forgotten, lying in bed covered solely by the fine sheen of sweat sticking to your skin, you take his hand in yours and guide it to your stomach. It’ll be months before you show, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from flicking down, the hunger that pools at the reminder of the life that’ll grow there. Your child; his heir.  

“Please, Tooru. I haven’t– it’s been months. Let me see them. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

His eyes return to yours, pityingly, his hand stays where it is, thumb stroking bare flesh. “My love, they won’t see you.”

He might as well have slapped you. “What? Why wouldn’t they see me? You– you promised you wouldn’t–”

“I haven’t laid a finger on them,” he assures you. “They… blame you for what happened. Your parents and brothers. Their husbands. The boys. Even if I allowed the guards to permit you entry, they’d only lash out and hurt you. I wouldn’t put you through that, not for anything.”

Rationality rebels against this. Whatever your faults and missteps, you never asked for the King’s attention, you wouldn’t have tried to run if you’d known the cost. He did this, not you.  But rationality gets lost entirely, drowned beneath the wave of grief that sweeps you up. It coils around you and sinks down into your bones. Grief becomes the air you breathe, the blood in your veins. It’s agony and heartbreak and the first sob that leaves you feels like it’s cleaving you in two.

They blame you. 

You don’t fight him, not anymore. You sit pretty and spread your legs, let him fill you with rot over and over and over again, all to keep the King’s ire from touching them further. 

They live and breathe at your behest while you’ve become a broodmare, and they hate you for it.

The cracks within grow wide and deep. 

Still cradling your belly, the King laments, “I’m sorry, my love. I’d have kept you from that knowledge if I could.”

If, if, if–

—

Your breasts swell and grow tender, your middle fills out.

A simple gold band on the King’s left hand marks their marriage, but within the walls of your gilded cage, the new Queen does not exist. Beyond them, you don’t. 

She breaks that tentative impasse only once.

The day itself is unremarkable. The King left hours ago, you’re on the chaise, trying, as per usual, to ignore Kyoutani’s overbearing presence with your drawing book when you hear the muffled conversation filtering through the door.

At first, you pay it no mind. While your maid is usually the only one permitted access, servants come and go throughout the day, the guards change rotation, every so often this Lord or that Lord will come seeking the ear of the King. None of them gain entry, and so you’ve learned to mostly tune the noise out.

But the voices get louder, distractingly so. 

You recognise Makki’s, the other’s foreign to you. Female, you can discern that much, and with each passing exchange, her soft, dulcet tone morphs into something sharp and shrill.

From the corner of your eye, you spy Mad Dog stiffening, a clenching of his jaw. Without necessarily meaning to, you abandon the quill pen, folding your half-finished sketch shut, one hand drifting to flutter nervously over your stomach. 

“– hiding his pet whore! Let me in, or so help me–”

The door thumps violently, rattling the lock and you jump with it. A snarl tears through the chamber – not from Makki or the Queen, but Kyoutani, eyes ablaze, who stalks towards you, seizes you by your arm and hauls you to your feet roughly. 

For months he’s prowled on the edge of an invisible barrier he’s erected around you. He smashes through it now without care, calloused fingers digging in through the cotton of your dress while you stumble behind him, struggling to keep up with his long, angry strides.

“In the bedroom. Now,” he growls, as though you aren’t already at the door.

You expect him to toss you inside and slam the door shut behind you, with him on the other side. He doesn’t. He drags you to the huge bed, pushing you – almost gently – back onto the mattress and stomps to stand guard by its foot without so much as a word of explanation. The door swings closed of its own accord, but not before you catch the screeching wail that cuts off with another loud thump.

The silence grows heavy after that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d entertained the possibility that whatever it was Oikawa was plotting with you and her, the Queen was in on it. Content enough with her crown not to care where her husband buried his cock each night or that her own bed remained cold and empty.

She, after all, would remain once your part in this was done. 

But even if she was just a simple fool, tossed into this game at the whims of the men in her life, you imagined she’d be untouchable. Protected in a way you’d never been afforded.

If the Queen – pretty idiot, scheming bitch – is not safe from the King’s violence, what hope is there for you?

Your eyes drift to the sword on Mad Dog’s hip, and you do a very good job of pretending that when your hands curl around your stomach, they aren’t shaking, that the lie doesn’t taste bitter on your tongue when you whisper, “It’s okay, little one. We’re gonna be okay.”

When the King returns shortly thereafter, he doesn’t utter a word about the incident. Dismissing Kyoutani with a flick of his wrist, he cups your cheeks in warm, tender palms, marvelling at the tears that shine there as though he isn’t perfectly aware he’s their cause.

“Give me a son,” he says lowly, a secret just for the two of you, “and I promise we’ll only have to go through this once more.”

—

You know it before the first contraction, before your water breaks, soaking the sheets beneath.

The physician’s called, your maid pulled from her rest to attend you as the King refuses to allow any more eyes into the room. For hours, you wait out your contractions, breathing through the pain while the King paces and the physician flits between examining you and whispering in his ear. 

Eventually, though, he rises from your bedside and nods at the King. 

“Makki, fetch the Queen. Iwaizumi, too,” he orders. To you, he says, “She’s had such a difficult pregnancy, can hardly get out of bed these days, the poor thing. She deserves to be here for the birth of her child, don’t you think?”

Your chin bobs in agreement, too terrified to speak.

Within minutes the door to the chambers opens again, the Lord Chancellor stepping through, followed by Makki with the Queen in tow.

Mortification stirs within your chest at the sight of the King’s right hand, and you’re quick to divert your gaze to the Queen instead. She stands behind Hanamaki, pallid and thin – certainly not pregnant – and she might have been beautiful, had her expression not been pinched in a sneer. 

A whining cunt, Oikawa had said. But no amount of imperiousness can hide the nervous way her eyes dart between you, the King, and the gathered guards. 

“Your Grace,” she utters stiffly.

She isn’t wearing a crown. No jewels or pretty dresses. Her hair’s loosely braided and she wears a shift dress not dissimilar to your own. Hardly the picture of royalty. 

What strikes you, though, is that she looks passably similar to you. 

“Kneel.”

Another contraction hits, stealing your attention. You squeeze your eyes shut and suck in a breath through clenched teeth, waiting for the rippling pain to abate. 

“Don’t look at her,” Oikawa drawls. “Kneel.”

When your eyes flutter open again, the Queen’s on her knees, the edge of Makki’s blade resting upon her shoulder. Your heart lurches.

You don’t understand what’s happening, why they’re here, but the panic rising up inside of you threatens to sweep you away and you cannot help the tears that spring to your eyes or the lump that forms in your throat. Your mother should be here. Your sisters. They’d help you through this, guide you with steady hands and keep you calm – but your mother burned with your home, and your sisters, who despise you anyway, now traitors to the Crown. 

The bed’s been turned to give you the smallest semblance of privacy, but there’s no escaping the prying eyes across the room. In a room full of voyeurs, you’ve never been more alone. More terrified. You don’t want to give birth in front of them. You don’t want your children taken from you. 

You don’t want to die like this, an animal on display.  

“Tooru–” you gasp, curling in on yourself as another contraction hits.

He’s at your side in an instant, hand in yours, the other stroking your hair. He shushes you gently as the physician peers between your legs and tells you that it’s time to push.

—

There’s no more proof needed of the divine right of kings than in the two healthy baby boys the physician presents to Oikawa. 

An heir and a spare. 

The Queen still kneels on the ground at Makki’s feet. Your maid’s fussing with sheets, Iwaizumi and Kyoutani surveying from the corner, straight backed. Alert. Waiting.

Every eye but the Queen’s is fixed on Oikawa and his sons. 

“Can… Can I hold them? Please?” 

You’ll beg if you have to. Those boys are yours. He can kill you now, throw you in the dungeons below with your sisters – he can erase you from the story entirely, but those two perfect boys belong to you, and you’ll haunt him to the grave if he robs you of the chance to kiss them goodbye. 

As though the entire room isn’t holding their breath, dangling on the edge of a knife, Oikawa returns to your side, carefully laying the two swaddled bundles in your arms, and presses a kiss to your trembling lips. “My perfect, perfect girl,” he marvels, smoothing your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “You did so well. Better than I could’ve possibly hoped.”

One of the babies yawns, squirming into the warmth of your chest, the other blinks curiously at you, his tiny brown eyes a mirror image of his father’s. They’ll need to be fed soon.

Rather than snatching them back as you fear, the King eases down onto the bed beside you, careful as to not disturb either Prince, and tucks you into his side. Unable to hold it back any longer, a sob wrenches its way free, and Oikawa sighs with such exasperated fondness that it breaks you a little more.

“Iwa, she’s crying.”

The Lord Chancellor grunts in agreement. “You seem to have that effect.”

Oikawa laughs, the tip of his finger running down his son’s nose. “Women die in childbirth every day. It’s a small miracle, my love,” his lips brush your cheek, nuzzling close, “that you were spared that, especially with twins. The Queen wasn’t so fortunate.”

At first, you think he’s referring to his own mother – it’s common knowledge that there were complications when she delivered the King’s younger brother and neither survived – until you catch a glint of steel from the corner of your eye. On instinct, you turn to follow it, and witness the exact moment the Queen’s head is cleaved from her body and tumbles to the floor.

Her body – kneeling in forced supplication, blood spurting from her still pumping heart – hangs there for a moment, as if waiting for the shock to register, for everyone to drink their fill of the grisly scene, before it too topples to the ground. 

An echo, playing out for you once more. 

Your maid screams, Kyoutani darting to wrench her back before she can flee. The physician pales. Startled by the sudden noise and the commotion in the room, two near identical wails break within moments of each other, your sons making their displeasure known, wriggling about and crying in your arms. You draw them closer, eyes wide, trembling like a leaf, to press a kiss against both their foreheads as you choke back a sob of your own. 

“And the woman?” Iwa asks. 

Oikawa, head on your shoulder, utterly absorbed in his children’s outbursts, doesn’t even bother looking up. He waves his fingers in front of their little faces and coos when they scrunch up in response. 

“We’ll need someone to clean up the blood. Take her tongue instead.”

[kpop---scenarios]

Change Me, Baby

Pairing: Vampire! Chan x Reader

Summary: Chan's been watching you for months. You've been watching him for weeks. When you finally catch him watching you sleep, you get what you've been yearning for, and maybe more.

Warning: Smut [ oral f. receiving, unprotected sex, creampie etc] 18+ ONLY. MDNI

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Big thanks to @unholywriters for this idea!! If you want to commission your own story (especially cause it's my birthday in 6 days, or donate) you can do that HERE. Anything and everything is always SO appreciated!

Everything Taglist: @wife2straykidss @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon @dwaekkiiracha @silly250 @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @satosugu4l @gabriellamarie @tsunderelino @iovecb97 @1810cl @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat @pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog @anskiiz @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @skzooluvr @jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx @ayyonoona @31maze13 @stay-tiny-things @thegingerthatwaited @hoesheez @stayatinykatsy @catlove83 @jeonginstulip @kaleigh-2002 @honeycombbaybee @hyuneyeon @flylis @kpop-choco @chloe-elise-2000 @eastjonowhere @stephanieeeyang @nightmarenyxx @0325tiny @m1nn1everse @igot7bulletproofmonstas @imeverycliche @cathyxhaddy @hodgepodge-musings

“You're finally back.” You whisper, rolling over in bed. You had been pretending to sleep, waiting and hoping the man who had been following you for weeks would show up again. It had been almost a week since he had last sat in the chair across from your bed, watching you sleep. So every night, you lay awake but pretending to sleep to see if he would show up, but he never did. You had almost given up hope until you heard the faint sound of the window in your living room slowly slide up. You left it unlocked on purpose, knowing it was his favorite way to come into your apartment, even though you lived on the seventh floor.

You knew he wasn't human. You knew he was something else. His pale skin wasn't normal, th3 strength he used to climb your buildings fire escape wasn't normal. You had seen him one night, effortlessly climbing. His eyes weren't normal, they weren't human. There was nothing human about him, maybe except for the fact that he only wanted you.

“I'm back.” He says in a low whisper.

“Why were you gone so long?” You ask, sitting up in your bed, turning your head to look at him. “I've been waiting for you.” You whisper.

“I know. That's why I couldn't come back. I'm not supposed to be here.” He says.

“Why?”

���Humans are forbidden.” He answers.

“Forbidden for what?” You ask. “Is that why you've been following me?” You wonder.

“I just needed to see you.” He says. “But I'm not allowed to.”

“I know what you are. You've been watching me for months, Chan. But I've been watching you too.” You admit.

“I know you’ve been watching me, Y/N.” He chuckles. “I should go.” He murmurs, standing up from the chair.

“I don't want you to go.” You say, standing up. You stand in front of him, your hand on his hard, muscular chest. “Stay.”

“I can't. I shouldn't have come.” He says, trying to move past you but you don't let him.

“Don't you want me?” You ask, trailing a finger down his chest and to his stomach. “Because I want you so fucking bad.”

“Fuck, i do.” He whispers. You move your hand up to his shoulder, pushing him down. He drops down to his knees, staring up at you. You smile down at him, lifting your leg, resting it on the chair. You pull up your nightgown, exposing your already wet pussy. Chan licks his lips as he leans forward, his eyes still on you. He hesitates for a second before he moves in, wrapping his lips around your clit. Your body jerks at the feeling of his lips on you. It doesn't take him long to get fully into it, sucking and licking you completely. His large but cold hands grip your thighs as he continues devouring you. You moan loudly, gasping as your orgasm builds quickly. Your hand grabs his hair, holding on tightly as you grind your cunt on his face.

“Oh god, Chan. Fuck�� fuck.” You cry out, grinding faster as his tongue and lips work their magic. “Fuck, I'm gonna cum.” You cry, practically ripping his hair out of his scalp as you cum, all over Chan's face, gasping for air while you work through your high.

You bring your leg down, almost stumbling back. Chan catches you in a split second, smiling as he licks your juices off his lips. “You're going to get me into trouble.” He murmurs, tossing you on the bed.

“Hands and knees.” He demands. You don't say anything, except move into position. Chan lifts your dress up over your ass as you spread your legs even more. “Good girl.” He mutters. You can hear him unzip his pants from behind you. Your mouth was practically drooling, imagining the feeling of his cock stretching you out. Your cunt clenches as you impatiently wait for him, you were dripping with cum and desperately needed him to fuck you, right now.

“A little needy, are we?” He asks, stepping towards you.

“Very.” You gasp. “Please fuck me.”

“I'll have to be gentle with you.” He says.

“Sometimes I forget my own strength.”

“Don't be gentle with me.” You whimper. “I want you to destroy me.”

You can hear Chan chuckle behind you. “Your wish is my command.” He says. You can feel him pushing his tip into your hole, and you already wanted to cum again. Chan slowly slides his cock into your cunt, stretching you out in ways you had never had before. Your hands grip the bed sheets as he continues to push into you.

“Holy fuck.” You gasp, your arms giving out on you. You lay with your ass up, face being pushed into the mattress as Chan pulls out, before forcing himself back into you. You cry out loudly, the only sounds you can hear are Chan grunting as he rams himself into you, and you moaning and crying out in nothing but pure bliss as he destroys your pussy.

“You like that?” He asks, landing a hard slap on your ass.

“Y-yes.” You cry. “Shit.”

Chan moves one of his hands between your legs. It feels like ice on your clit as he rubs you, wanting to make you cum again. Your breathing gets heavier as your eyes roll back, your orgasm approaching at a record time. “Please, please…. fuck…. Please.” You scream.

“Cum all over my fucking cock.” He grunts, leaning forward to grab your hair this time. You yelp as he pulls your head back, having you lean against him. He moves his hand from your clit, Pulling your nightgown over your head, discarding it somewhere behind him. He continues thrusting into you while he reaches around, grabbing your tits. He pinches and pulls at your nipples while you move your hand down between your lips, rubbing yourself while he fucks you. He kisses your neck while slowly pushing his cock into you over and over again.

Your orgasm is building quickly, again. You moan out, mumbling some words about cumming.

“What do you need, baby?” He whispers into your ear.

“I need you to fuck me harder.” You gasp. Chan doesn't reply, instead forcefully pushes you back down onto the bed. His hands grip your hips, ramming his cock into you. You knew he was holding back because he was inhuman strength but even this was fucking wrecking you and you loved it.

“Just like that.” You cry, rubbing your clit harder and faster. Seconds later, your orgasm hits you, jolting pleasure through your whole weak body. Chan digs his fingers into your hips as he chases his own high.

“So tight.” He grunts. “Fuck.” He moans. You throw his head back as his own orgasm hits. He grunts loudly as he cums, spilling his cum into you. You clench your cunt around him, making his orgasm even better.

“Jesus christ.” He sighs, pulling his cock out of you. He moves to sit down on the chair, smiling widely as you collapse on the bed, trying to catch your breath.

“That's about right.” You murmur.

You can hear him standing up, getting dressed. You sit up on your bed, watching him getting ready to leave.

“Don't go.” You say. He gives you a sympathetic smile.

“I can't stay. I'm already going to get shit for being gone so long. And now fucking a human, that's going to be worse. Nothing more can happen while you're human.”

You struggle to get off your bed, scooting to the edge to stand in front of him. You look up at him and smile widely.

“Then change me.” You say.

“I can't… that's not an option.” He murmurs.

“Why?” You ask.

“I want you. I want to be with you. Don't you want that too?”

“More than you know.” He murmurs.

“Then do it.”

“Are you sure?” He asks.

“I'm sure.” You whisper. Chan leans in close to you, putting his ear near your lips.

“Say it one more time and I'll do it right now.” He whispers. You hold him closely, smiling as you whisper into his ear.

“Change me, baby.”

[pazzispizookies]

Marks and a head injury~

Hi guys!! This is just a quick little Pazzi one shot based off a scene in Sella’s amazing series! I hope you guys enjoy!! Let me know how you like it :)

“AZZI!” Paige screamed from the bathroom,

Azzi came running at the sound of her voice, worried something had happened to the blonde, “What?! Are you okay?” She said slightly out of breath.

Paige stood near the counter inspecting herself in the mirror, her reflection showed back 4 marks that Azzi had left the night before, “What. Did. You. DO” Paige said turning towards her, pointing at her neck.

Azzi didn’t mean to leave marks, she never has before, but she must’ve been a little careless last night. “I didn’t mean to! I swear!!”

Paige huffed out, crossing her arms. “Yeah well, you just turn into a vampire last night for no reason?”

Azzi moved forward to inspect the hickies, they were there for sure, all purple against soft pale skin. There was no denying what they were.

“Az..We’re literally suck in the house with your whole family! This is not how we need them to find out were…well, yknow.” Paige replied, her and Azzi still haven’t had the “Talk” aabout what they were yet, for now they were only just now realizing how in love with each other both of them had been their whole friendship. Paige had been living with the Fudds for almost 3 weeks now, still supposed to stay another 2 months while covid dragged on. So to say the least, she didn’t need them knowing she was making out with their daughter every night.

“Do you think we could cover them?” Azzi said running her fingers over the marks, which she was secretly a little proud of.

We could try?” Paige said with a shrug,

A voice broke though their conversation; Katie calling them down, “Girls! Breakfast!”

Paige dragged her hands over her face, mortified of what was to come.

“It’s gonna be fine!! Just..put your hair down, and um wear a long sleeve.” Azzi suggested,

Paige narrowed her eyes at her, “Your lucky your cute, or else I would leave you right here right now.” She ment it be threatening, but the fondness in her voice was clear,

“Oh yeah?” She said back, holding an eye contact that made Paige blush.

Paige leaned forward and kissed her quickly and softly, “Yeah.”

Azzi smiled against her lips, but then focused back on the task at hand. “Okay cmon, she’s gonna come up here if we aren’t down there in like 10 seconds.”

Paige nodded and moved to her room, heading striaght for the closet.

It was summer, meaning the was a blazing 98 degrees outside, not exactly hoodie weather. To make matters worse, Paige was known for always complaining about the heat, wanting to wear as little clothes as humanly possible on days like this.

So as she stood there, black hoodie pulled up, Long blonde hair brushed and down, sweeping over her shoulders and neck. She looked more than unusual.

“This good?” She said looking at Azzi,

Azzi gave her a half-hearted smile, knowing everyone would know something was off, “well…I can’t see them, so..maybe?”

Paige sighed, awaiting her doom in kitchen.

The girls headed downstairs, Azzi in front of Paige to keep her out of eyesight for as long as possible.

“Goodmorning girls!” Tim greeted, already seated eating bacon next to Katie.

Azzi looked up and smiled, “Morning,”

Paige stared down at the floor, giving just a slight nod to Tim.

At this strange greeting, he raised an eyebrow to Katie, silently wondering what was up.

She didn’t know either, but now intrigued on whatever Paige was doing.

Azzi ad her sat down at their normal seats, the plates of colorful food in front of them.

Azzi started eating quietly while Paige picked at some fruit, not daring to make eye contact with anyone.

All she could do was sit in the uncomfortable heat of her hoodie and hair and pretend there wasn’t 4 places Azzis breath and lips lingered for too long in the heat of the night on her neck.

Katie had her suspicious about Paige and Azzi, it wasnt everyday when your daughter asks if her friend could come live with them during quarantine. Most kids would grow sick of their best friends after a while, but it only seemed like they got closer.

A few times she caught them doing things most friends wouldn’t, not anything crazy, just enough to make her question. Smiles that only seemed to show when the other was around, the stolen glances whenever someone made a joke, the way Paige could always sleep in the guest room, but found herself sleeping with Azzi each night.

she had talked to Tim about it, him agreeing that maybe they were more, doubting they even knew it. Saying that “they’re just friends for now” and to see what the future could hold.

But now as Paige sat scarily quiet at the table, hoodie pulled close and hair that seemed less then naturally flowing, his suspions rose.

“So..how did you guys sleep?” Tim asked, starring right into the downward facing head of Paige,

Katie smirked at his question, knowing he saw what was happening.

Azzi looked between them, quickly answering for both of them, “fine-yeah. We slept fine.”

Tim nodded his head slowly, taking a bite of his bacon, “Paige? You slept good too?”

Paiges face burned at the direct question, she hadn’t slept good, she mainly stayed up the whole night tangled with his daughter, sharing secret whispers and heated kisses. She glanced up for a moment, Just meeting his eyes before adverting her glare back down to her fruit. “Good.”

Silence fell over the table, everyone knowing what was up, but still not having the proof.

after a beatt, Katie spoke. “What did you guys wanna do today? We could go swimming at the lake, Paige I think your new swimsuit came too if you wanna try that on.”

Paiges eyes widened, knowing if she even took of this hoodie, the bruises would be shown. “Um—nah, I’m good.” She choked out, her voice higher then normal.

“are you sure you don’t wanna go swimming?It’s really hot out, might be nice.” Time added, trying to get Paige to break.

“Yup.” Paige replied, keeping her answer short.

“She said she doesn’t wanna go swimming. What’s so wrong with that?” Azzi injected in, knowing her parents were up to something.

Katie shrugged, “Nope, nothings wrong, just figured she might be hot after wearing that hoodie all day, aren’t you sweetie?”

Paige practailly choked on her fruit, coughing for a second before shaking her head.

Tim started chuckling at the poor girl, her lying was laughable, and he couldn’t help it.

“What’s so funny?” Azzi asked, trying to protect Paige from her parnets,

Tim could barley breath before laughing out his words, “Nothing—just don’t think she noticed that her hoodie fell while shaking her head.”

Paige looked down and shit.

One of the bruises was out and barely covered by her hair, making it clear something was behind the blonde strands. This time she actually stated choking on her fruit, which caused herself to shake even more while coughing.

Azzi patted her back worried, “Dad!”

Tim stayed back laughing, raising hands up in defense,

Paige finally stopped her coughing fit, face bright red and now tugging her hood all the way up, pulling the strings as much as she could, before throwing her head down into her arms.

Katie started the laughing too at this, finding it funny abut also shocked to see Paige so flustered.

“Paige? What’s going on there?” Katie added in, her voice dripping with insincere sweetness.

Paige kept her head down, shaking with with a groan,

Azzi knew they got caught, so now flustered herself, because soon it would be clear only one person could’ve done that to her.

“Umm-were gonna, gonna go upstairs.” Azzi spat out, standing up quickly and tugging Paige who was a mess with her.

“We’ll talk about this later young ladies!!” Katie shouted at them speeding off,

Because of Paige’s hoodie pulling pulled up so much, it covered her eyes, leading her straight into the wall with thud,

“oW!”

Tims laughter only grew at the sight of poor Paige just trying to leave the room, now injured.

Azzi could only look at her with sorrow for the girl, knowing she put her in this position.

Paige took Azzis hand again, being up tugged the stairs, not before whispering “Your dead to me” under her breath.

[lessersole]

The Catch

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Platonic!Yelena

Summary: Bucky comes to the rescue when being Yelena's roommate makes things dangerous for you.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: attempted abduction. Mentions of alcohol. Bucky on a motorbike!

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

“So what’s the catch?”

“What catch? There’s no catch.”

You raise an eyebrow at the blonde’s suspiciously nonchalant reply. “This apartment is huge. You’re only looking for one roommate, I haven’t seen a single rat or cockroach and the rent is way, way lower than anything else in the city. There has to be a catch.”

Yelena shrugs, “No catch. It’s not huge, and I’m only looking for one roommate because there are only two bedrooms.”

“And the rent is so low because…” you prompt.

She gives you a sly smile, “I can ask you for more if you like.”

“Come on, Yelena. Roommates should be honest with each other, right?”

The Russian rolls her eyes. “The rent is low because I pay most of it. I just need someone to cover the extra. And I want to make friends.”

You narrow your eyes. “No one wants friends that badly.”

“Okaaay,” she responds, before admitting in a rush, “I may be sort of an ex-spy-slash-assassin and some people are weird about that, but it’s totally safe, I’m a good guy, no bad guys will come here or anything, I’m just a normal person living a normal life.”

Your mouth drops open, “I’m sorry, what?!”

Yelena sighs, “It’s not a big deal. And I was brainwashed to do it, but that’s all gone now, it was chemicals, they’re neutralised, no problem.”

You stare at her in astonishment, blinking rapidly. “And - what do you do now?”

She mumbles something inaudible.

“Uhh…?” you hesitate.

“I sort of - work for the government,” Yelena admits.

“You know that sounds like you’re a spy, right?”

She frowns at you, “I’m not a spy.”

“But you couldn’t tell me if you were, right?”

She flings her arms up in frustration, “I don’t know the spy rules! I’m not a spy.”

“Any more,” you point out.

“Any more,” she confirms, “So do you want the room or not?”

You look around at by far the nicest apartment you’ve seen since in your weeks of searching. The thought of living somewhere that would easily pass a health code inspection, without dozens of roommates to fight over the bathroom with, and that wouldn’t mean a multi-hour commute to work is tempting enough to overlook almost anything.

Glancing at Yelena as you weigh up your options, you notice a shimmer of something beneath her defensive exterior. Maybe she really is lonely.

“You promise you won’t be, uh, bringing your work home with you?” You ask.

She brightens, nodding, “Yes, definitely not. All fun here.”

Sucking your teeth, and hoping you won’t regret this, you take a big breath before answering, “Okay, I’m in. I’ll take the room.”

Yelena squeals in delight and wraps you in an excited hug, “I’ll be the best roommate ever, you’ll see.”

��

Six months later and Yelena has more than lived up to her promise. Your shared apartment has become a serene respite from the busy chaos of work and city life, and she’s clearly delighted to have a new friend. Your own friends have warmly welcomed her into the group, and she’s often with you for nights out bar-hopping, or happily joins you in hosting movie nights for everyone.

Yelena’s also frequently away for days or weeks at a time on work trips that you’ve learnt not to ask about, and you enjoy having the time and space to yourself. Right now, she’s been away for four days, and you’re not expecting her back until early next week, so you decide to reward yourself for making it through to another Friday with take-out and wine. Pouring yourself a glass after ordering a pizza, you’re just about to take the first sip when there’s a knock at the door. Confused - the food couldn’t possibly have come that fast - you set down your drink and move to squint through the peephole.

Standing outside your front door is possibly the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. A mess of dark hair hangs above shadowed eyes that give way to high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, soft cupid’s bow lips and a razor-sharp jawline covered in thick stubble. His broad shoulders and clearly muscular arms are straining the leather of his jacket, and you’re momentarily hypnotised by the way the shirt underneath clings to his chest.

Taking a breath and letting your brain remind your body that this Adonis is a complete stranger, you slip the chain onto the door before opening it enough to peer through at him.

“Hi,” you say, wondering if he’s got the wrong door, and if so, what you can do to make it the right one.

His eyes flicker over what he can see of you before they meet yours, the blue shock of his searching gaze almost making you miss his low voice speaking your name like a question. You blink in confusion, “Do I know you? I think I’d remember if we’d met.”

“You don’t know me,” he confirms, trying to look past you into the apartment. “Are you alone?”

A finger of suspicion chills the playful heat inside you. “That’s a pretty creepy question to open with,” you tell him with a nervous laugh, hoping there’s an explanation that ends with him being completely non-threatening and asking you on a date.

His eyes meet yours again. “I work with Yelena. Someone got hold of her address, found out she lives with someone and is highly likely to be sending a team over to abduct you. You need to come with me. Now.”

“Ah - what?” You’re still more suspicious than panicked, “If that’s even true, how do I know you’re not the guy coming to abduct me?”

Can you blame the wine you almost drunk for the thought that you wouldn’t mind being abducted by this guy?

“Because if I was abducting you,” he growls, “this door would be in pieces and you would already be tied up in my car.”

You swallow, hard.

The man takes a deep breath as he glances around the corridor, trying to be patient. “Look, I’m Bucky. Yelena must have mentioned me?”

You shake your head, “No. She doesn’t really talk about work.”

Bucky grumbles something under his breath, “We might not have much time. Can you at least grab what you’ll need for an overnight while you decide if you’re going to trust me?”

If you’d met this guy in a bar you’d be more than happy to spend the night with him, but under these circumstances, you’re still suspicious. You narrow your eyes. “Fine.”

You actually have a go-bag prepared already - you weren’t going to be too cavalier about living with an ex-assassin/current probable spy - but as you shut the door on Bucky, you decide now’s a good time to call Yelena.

Ignoring his voice through the door saying that you could at least leave it open, you tug your bag out of the hall closet while you find her number. Yelena’s asked you to avoid calling her when she’s at work, but you can’t think of any other way to verify what Bucky’s telling you.

As it rings, you sling the bag over your shoulder and let your eyes drift to the floor of your open bedroom, where the glow of the city through the large window falls on the floor. Frowning, you notice a shadow blocking the lower corner and let out an exasperated sigh. Your neighbour seems to think the fire escape outside your apartment is a great place for him to store his overflowing junk, but Yelena seemed to have scared him off doing it for a while. As you're making a mental note to speak to him about it, the shadow moves. You freeze. Pigeons maybe? On top of the junk? You slowly step backwards, raking your mind to remember if you’d seen anything there earlier.

Just as the phone rings out, switching to Yelena’s generic voicemail message, there’s the unmistakable smash of breaking glass, followed by alarmingly fast, heavy footsteps. You spin around, but before you can even take a step, whoever’s come through the window grabs you from behind. You open your mouth, sucking in air to scream at the top of your lungs, but the attacker clamps a hand over your mouth and nose. You’re instantly choked as you try to breathe around a sweet-smelling piece of fabric, and as you struggle, you feel a sharp scratch on the side of your neck. Your thoughts go fuzzy, and even as you try to squirm out of the tight grasp, your body slackens. The violent cracking and splintering sounds coming from your doorway echo into the background, and darkness consumes you.

—

You surface slowly back to consciousness. There’s a roaring in your ears, and your body is heavy, unable to move, or even to open your eyes. You’re aware of a constant cold wind at your back and running through your fingers, hands buffeted by the air. Your face is pressed into something warm and firm, and something hard as metal is wrapped around you, holding you in place.

You remember being at your apartment. The window smashing, the footsteps, being grabbed - you force your body to move, eyes flying open, limbs flailing haphazardly and snapping your head up, only to bash into something hard.

“Shit!” Bucky’s expletive is audible over the engine noise as your sudden movement throws him off balance, making the bike he’s controlling with one hand swerve on the road. You realise all at once that the roaring sound was the motorbike, currently speeding down a dark highway. You’re facing backwards, basically in Bucky’s lap, both your legs thrown over his, his left arm holding you close to him.

The shock makes you cry out, but all that emerges through your still waking mouth is an addled groan, although your arms instinctively reach up to cling onto Bucky’s solid form.

His gravelly voice is close in your ear, “Hang on.”

The bike slows to a stop at the side of the road, and Bucky leans back to assess you.

“You okay?” He asks. The road is too shadowed for you to make out whether his frown is of concern or irritation.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, vocal chords just about working as you scramble to get off him. Your legs are still half asleep, and Bucky’s strong hand on your side is the only thing that stops you falling to the ground. He follows you off the bike much more gracefully, and helps you stand, one hand still on your waist, the other on your hip.

Your limbs are still shaky, and you feel like you have the beginnings of a hangover. “What happened?” You ask.

Bucky lets go of you. “The people who came to abduct you turned up. They drugged you, but I heard them breaking in and managed to stop them taking you. Now I’m bringing you to a safe house.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what to say to this, other than, “thank you.”

Bucky shrugs, “Don’t worry about it. There’s another hour before we get there, so we should get going.”

You nod. Despite still feeling too weak and dizzy to competently ride a bike even as a passenger, you’d rather recover inside in the warm than out by the side of the road.

Bucky’s eyes lingers on you, assessing, then he pulls out a bottle of water stored under the seat and wordlessly hands it over. You take it with another thanks and gratefully drink half in one go, suddenly thirsty. He simply nods when you hand it back, then straddles the bike.

After groggily admiring the flex of his leg muscles as he does so, you move to climb on behind him.

“No,” he says gently, stopping you and indicating that you should sit in front of him. “You might not be alert enough to keep hold of me, and I don’t want you falling off.”

You hesitate. “Can I at least face forward this time?”

A quick teasing grin tugs at the corner of Bucky’s mouth as he gestures to the space he’s left for you between his legs, “Lady’s choice.”

Rolling your eyes to hide the warmth blooming in you despite the strangeness of the situation, you climb in front of him as elegantly as possible. Although you try to keep some space between you, you can feel his warmth at your back as he leans forward, arms caging you as he grasps the handlebars.

His beard grazes your ear, his voice soothing it, “Just grab onto me if you need to,” he tells you.

You get no other warning before the bike takes off, his thick thighs pressing into yours as he raises his legs to the footrests.

—

An hour later, you’re struggling to keep your eyes open as the bike finally slows to a stop beside a wood cabin. The dense trees surrounding it would cast it in darkness even if it wasn’t the middle of the night, and the winding dirt track you’ve been following for the last 20 minutes makes it even more thoroughly hidden.

The stress of the day, lingering effects of the drug and gentle turns of the bike have lulled you into a half sleep, and you’d given up on staying alert long ago, leaning comfortably into Bucky’s solid chest, his strong arms keeping you in place. As you joltingly step off the bike, the absence of his warmth makes the chill breeze feel even colder.

His hand brushes your lower back as he passes you to the entrance of the safe house. Beside the clatter of him unlocking the door and the ticking of his motorbike cooling down, there’s no sound other than the breeze in the trees. You must be miles from anywhere.

Bucky disappears into the darkness of the cabin, and you follow, lingering at the door. The place is small - you’re standing in a living room-kitchen space that spans the width of the building, the door opposite revealing a shaded corridor that Bucky heads into, leading to what can’t be much more than a small bathroom and bedroom. After checking each room - which doesn’t take long - Bucky returns to the main space.

“It’s clear,” he tells you matter-of-factly, “Hasn’t been used in a while by the look of things, and I wouldn’t trust the bed in there, it’s more woodworm than wood.”

You nod and mumble a small, “Okay.” Now that you’re here, everything feels real and scary again. You were attacked, and drugged, and are now hiding out in a creaky cabin in the middle of nowhere, no one but Bucky and, you suppose, Yelena, knowing where you are. You don’t even have your phone with you.

While you’re thinking this, Bucky turns back into the corridor, leaving you in the main room again. Feeling even more awkward, you head to the kitchen area, trying to figure out how to make the best of things. You pull open wonkily attached cupboard doors, finding a few cans of soup and placing the least rusty ones on the counter top - you never did get that pizza. You’re contemplating the wisdom of even checking the use by dates when Bucky passes, his arms full of blankets and pillows which he drops on the couch.

“Bedding’s fine,” he gestures to it, not even looking at you before turning to kneel in front of the fireplace. Sooner than you expect, he stands again, a fire crackling into life in the grate.

“I’d keep the fire burning,” he tells you as he moves to the front door, “It’s the only heat in this place, and you don’t need to worry about the smoke, we weren’t followed and there’s no one else around for miles.”

Your heart sinks. You hadn’t even realised you’d hoped he’d stay until it’s clear he’s about to leave, but the thought of being left alone, here, after everything - it’s daunting.

“Oh. Sure, yeah.” You reply, before holding up a couple of the soup cans, “You don’t want to stay to eat something? It’s a long way back to the city, right?”

Bucky’s stare is carefully neutral as he takes in your questionable finds. He opens his mouth, but as his gaze slides to your face, he pauses. “Sure,” he says uncertainly, “Looks delicious.”

“You must be hungry then,” you joke, trying to hide your relief as you hunt for a can opener.

—

A little while later, the cabin’s feeling a bit more friendly. The smell of the surprisingly decent soup and warmth of the fire have spread through the space, and with your and Bucky’s bowls washed and left to dry by the sink, the place looks almost homey. Even so, apprehension pulses through you when you see him preparing to leave; his warm, steady presence is more of a comfort to you than it should be.

“You shouldn’t need to be here more than one night.” Bucky reassures you. “Two at most. Yelena will come get you when she’s back in the country.”

“Two nights?” Your voice cracks and you clear your throat, determined to come off as confident and unafraid in front of him, “I mean, that’s fine, I guess. I’m sure I can keep myself entertained.”

You shoot him a quick smile. But he can’t ignore the tension in your body language, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself despite the warmth. He’d intended to leave. The second he set foot in the cold, musty cabin it had reminded him of places he’d hidden out in on missions as the Winter Soldier. He’d meant to drop you off and leave as soon as he’d checked it was safe.

Then you’d turned to him with an old tin of soup and a shaky smile, and something tugged at him to stay. Probably he just felt sorry for you. And that urge to look after you, make you comfortable, that was just him wanting to do what was asked of him - nothing to do with the attraction he’d felt to the bold, suspicious person who’d opened the door to him earlier this evening. And if this basic cabin out in the forest was starting to feel more like home than his apartment back in Brooklyn, it was just because he still hadn’t decorated or got used to the modern city - not because sharing dinner with you had warmed him more than any fire ever could.

Jacket and boots on, Bucky hesitates. “Are you alright?”

You flash him another small smile that comes out halfway between the ease you’d intended and a grimace. “I’m fine,” your voice comes out squeaky and you try again. “I’m fine.” You say, a bit more confidently.

Bucky’s eyes don’t move from you, but his raised eyebrow suggests he doesn’t believe you.

Sighing, you admit more quietly, “I think I’m maybe in shock. All this is…a lot. I’ll be alright in a bit.”

Bucky nods and stomps out the door without another word.

You blink rapidly, jarred by his sudden departure, but instead of hearing the roar of his bike starting up, there’s a slam as he returns and shuts the door behind him.

“Here,” he holds out a candy bar to you.

You simply stare at him, dumbfounded.

“Sugar helps with shock,” he explains with a shrug. “And it counts as dessert. Since you made dinner.”

You can’t help the laugh that spills out as you thank him. “I didn’t expect this from you.” You add as you take the candy, looking up in time to see his throat bob as he swallows.

Sinking into the couch as you unwrap the chocolate, you hope Bucky will join you, and are startled when instead he squats down in front of you and places a hand either side of your legs, gripping the couch with both hands and tugging the whole thing – heavy old furniture and you – so you slide across the floor, closer to the fire. His smug grin is the only sign he’s noticed your mouth falling open in astonishment, as he drops down next to you. Right next you; his arm and leg brushing against yours.

“It’s better to stay warm,” is all he says by way of explanation, watching the dancing flames in front of you both.

“Thank you,” you repeat. After a moment you lean into him slightly, curious to see how he’ll react. As if by instinct, he lifts his arm to wrap it around you, pulling you firmly into his side.

You smile to yourself, and snap off a square of chocolate to pass to him. Your eyes meet as he takes it from you, and you let your gaze linger on his face, so close to yours. Bucky doesn’t turn away - watching you with an intensity that mirrors your own. A loud crackle from the fire is the only thing to snap your attention away, and you sit together in comfortable silence, your face warm as you let the candy melt in your mouth.

“Better?” Bucky asks.

“Much,” you answer. His solid warmth has calmed you, and you’re pretty sure it’s his proximity, rather than the fire’s, that’s making your blood pump hot through you. Your suspicion is confirmed when he removes his arm from around you and stands up, taking the candy wrapper from you and leaving a cold gust of absence.

“Lie down,” he instructs softly, gesturing to the blankets and pillows around you on the couch, “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

He moves to the kitchen before you can reply, so you do as you’re told and lie down, burrowing into the blankets in the hopes of capturing his lingering warmth. You desperately want to ask him to stay, but you’re not sure how.

Eyes closed, you’re unaware of Bucky’s silent return. He watches you, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders at the soft sounds of your breath and the fire. He wants to stay - to comfort you, he tells himself, and make sure you’re safe. Nothing else, of course. But do you want that?

“Are you still cold?” he asks, his voice low.

You open your eyes to the sight of him looking down at you from the foot of the couch, his creased brow casting his eyes into shadow.

“I could be warmer,” you tell him.

The next sound you hear is the soft thud of Bucky’s boots hitting the floor as he toes them off, simultaneously shrugging out of his jacket. Leaning over you, his knee tucks into the space behind yours.

“Budge up,” he mutters, a gentle teasing edge dancing through his voice.

Slightly stunned - and delighted - you shuffle forward to the edge of the couch, letting him slot in behind you against the back cushions. Lifting the blankets, he presses against you, his right arm snaking around your body, holding you to him.

Realising you’ve been holding your breath as his body adjusts to yours, you let out a contented sigh. Sandwiched between the flickering heat of the fire and the warmth and security of Bucky’s firm body, you feel yourself finally relax. As the last remnants of tension and shock are eased out of you, you drift off to sleep, comfortable and safe in Bucky’s arms.

He’s slower to fall asleep. Bucky wants to hold still so you won’t wake, but your closeness is making him more aware of every part of his body.

He looks down at you fondly as you twist over mid-dream, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pressing your face to his chest, inhaling deeply as you continue your steady sleep. Taking a long breath, Bucky tries to ignore it as the spark of a feeling he hasn’t felt for a very, very long time catches in his chest, the glowing ember of it warming him deeply as he relaxes into sleep.

—

The first fingers of dawn creeping through the flimsy curtains wakes Bucky the next morning. There’s a smile on his face and a gentle glow in his chest – he’s slept soundly through the night, and has the unfamiliar feeling of having woken from a good dream. Keeping his eyes closed to try and recapture the thoughts that were just now floating through his sleeping mind, he’s suddenly brought back to reality by movement in his arms – you, shifting as you wake up.

You awake with the same warm glow as Bucky, breathing deeply as consciousness trickles in, and inhaling a delicious scent – clean, woodsy and warmly spiced, something that smells both comforting and exciting. There’s soft fabric under your hand and you sigh contentedly as you nuzzle closer. It’s only when Bucky politely clears his throat, the sound reverberating through the chest you now realise you’re lying on, that the realisation of where you are comes back to you.

Jerking back as far as you can – which isn’t much, given the size of the couch and that Bucky’s arms are still encircling you – your eyes fly open and you freeze as you meet the supersoldier’s amused gaze.

“Morning,” he greets you with just a hint of a smirk, his gravelly voice making your stomach somersault.

“Morning,” you squeak back, inwardly cursing yourself for not being anything like as cool as he is. Knowing your normal morning state, your hair is probably a bird’s nest and you don’t want to think about the likelihood of there being drool on your face - or his chest.

But Bucky simply smiles back at you, his eyes dancing over your face. Half-stunned, you gaze back at him - his strong nose, his smooth cupid’s bow lips, his ice blue eyes - and a hot longing spreads through you. You know you’re currently in a strange cabin in the middle of nowhere, hiding out from mysterious enemies who want to hurt you - but right now that all feels very far away; much less important than the warm, muscular body pressed against yours.

A darkness in Bucky’s gaze makes you shiver in delight as you realise his thoughts are mirroring your own.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, voice gruff but with the ghost of a smile, his arms still wrapped tight around you.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back into him and angling your face up to his, “Very,” You answer softly, “You?”

“Very,” Bucky echoes, staring deep into your eyes for a moment before pulling you close, erasing the last space between you. His soft lips brush against yours, sending tingles racing through your body, and you press into him eagerly. His response is immediate, his mouth firm and giving, and you fist his shirt in your hands as you move closer, opening your mouth to his, and-

A loud, shrill alarm pierces the air and you yelp, both of you startled apart. You nearly fall off the couch at the noise, and Bucky bolts upright.

“It’s the proximity alarm,” he explains, jumping up and heading for his jacket where it’s hanging on the back of a chair. After pulling his phone from the pocket, his shoulders loosen as he visibly relaxes. “It’s friendly,” he says, turning back to where you’re half-lying, still tangled in blankets.

“Good,” you manage to respond, unconvincingly. You’re obviously glad there’s no threat, but the timing of this arrival could have been better.

A lopsided smile spreads across Bucky’s face, “You don’t sound too happy about that,” he teases, voice still rough.

You fail to hide a smile, wrinkling your nose, “I’m just…no good with guests before I’ve had coffee.”

His smile widening into a grin, Bucky nods. “I’ll put some on.”

You extricate yourself from the bedding as he heads to the kitchen area, and try pointlessly to brush the wrinkles from your clothes, hoping whoever’s coming to meet you can’t tell that your heart is still pounding, heat pulsing through you from the kiss. It might have been short, and unpleasantly interrupted, but it was the best kiss you’ve had in a very long time.

As you neatly fold the blankets, still warm from your and Bucky’s combined body heat, his clattering in the kitchen is drowned out by the sound of an engine outside, before the front door bursts open and Yelena strides into the cabin.

Before you can even open your mouth to greet her, she runs to you and wraps you in a fierce hug, “I’m so sorry!” She says into your shoulder before pulling back to look you over, checking for injuries. “I never thought you would get hurt because of me, you’re my best friend and I love you and I nearly got you kidnapped!”

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, returning the hug, “I’m fine, Bucky looked after me.”

Yelena glances over at Bucky who nods at you both before returning his attention to the coffee. Yelena slowly turns her head to look back at you, her eyes narrowing and a cat-like smile spreading across her face, “He looked after you, huh?” She drawls.

“Shut up,” you mutter, feeling your face warm, “not like that. Well, not - no, not like that.”

“Okay,” she answers with a grin, “What’s that saying about silver livings again?”

“Yelena,” you warn her, aware Bucky can hear you both.

She laughs again before the smile slides from her face. “I am really sorry though,”

“It’s not your fault,” you reassure her.

“But I put you in danger,” she insists with a pout, “and I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Coffee’s ready,” Bucky calls from the kitchen.

“Look, we can talk about it later,” you tell Yelena, moving to where Bucky’s pouring you a mug.

“Fine,” Yelena grumbles good-naturedly as she follows you, “But can we talk about whatever it is you did to get Barnes to make you coffee?”

You roll your eyes as she laughingly bumps your shoulder, neither of you noticing the openly affectionate look on Bucky’s face that he quickly moves to hide.

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

Part 2 coming soon

Tags: @yesshewrites1

[flwrkid14]

omg what about rockstar Danny who has this huge concert and the Wayne family gets tickets so they all go but Danny and Tim have been dating for a few months and Danny was able to break all of Tim’s walls. So we have a petty and pissed off danny who thinks Tim should abandon the bat family and join Team Phantom. In his last song for the night he plays “Cupid’s Chokehold” by Gym class heroes and reveals their relationship when it gets to “Take a look at my girlfriend” at 1:07 and batfamily is just shocked. Anyways no pressure, just thought it’d be a fun ask. Take your time and prioritize yourself!

hi anon! tysm for the ask <3 and wow this is such a brilliant idea! though it was a little tricky to convey in writing.. but I hope you like it!

The Wayne family gets tickets to the concert of the year—Danny Fenton, rockstar enigma, the ghostlight darling of the music world, is performing live in Gotham.

He’s known for a few things. One: his stage presence is unearthly. Two: he’s never once done an interview. Three: every song he writes sounds like it was bled out of someone’s soul.

(And Four: no one really knows who his music is about. The love songs, the heartbreak, the fury—it’s all so personal and yet so vague. A mystery Gotham’s tabloids would kill to solve.)

So when Bruce hands out the tickets, it’s treated like a normal outing. A night off. A nice show.

Tim doesn’t say much. Just, “Yeah. Sounds good.”

And for most of the show, it is good.

Danny is electrifying. His voice hits like a tidal wave and his lyrics—god, the lyrics. Furious things wrapped in velvet; love songs that ache like broken ribs. Songs about being pushed aside. Being invisible. Giving and giving until there’s nothing left.

Cass tilts her head, listening harder. Dick glances at Tim, who’s sitting very, very still. Bruce doesn’t notice anything yet—too distracted by the crowd. Jason is squinting at Danny like he’s seen a ghost.

And then it starts.

The final song.

A new one. Unreleased.

“I wasn’t gonna play this one,” Danny says, voice sharp with something bitter under the surface. “But I think I changed my mind.”

He nods at the band. They start playing.

The melody is upbeat—light, familiar. It’s Cupid’s Chokehold. People cheer. Some move to the melody.

And then—

Take a look at my girlfriend… She’s the only one I got…

Danny’s eyes flicker, sharp and glowing. His smile twists.

Not much of a girlfriend— I never seem to get a lot…

He stops singing for just a beat. Lets the music carry. Lets the tension build.

Then, clear as a bell:

Take a look at my boyfriend—

Spotlight.

It slams onto the VIP balcony. Onto Tim. Who freezes like a deer in the headlights.

He’s the only one I got.

The entire arena goes silent for half a second.

And then it erupts.

People are screaming. Phones come out. Tim is suddenly the most photographed man in Gotham. Jason shouts. Dick physically chokes on air. Steph screams “I KNEW IT!” while Cass just beams.

And Bruce? Bruce is staring at the stage like the math isn't mathing.

Danny doesn’t stop. He leans in.

He sings the rest of the song with so much love it’s almost cruel—every lyric like a thread being pulled.

He rewrites a few lines on the fly, just subtle enough:

She gets out when she wants ‘cause she’s strong like that He doesn’t need a cape, doesn’t need a mask— He’s already saved me just by being who he is.

And it’s not just a love song.

It’s a declaration. A confession. And, if you’re listening closely, an accusation.

Because every heartbreak song that came before it—the ones filled with rage and soft, splintering grief—suddenly make sense.

They weren’t just about some vague lost lover.

They were about Tim. And the family that never really saw him.

All that fury? That loneliness? That ache that threaded Danny’s albums?

It was theirs. Their behavior, their neglect, their silence. Turned into art. Turned into fire.

And Danny—Danny Fenton, whose voice can shake the world—just handed it back to them, live onstage, with a kiss blown to the boy sitting under the spotlight.

Tim covers his face with one hand. He’s laughing and crying and blushing hard.

Danny’s last note rings out, final and sharp. And the lights go out.

Backstage, later:

Tim shoves into Danny’s dressing room like a man possessed. “What was that?”

Danny’s taking off his mic pack, cool as ever. “Soft launch,” he says. “Or maybe the opposite.”

“You just outed us to the whole city.”

Danny shrugs. “They deserved to know.”

Tim sighs. Collapses into him. “You’re impossible.”

Danny kisses his temple. “You’re mine.”

And Tim—who clings to Danny like he was stitched into him—doesn’t disagree. He just holds on tighter.

Because the bats might be his family, sure.

But Danny? Danny’s home.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

bed chem - m.s.

summary: a goofy fic of matt based off of the song bed chem by sabrina carpenter

warnings: suggestive

wc: 3.5k

-

Going out to parties wasn’t something you did all the time, but it wasn’t something you were completely a stranger to, either. You were used to the excitement of getting ready, finding the perfect outfit and putting on your makeup, and it made it infinitely more fun knowing your best friend would be alongside you for the night.

Except when she nagged.

“Come on, love, we gotta go. Our ride’s here and we’re already an hour late.” She tells you, standing behind your vanity with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised as she watches you apply lipstick. “We have two parties to get to, remember? So the faster we get to this one, the faster we get to the next one, and the faster we get home.”

“I’m going as fast as I can, but you making me talk is making me take longer!” You retort, staring at her in the mirror. She huffs and goes to your bed, grabbing her purse off of it and slinging it over her shoulder.

“I’m going out to the car, you have two minutes.” She tells you before leaving your room and eventually your house.

You roll your eyes at her dramatics before finally finishing up your makeup and spraying your hair and face so everything stays in place, getting up to head outside to join her in the uber.

“Damn,” she mutters, eyes raking over your form next to her. “You look hot as fuck.”

You smile and turn your head to look at her. “I know, that’s why I take so long.”

Your body was adorned in a black, sheer dress, a black, lace lingerie set visible underneath it, hair flowing over your shoulders perfectly, makeup looking the most flawless it has in a while. It was worth the time it took since you know everyone would be taking photos.

It hasn’t been a long time that you’ve been in this scene, seemingly blowing up over just a few months on social media, but you had to admit, you were enjoying the life of having followers more than you cared to admit. The attention, the parties, the relationships, the edits. It was all a little bit addicting and you hoped it wouldn’t stop any time soon.

Tonight’s party felt different, though. You knew it was going to be bigger and there were going to be some popular influencers that you had looked up to for years, so you wanted to make an impression, make sure people wouldn’t forget you and had an urge to come up and speak to you, and hopefully tonight you looked good enough for that to happen.

“Have a good night,” your driver turns to smile at you both when you arrive, not so subtly letting his eyes trail over both of your bodies, causing you to let out a groan at him, getting out as quickly as possible.

“He was gross,” you mumble, pulling your dress down your thighs.

Your friend laughs, looping her arm in yours. “At least he thinks we’re hot.”

-

The night progresses as parties typically do; dancing, photos, introducing yourself to people you’ve seen online but never met, a few drinks being consumed over the course of a couple hours. It was exhilarating and you felt like you could’ve stayed until everything died out, but you were interrupted by your friend gently grabbing your arm, smiling up at you. “Hey, I ordered an uber so we could head out,” she tells you and you pout, not wanting to leave yet but knowing you had to.

“Sounds good, let me know when it’s here.” You apologize to the person you’re speaking to before turning to make your rounds and bid farewell to the host.

It’s then that you’re walking through the halls in an attempt to find who you’re looking for when your eyes land on a boy you’ve never seen before, instantly feeling captivated. He wore a white jacket, seemingly just arriving, along with jeans, keys hanging from his belt loop. His bright blue eyes felt like they cut through the room when they looked up and locked on yours, the people around you turning blurry as you focused on him. Normally you’d feel too nervous to keep eye contact with somebody like this, but you couldn’t stop watching as he excused himself from his conversation and started walking towards you, slipping between people while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

Once he’s in front of you, you can’t help the way your ears heat up, grateful for your hair covering them otherwise you’d be exposed in seconds to how your body was reacting to him so quickly. He smiled wide at you and you’re blown away at how beautiful he is so up close, all of his features fitting together so perfectly.

“Hi,” he says, loudly enough to cut through the music.

You laugh at his volume, hand coming up to cover your mouth momentarily until you’re done laughing, dropping it back to your side. “Hey,” you yell back, leaning in a bit closer.

He takes one step closer to you, nearly closing the gap between your bodies, leaning his face down so he’s close to your ear, hand coming up to rest on your hip gently. “I’m Matt,” he tells you, hand running up your waist as he pulls away to look at you again.

Your breath hitches at his touch, wanting nothing more than to lean into him but having to remind yourself that you don’t even know him, even though he feels so familiar. You introduce yourself to him and feel lightheaded at the smile he shoots you, eyes admiring his perfectly aligned teeth that fit his face so well. He repeats your name lowly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he tells you sweetly, and despite just meeting him, you believed him wholeheartedly. “Hey, would you want to-.”

You’re ripped from your bubble with Matt when your friend suddenly appears and slips her arm around your waist, clearing her throat loudly. “Ride’s here! Time to go!” She exclaims, trying to pull you away from Matt, much to both of your dismay.

“No, wait-!” You try to tell her but she only pulls harder, Matt’s hand falling off of your waist as distance grows between you.

“Nope, gotta go!” She tells you again. You turn around as you’re walking, seeing Matt laughing at the two of you as he watches you leave, still standing where you left him. He waves his hand at you and you groan, turning back to look at your friend.

“You just cock-blocked me!” You screech as you guys barrel through the door and outside, ripping yourself away from her. “We were so into each other, I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

She groans, walking towards the car waiting for you. “I’m sure you’ll see each other again, he looks familiar.”

You get in the opposite side of her and turn to glare in her direction. “I’ve never seen him before and I’ll probably never see him again, thanks to you.”

She laughs, amused at how desperate you sounded. “Dude, you’ll live. He’s probably just looking for someone to fuck. If anything, I just saved you from shitty sex.”

You huff and sit back in your seat, knowing there’s nothing you can do about it now except wait for another event that you might see him at.

-

It’s late, or early depending on how you look at it, and you and your friend were cooped up in bed together, ready to sleep after a long night of socializing, talking about some of the things that happened that night when your phone dinged from your bedside table. Confused, you grab it and stare at the screen, seeing a text on your lockscreen staring back at you.

3:52am

unknown number

hey

Your brows furrow and you show it to your friend. “Do you recognize this number?” You ask. She turns and looks at it before shaking her head.

“No, I don’t even recognize the area code.” She says, looking up to meet your gaze.

You hum, shrugging your shoulders. “Weird.”

You stare at it for another minute, trying to see if they say anything else, and just as you’re about to close it and set your phone down, the bubbles indicating the other person is typing pop up and your brow raises in curiosity.

3:54am

unknown number

it’s matt btw

You gasp, spinning back towards your friend. “It’s him! The guy from earlier that you dragged me away from! He got my number! How’d he get my number? Oh my god, he wants me so bad.” You’re squealing and reaching out to grip her arm, which earned you a groan of pain.

“Chill, please, you’re way too loud.” She huffs. But then her mood shifts and she laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. “He must be thirsty.”

You roll your eyes, letting go of her. “He’s not thirsty, why can’t you just admit we might have some chemistry? I wish you could’ve felt it, dude, it was like… like everyone around us literally disappeared and it was just us. I feel like my legs almost gave out when he touched me. It feels like he’s the type of guy I’ve been looking for.”

Your friend agrees half heartedly, turning away from you to finally drift off to sleep after the long night you’ve had. You’re looking at the screen trying to figure out how to respond without sounding too desperate when you let out a little giggle, not being able to help your dirty thoughts.

“I hope he’s big.”

“Ew!”

-

“So where are you from? I like your accent.”

“I’m from Boston,” the voice on the other end of the line laughs softly. “I’m actually there right now.”

You grin to yourself, sitting cross legged on your bed and staring down at your nails like they’re the most interesting thing in the world. “What, did you leave the day we met or something?”

Matt hums. “The next day, yeah. It’s been a while since we’ve been back so we wanted to head home for a bit.”

You’re quiet for a few beats, trying to think of a way to keep the conversation going, when you feel a surge of confidence boost through you. “We should see each other when you come back.” You tell him, biting your lip nervously as you await his response.

You can hear the smile in his voice when he answers. “I’d love that. Are you free next week?” You celebrate silently, pumping your fist in the air a couple times before you compose yourself, clearing your throat.

“Yes!” You clear your throat, embarrassed. “Yes, I’m free.” You tone down your excitement, a blush covering your cheeks. “Just pick any day and you can come over if you want. I have my own place.”

Matt’s nervous, too, even though he was across the country. His hands nervously picked at his jeans, unable to contain the smile on his face. “Sounds good, I’ll let you know as soon as I’m back.” He replies. “Hey, I gotta go but I’ll text you, okay?”

You’re sad at this, but you don’t want to seem too clingy. Not yet. “Okay. I’ll talk to you soon, Matt.”

“Talk to you soon. Bye, sweetheart.”

You hang up and immediately flop back on your bed, covering your mouth as you scream loudly. Sweetheart? Oh yeah, he was definitely getting head.

-

“He’s literally on his way and I feel like I’m about to shit myself.”

“Did you clean?”

“Yes, but-“

“Did you put on deodorant and perfume?”

“Yes! But-“

“Did you shave?”

Your cheeks darken at the question your friend asks over the phone. “Dude…” you start seriously, then laugh like you couldn’t believe yourself. “I got a wax.”

She gasps loudly. “You little slut! A wax?!” You giggle at her response. “Wow, you really are into him, huh?”

“So into him,” you groan out. You and Matt had spoke on the phone almost every day that he was gone, texting every hour you both were awake. You hadn’t had a crush like this in years, and the way he talked to you made you feel like maybe he felt the same way. You always woke up to a good morning text since he was three hours ahead and he was usually still awake by the time you went to sleep, so there really was barely any time when you guys weren’t texting. “Hey, I think he’s here, I gotta go!” You hang up before she even answers, checking yourself in the mirror by the door one more time before you pull the door open, seeing Matt standing on the other side with a smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Hi,” he says shyly, staying put on the doorstep.

“Hey,” you breathe out, stepping aside so he could walk in, but he doesn’t move, seemingly captivated by the sight of you. “Come in,” you say with a giggle, waving him in gently.

“Right,” Matt replies, stepping inside your apartment, eyes moving from your face to look around. “Wow, cute place. Very… girly.”

You laugh and shut the door, walking up behind him. “Well, I am a girl.” You guide him into the kitchen and find a vase in the cupboards, filling it with water in the sink. “You didn’t have to get me flowers.”

Matt looks down at the flowers, then back up at you. “Oh, these? These aren’t for you, I just found them on the side of the road on my way here.”

You laugh and turn to meet his eyes, raising an eyebrow at them. “Oh, so I definitely shouldn’t put these in a vase then?”

Matt purses his lips and shakes his head, setting the flowers on the table. “Nah,” he says seriously, then lets out a laugh, starting to walk towards you. His hands wrap around you from behind, head tucking into your neck to place his lips on your skin, making your breath catch at the contact, your heart picking up speed uncontrollably.

“Can I tell you something?” He whispers against your shoulder. All you can do is nod in response. “I’m normally not a sex on the first date kind of guy, but I can’t even put into words how badly I’ve wanted you from the second I saw you at that party and I spend so much of my time hoping you feel the same.”

You reach to turn the water off, hands shaking as you set the vase down in the sink before turning around in Matt’s arms, sliding your hands up his chest until they loop around his neck, holding him close. Your eyes trail from his eyes down to his pink, plump lips, getting a good look at them and the way he bites his lip nervously before meeting his eyes again, feeling entranced once more. “I do,” you tell him in a whisper.

He smiles and slides a hand up between your bodies, resting it on your jaw before he closes the gap between you both, lips meshing together flawlessly. You release a small breath of relief through your nose, pulling him closer with your arms wrapped around him, arching your body into his hungrily.

You’ve thought about this since the moment you met, how he’d feel kissing you, if he’d be gentle or rough, what he would taste like, what he would smell like so close. It was all surpassing your expectations in the best way and you already felt yourself getting worked up while you both kissed, knowing that he now had you completely wrapped around his finger. You were completely and utterly fucked, and you were also more okay with that than you ever had been.

You pull away from the kiss and smile up at Matt, him having the same expression towards you. “I, uh, cleaned my room, you wanna see?” You ask him timidly, knowing he understands the implications behind your question. He chuckles, squeezing your waist gently before nodding. “Yeah, I’d love to see your room.”

You grin, trying to hide your excitement by biting on your bottom lip, but it’s no use, you’re exuding anticipation through every pore in your body and hoping to god he feels the same way. You slip out from where you’re pinned between him and the counter, sliding your hand down his arm until your fingers are laced together, pulling him behind you. “Come on then, I’ll show you.”

You drag him behind you and towards your room, pausing when you hear him laughing, wondering what’s so funny. You stop and turn around, seeing him staring at the wall where a pink post-it note was stuck above your thermostat that read ‘do not touch!’

“Picky about your temperature, huh?” He teases, making you huff.

“Sixty-nine is the perfect temperature! Not too hot, not too cold!” You defend yourself loudly, watching as Matt just laughs more at your outburst.

“I’m not hating, just think the note’s cute, that’s all,” he rests his hand that’s not in yours on your hip, nodding towards your room. “C’mon, you didn’t clean for nothing, did you?”

-

“Fuck, Matt!”

“Mm, that’s right, who’s your daddy?”

“No!”

“Fuck yes, get fucked!”

Matt stands up from the edge of your bed and flexes at you, sweatpants slung low on his hips, revealing his briefs underneath, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor long ago, switch controller gripped in his right hand. “I told you not to fuck with me and Mario Kart.”

You groan and flop back on the bed, arms flung above your head. “That’s the third fucking game,” you whine, turning your head to look at him. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to let the women finish first?”

Matt’s jaw drops open and he moves to stand between your knees that are hanging off the bed. “Are you serious right now?” He asks, placing his hands on the bed on either side of you, lips coming down to meet your bare hip. You were clad in only your panties and an oversized pajama tee now that rode up when you brought your hands up on the bed. “I think I let you finish first enough today.”

You blush and push yourself onto your elbows, watching him kiss your skin gently. “I don’t think I know what you’re talking about,” you tell him, smiling sweetly.

Matt laughs, but it’s not a humorous laugh, it’s one that sends tingles down your spine. It’s one that says ‘you have no idea what’s coming to you’. “Oh, you don’t?” He taunts, and you shake your head. He stands up straight again and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, wasting no time in pulling your panties back off of you. “I guess I’ll have to remind you.”

-

You’re both laying in bed under the covers, naked now since it was no use putting your clothes back on after every round of sex when they’d just end up on your floor again. “Hey, Matt?” You break the silence, turning your head from where you’re laid next to him to look at his face, smiling when he turns his head to meet your eyes. He hums, letting you know he’s waiting for you to speak again. “You’re like… really good in bed.”

Matt laughs at this, completely taken aback by the words you said, expecting you to ask him a question and instead being met with a compliment. “Thanks,” he replies, still laughing. He turns his body on his side and pulls you close to him. “You’re really good, too.”

You smile and turn to face him as well, slinging a leg over his waist. “You’re also super hot,” you continue.

He laughs again, rolling his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m average at best. You, though… my god.”

Your eyes widen, mouth opening in shock. “Average?! Matt, you’re… wow, you must be blind, jesus christ.”

“You should see my brother,” Matt smirks. “Man thinks he’s god’s gift to women.”

“Well if he looks anything like you he just might be.” You’re teasing him, and you think it’s clear in your voice, but Matt’s smile fades and he just looks at you with a confused expression.

“Yeah, we… didn’t I tell you we’re triplets? Didn’t you see him at the party?” He questions, pushing himself up on an elbow to look down at you.

You quirk an eyebrow at him and let out a shocked laugh. “Yeah, Matt, that’s the joke. That you look the same and if he’s god’s gift to women then so are you.”

Matt clamps his mouth shut and his cheeks darken slightly, realizing the joke went right over his head. “Right,” he clears his throat. “So you think my brother is hot is what you’re saying?”

You shrug, trailing a finger down his chest. “Maybe. But he doesn’t have the bed chem we do.” You waggle your eyebrows teasingly, making Matt laugh at your expression.

“Our bed chem is unmatched. Should we practice again?”

“Fuck yes.”

a/n: this has been in my drafts since like january and i think it was a request but i gotta dig for the ask!!

[renskaji]

injury

hajime umemiya x sakura!sister reader, wc: 2k, req? yes! find it here.

part two

Haruka Sakura knows he’s not invincible. 

He knows it, has felt the weight of fists against his body, has suffered the pains and aches of not being able to handle every blow that comes his way. But still, he’s managed, and he’s gotten pretty far, in his own opinion, while not being invulnerable. 

It’s when you’re in danger—you, his sister, the one and only person who ever treated him with kindness before Furin—when you get hurt, that Haruka Sakura learns that he’s not invincible. 

The day started out normal. 

You’re trailing him while he makes his rounds, having dedicated your morning to making sure he makes it to Café Pothos for a lunch hang out with some of the Furin third years. Sakura doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that you’re so close with his upperclassmen, but he does know that he would trust them with his life, so it’s probably fine to trust them with yours. 

But still, he’s always put his big sister’s safety before even his own, so who can really blame him for being protective. 

His patrol goes smoothly, save for the way you pick at him in the way only a sister can whenever he blushes at the kindness of the townspeople. You laugh and nudge him, and he threatens to leave you to the damn wolves, which makes you laugh more, at which point he grumbles and takes whatever fresh baked good was being offered to him at the moment and stomps ahead. 

He always stops and waits for you to catch up, though. 

The problem arises when you’re on your way to the café. You’re walking beside him, chattering his ear off about something he’s honestly trying to focus on, your head ducked low to type away at your phone. He thinks you’re texting Tsubaki, but he’s more amazed at how you could type so fast even as a stream of messages come in, and he misses your story about what happened in your class the day before. 

Haruka Sakura knows he’s not invincible, knows he’s been beat before, but he’s still not prepared for the way all the oxygen leaves his lungs when suddenly there’s a crowd of guys from a team he thinks he might’ve beat a few weeks earlier surrounding you both. 

If he was on his own, he would’ve had no problem taking care of the group of attackers. But you’re with him, and for all the years you’ve watched him fight, you’ve never once had any interest in trying to learn yourself. 

He warns you to keep still and puts your body between himself and the brick shop front at his back to try and prevent you from being in harm's way. There’s not a chance he can fight like he wants to, so Sakura is forced to go on the defensive. 

You whisper something about texting Umemiya to come help while the ringleader of the attackers goes on about how he’s a punk and they’ve got him now. And maybe a few months ago Sakura would’ve rather chewed off his own foot than ask for support protecting you, but he’s grown up so much and he needs his team to help keep you safe. 

It’s really a blur to Sakura after that. 

The attacks start, and he’s so outnumbered and at a disadvantage while keeping you safe that he’s forced to split his focus. There can’t be more than ten guys attacking, but it feels like an oppressive swarm since he has you to watch out for. It’s different than when he’s watching out for Nirei, because Nirei at least wants to fight. 

You’re only in danger because of him. 

Haruka Sakura is distracted by that thought. It stings him, deeply, and his attackers must see the fear spike in him because they choose that moment to lunge as one. There’s not stopping all of them, but he has to try, and yet he’s useless as someone powers past him and slams into you. 

He’s helpless as he sees you crash backwards into the brick wall and crumple onto the stone street. 

Haruka Sakura has felt a lot of anger in his life, but never so deeply, so vast. 

Because the root of his fury, at that moment, is fear. 

When your eyes blink awake, you’re not where you remember falling. 

You’re also taller than you remember being, which is your second clue that something is off. The third is that you’re moving without walking, the front of your body pressed against something firm, something shifting with every step. 

You connect the dots pretty quickly when you see a head of snow-white hair. 

Umemiya is giving you a piggy-back ride, large hands secured under your thighs while your arms are nearly limp around his neck, not doing much to help keep you balanced. Your head is resting against the muscle of his shoulder, cheek pressed to the fabric of his Bofurin coat and the sweet smell of freshly tilled earth filling your senses. 

“Where’s… Haru…?” You find your voice shortly after figuring out where in the universe your body is. You can’t keep your eyes open long enough to determine where in Makochi you’re at, but you do know that Umemiya would never do anything to put you in harm’s way. 

He tenses at the sound of your voice, but then it makes you realize that he was tense before, and he only got worse after hearing you. 

“He’s safe.” Umemiya assures you, knowing what was important to relay in that moment. Haruka is your brother, and you’ve spent your life trying to protect him from a world that turned its back on him. It’s no wonder that you’re desperate to know about him before checking on your own condition. “Hiragi’s taking care of him. They’re getting some stuff, and meeting us at the hospital.”

Your mind is still in a daze, so you don’t think you hear him correctly. There’s also an edge to his voice you’ve never heard before. Sharp. Terrifying. But also like he’s trying so, so hard to not take it out on you.

“Hospital?” You echo, face twisting with a wince as you pick up your head in order to rest your chin on his shoulder. It gives you a better angle to look at him, and you even get a glimpse of his face as he turns to make sure you’re not doing anything stupid. 

Your pulse jumps at the look in his eyes. You think you see panic, but then you remember you heard your head hit the wall before blacking out. 

Oh, right. You blacked out. Hospital makes sense, actually.

“For you, pretty thing.” He tries to sound normal—you know he does, because he uses the nickname he gave you because he said the way you blush at it was adorable—but you saw the panic in his eyes and you’re able to focus long enough to feel the hammering of his heart in his chest. “Sakura said you took a big hit. You were already unconscious by the time Hiragi and I got there.” 

Despite the fact that you and Haruka have the same last name, Umemiya has always called your brother by that shared last name and you by your first. You’ve never really thought too much about it before, but now you’re starting to think that hearing him call your name so gently, strained, when you take too long to respond might make it too hard for you to continue ignoring the way your heart aches for him. 

“‘M still here,” You promise him, watching from your position over his shoulder as his jaw ticks with the force of his emotion. He glances at you from the corner of his eye again, and you can see the struggle he’s battling with to keep calm while carrying you to the hospital. 

“Just making sure you haven’t fallen asleep.” He comments. It makes you realize just how tired you actually were, but you know enough about head injuries to know that you should absolutely not keep your heavy lids closed like you wished. 

“Promise me you’ll talk to Haruka,” You find yourself saying when the silence stretches on too long. You pause to find your right words, and Umemiya adjusts his hold on you to keep you balanced. “You know he’s beating himself up about this. He takes himself too seriously, puts too much on himself.”

“You talk to him yourself, too.” He assures you quickly. Your mouth feels dry, but you can feel it, so it’s better than nothing. “Hey, keep those pretty eyes open for me, alright?”

You hadn’t realized they closed. You force your eyes open and try to take in your surroundings. You’re still in town, only a street or two away from the hospital, if you remember correctly. But you also realize something else, something that makes anxiety spike in your chest and clog your throat. 

The people of the town are staring at you on Umemiya’s back. And they look nervous. 

“Ume,” You speak around the cotton in your mouth. You’ll ask for water at the hospital, but you have to wait until you get there first. He hums in response, acknowledging you while keeping his focus, and you feel the vibrations of it through his back. “How bad is it?”

Because the looks on everyone’s faces isn’t a good sign.

“We’re almost to the hospital.” He deflects. You recognize the edge in his voice better now, and you know he’s barely holding onto his fury. Even the sweetheart leader of Bofurin has his limits, and it seems your attackers had crossed his. 

“Hajime, how bad did I get hurt?” Your voice is stronger than it had been moments earlier, shocking both you and him. It helps to get your desperation to know the seriousness of your condition across, even if you’re practically shaking in fear at his hesitancy to tell you. 

He’s silent, at first. But then he sighs, glacial eyes watching you carefully to read your expression for something you’re unsure of. 

“Bad.” His voice is low, but at least the hospital is within sight now. You think it’s probably the reason why he’s finally offering the information. If you had panicked ten blocks back, you would’ve been worse off. “The back of your head is bleeding from where it hit the wall. Can’t you feel it?”

Your heart drops to your stomach, but you’re not brave enough to reach behind you and check.

“That’s why Hiragi had to take Haruka.” You reason. Umemiya hums out a confirmation but it’s far from his usual jovial self that you feel your insides twist. You’re nervous, but you feel better that Umemiya is with you. It’s not like you don’t love your brother, but your autopilot is to take care of Haruka, not be cared for by. “Which group was it?”

“I took care of them.”

His voice is made of stone, and he’s looking forward. You know that’s all you’re going to get out of him, and for once you don’t care to push the issue. 

“Will you stay with me, at least until Haruka gets here?” It’s a little pathetic, but now that you know just how badly you were hurt, tears have started to prick at your eyes. Umemiya is only a few moments away from the hospital, and you’re scared of being left by yourself. 

“I’m not leaving your side.” He answers too quick for it to be a lie and gives you a firm look, like he’s even more concerned that you thought there was even a chance he would leave you behind. “And once this is all over, I’m taking you out to eat. Just us.” 

You want to kiss him for it, but you know it’s not the right time. 

But maybe after the meal he just swore he’d take you on. 

“Thank you.” You sniffle and nod, but the action hurts too much and you wince. Thankfully, he’s more focused at finding a clear path into the emergency room, because you think at this point that he’s just nervous enough about you being injured that he’d chastise you for moving too fast and hurting yourself. 

“You don’t need to thank me. I will always protect you.”

You know it’s true, because he’s Hajime Umemiya.

And he’s not invincible, but he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. 

[ahhgaypanic]

Came across this art yesterday… and… well, this happened.

Venom & Honey

18+ MDNI-

no warnings really, other than sesbian lex.

The skin behind Caitlyn’s ears tingled. Her jaw set on edge as the thought occurred to her that she knew what those hip bones felt like under the slow, teasing scrape of her teeth. Followed by the healing brush of her lips.

Like they craved that feeling now in its absence. The feeling of her teeth dragging over velvet wrapped bone, fidgeting fingers sliding into her hair, shaky breaths sucked sharply through clinched teeth.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, the soft glow illuminating the room as Caitlyn stretched below the sheets. She reveled in the sweet warm pull of her muscles, her long legs bare against the soft material, her eyes slowly blinking open.

Saturday.

She inhaled a deep yawn, that came out as a sigh of relief.

No plans. No itineraries. no obligations.

She reached for her phone on the night stand and tapped the screen.

7:43am.

She ignored the endless scroll of notifications and instead turned her phone face down back onto the wooden table.

Life had seemingly been nonstop lately. Work, meetings, conferences. But today there was nothing— the first day in what felt like months that they had agreed to just ignore everything else.

She felt the faint brush of warmth against her back and she turned to look over her shoulder.

Vi’s still sleeping form was sprawled behind her, little puffs of breath escaping through her slightly parted lips, wild pink hair fanning the pillow.

The usual crease of tension between her brows wasn’t there, and in the soft glow of the morning light, she looked so… soft.

Caitlyn’s eyes followed the soft curve of her cheeks, down the gentle slope of her neck to her collar bones that disappeared beneath the thin material of her tank top.

Caitlyn rolled to face her, her movements careful. Though she knew it would take more than a gentle shift on the mattress to disturb her.

There were deep sleepers— and then there was Vi.

Vi slept like the dead.

Her eyelids fluttered as she dreamed, long eyelashes brushing her cheeks, and Caitlyn reached up and ghosted her fingertips along her jaw. To no surprise, her skin was just as soft as it looked. Caitlyn pushed a few strands of pink off her forehead, letting her touch trail down the long tendons of her neck, feeling the heat radiating from just under the skin.

She would never be able to put into words the pull that this woman had on her. Even now, in her blissfully unaware state, Caitlyn had to fight the urge to pepper kisses across the smattering of freckles that dotted her cheeks. She knew, from countless mornings of having done just that, that Vi would simply stir, her heavily lidded eyes fluttering open lazily for a moment before locking on hers and then wrapping a strong arm around Caitlyns waist and pulling her into her awaiting warmth.

And god, how she wanted that— but not yet.

She let her fingers trace across the broad plane of her chest and shoulders, the tension and strength that normally resided there was soft and dormant in the way that only comes from the peace of sleep.

As she lie there beside her, her hands gently mapping out every curve, every muscle and vein and tendon, she felt an all too familiar ache flair in her chest. She’d felt it so many times before as she lay awake and watched Vi sleep. Her mind had worked it over endlessly until she’d finally come to realize that it was the deep, dull ache of reverence. Wanting to pull her own heart out of her chest and lay it bare for the woman in front of her. Wanting to lay herself open in hopes that the receiver would pick her apart and take the things from her that she most desperately needed, just to ensure her happiness.

Take her eyes, in hopes that she could see herself through them.

Take her heart, because it had always belonged to her anyway.

Caitlyn dipped her head and pressed a soft kiss into the skin of Vi’s shoulder. She felt her fingers twitch under the sheets, and she traced her fingers down the inside of Vi’s forearm, down to her wrist. She could feel the soft blue veins that webbed and pulsed with each beat of her heart. She carefully entwined their fingers. Vi’s long, calloused ones sliding effortlessly and lax between hers. She slowly brought their hands up and pressed her lips to Vi’s knuckles. She could feel the textured skin of her scars as she smoothed her lips over them. Willed them to fade and to erase themselves from existence.

She would give her own hands if it meant Vi would never have to use hers in defense ever again.

She felt sleepy fingers twitch and flex against hers again.

Eyelashes fluttered as a quiet mumble melted into a sigh, the grip of sleep keeping its hold. Caitlyn felt the corner of her lips tug into a soft smile, her lips still pressed against battered skin.

She’d watched these hands beat and pummel and bruise and bleed. But they were also the most gentle hands she’d ever known. Holding and touching her with a care she’d never thought possible. Like she was merely pieces of a whole held together with the threat of crumbling at the slightest fumble. The glide of them over her skin sending static to every minuscule nerve ending that threaded through her extremities. The pins and needles that engulfed her as if her soul itself had been numb and starved of circulation until Vi had touched her.

The tender feathering of fingertips against her cheeks.

Long slender fingers gripping her hips, holding their bodies so close together they threatened to meld into a cingular existence.

Threading into her hair and pulling her head back to bare her throat to hungry lips and teeth and tongue.

Caitlyn felt the shudder run up her spine as heat bloomed in her chest at the thought.

Her eyes instinctively fell on Vi’s lips. The scar that cut through her top lip contrasted by the morning glow that crept through the window— seeping into the darkness that still inhabited the corners of the room.

She ached to feel them against hers, that full bottom lip that was now pursed in something close to a pout, eyebrows pinched together as her body was tugged between slumber and consciousness— sleep still the stronger of the two.

Lips that could seemingly produce venom and honey both— depending on the intended target.

Caitlyn always found herself in the crosshairs of the latter. Whispered words against the shell of her ear before teeth teased at her ear lobe. Feeling hands that were not her own snaking and exploring and gripping and teasing.

Another shudder.

She unlaced their fingers, carefully placing Vi’s hands back under the edge of the covers, into the warmth and safety of their cocoon.

She caught a glimpse of bare skin, a small hip bone exposed where Vi’s tank-top had ridden up in the night, the arch of it dipping down and disappearing beneath the elastic waistband of her underwear.

The skin behind Caitlyn’s ears tingled. Her jaw set on edge as the thought occurred to her that she knew what those hip bones felt like under the slow, teasing scrape of her teeth. Followed by the healing brush of her lips.

Like they craved that feeling now in its absence. The feeling of her teeth dragging over velvet wrapped bone, fidgeting fingers sliding into her hair, shaky breaths sucked sharply through clinched teeth.

Looking up through her lashes and locking onto and into those half lidded blue eyes. So light they shone a stormy silver grey, pupils blown wide with want. Hunger.

The same hunger that began to toy at the edges of Caitlyn’s thoughts now.

She wasn’t sure when she’d started tracing her fingers along the exposed skin, the action apparently subconscious. The pads of her fingertips trailing over the smooth plane of skin between the swell of hips on either side— dipping just below the elastic band, but only for a second. For a breath.

Caitlyn felt the heat in her chest spread and settle lower as the muscles under her fingers twitched involuntarily. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, working it as her fingers made another pass.

Vi shifted slightly beside her. Just a fraction and Caitlyn fought against the thought of waking her up with her lips taking the place of where her fingers explored now.

Her fingers slowly traced back along their original path, dipping once again just under the elastic.

Again, the faint flutter of muscles just under the skin.

A low, throaty sound rumbled up from Vi’s chest as she shifted beside her, her hips and back arching up as she eased into a stretch beneath the blankets, long and lean limbs tensing through the burn of that first good stretch after sleep.

Her eyes took her in, reveling in the way her skin shifted and moved of its own accord. The deep lines and contours of her muscles rippling over her frame.

Caitlyn suddenly found her mouth dry. She swallowed.

When Vi’s arm settled again, it did so on the other side of Caitlyn, her hand finding its place in the dip of her lower back.

She felt sleepy fingers work her own tank top up, searching for the bare skin beneath it.

She looked up to the silver-blue irises that peeked out from under heavy eyelids, blinking away the intrusive light of the early morning. To the slow, easy smile that graced her scarred lips when they focused on her.

Another rumble.

“Mmm… mornin’ cupcake.” Her voice was low and gravelly, half whisper, as if her voice was still trapped in her throat.

Caitlyn smiled down at her, her fingers making another pass across the soft skin of her hips. The matching caress across the skin her lower back.

She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Vi’s lips— still warm and pliant and lazy from sleep.

A satisfied hum vibrated up from Vi’s chest and that familiar static thrummed to life, warm sparks skittering down the back of Caitlyn’s neck.

She felt Vi’s other hand come up from where it had rested warmly under the blankets, her palm cupping Caitlyn’s cheek before drifting back into the hair at the nape of her neck.

The kiss was slow and soft, their lips melting together lazily, Vi’s arm still heavy as Caitlyn felt her fingers trail out of her hair and down the side of her neck.

Caitlyn pulled away a fraction, her lips brushing Vi’s as she spoke.

“I’m sorry, I was trying to let you sleep.” She whispered into the space between them. And Vi answered with another soft smile and a small shake of her head, pulling Caitlyn back for another quick kiss.

“What time is it?” She asked, casting a quick glance towards the window, then back to where her on phone rested on her side table. She had the quick thought of grabbing it, but then decided she didn’t care enough to remove herself from Caitlyn’s warmth.

“Close to eight by now. Still early.” Caitlyn said softly, her fingers resuming in their path from one of Vi’s hips to the other. She allowed them to dip a bit lower on the second pass, her pinky slipping down under Vi’s waistband once again, before continuing slowly onto where her hip disappeared beneath the same material.

She fought with the attempt to keep it innocent— she really did. But then she watched as Vi’s head lulled to the side, and those stormy grey eyes locked onto hers. A twitch of one of Vi’s eyebrows, so small that it could’ve probably been played off as her her imagination, and Caitlyn found her eyes dropping back down to Vi’s lips.

She felt the twitch of Vi’s fingers on her back, as one side of her mouth toyed up in a half smirk.

“Don’t do that…” Caitlyn said, her fingers trailing across and dipping again, ever so slightly lower, until she curved them around Vi’s hip and squeezed. It was soft pressure, meant as a warning, though it came across as just as much of a plea.

“Do what?” Vi’s eyes were a shade darker now, though both of her eyebrows were raised in mock innocence.

“Look at me with those eyes.” Caitlyn said, voice dropping just a fraction lower as her fingers made another pass.

Vi’s lips quirked up again, and Caitlyn watched as her eyes dropped to Caitlyn’s mouth.

“Well, they’re the only ones I got.” And she smiled just enough that Caitlyn could see the small glint of white teeth peeking out from under that damn scar.

She had been so preoccupied with the skin beneath her fingers— feeling the muscles contract there as Vi angled upwards— that she didn’t notice the hand sliding further up her back.

She didn’t notice it until it tangled into her hair and their lips crashed together.

Caitlyn felt the air rush out of her lungs as their lips parted and crashed again, the push and pull of their mouths making her head spin.

Vi was on her side now, her free arm snaking around and under Caitlyn’s shirt, needy fingers splaying and pulling their bodies flush against each other.

Caitlyn responded by running her tongue along Vi’s bottom lip, her hand coming up to to drape over her shoulder, threading her fingers through her hair, nails dragging along her scalp.

She felt the shudder that Vi tried her best to suppress and it only fanned the fire that now burned rampantly in her gut.

When Vi’s tongue came out to meet hers, she couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her throat, and she felt the hand that had held steady against her back slide down, over the swell of her ass, to the back of her thigh.

Vi pulled, drawing Caitlyn’s leg up to hitch over her hip, as their tongues swirled and tasted and teased.

A mischievous smile played on Caitlyn’s lips as she pulled away, relishing in how Vi’s lips blindly followed hers before falling into a pout, her eyes flashing open, searching her face for an explanation.

The look of confusion that played across her face only had a chance to exist for a quick moment before Caitlyn used her leg’s placement to her advantage— pushing against Vi’s shoulder, simultaneously rolling her onto her back and at the same time, pulling herself up and over her to straddle her hips.

When Caitlyn settled her weight against her, the pouting gaze in Vi’s eyes was replaced with something else entirely.

Her breath caught in her throat the moment the realization crossed Vi’s face that she could feel the burning heat between Caitlyn’s thighs pressed right above her own, separated only by two thin layers of cotton.

Strong fingers gripped her thighs, and she felt Vi’s hips roll up ever so slightly against her.

She leaned forward slowly, bracing herself with a hand on either side of Vi’s head, before ghosting her lips across hers teasingly. Vi lifted her head to try meet them fully, but Caitlyn pulled back, watching Vi’s lips chase hers again. Her stomach fluttered as the fingers on her thighs tightened, and she watched the muscles in Vi’s jaw flex.

She grinned slyly down at her and could see the hungry eyes searching her face. They burned into hers before flicking down to her lips again.

When Caitlyn leaned in again, she avoided Vi’s mouth completely, placing a soft kiss to the side of her jaw, and leaving a trail of them down the side of her face.

It was only when she teased the side of her neck with her teeth, that she felt the shaky breath she sucked in through her teeth. Vi’s grip faltering slightly before increasing in pressure and pulling Caitlyn’s heat against her again. Her hips rolled up against her, yearning for friction. For anything.

Caitlyn smiled, rolling down against her in return as she dragged her lips back along Vi’s jaw, ghosting them over her mouth once more as she sat up straight.

The rise and fall of Vi’s chest with each shaky breath didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the flush of her cheeks, and Caitlyn fought to suppress the satisfied smirk at knowing that the growing heat— the fire that threatened to burn her alive from the inside out— was not one sided.

She grabbed the loose hem of her tank top and pulled it slowly up, exposing her hips and waist first, then the long lean expanse of her toned torso, and finally her breast. Vi’s eyes had followed her hands, watching them shed the shirt and toss it away before letting them take in the sight above her.

Her gaze drank her in, and Caitlyn could damn near feel everywhere that Vi’s eyes touched. Her grip had loosened on her thighs, having been completely disarmed and she slowly rose off the pillow to sit upright beneath her. The fingers of her left hand now trailed lightly up Caitlyn’s side, following the path her eyes took, her thumbs stroking the sides of her stomach as they moved slowly, like they were mapping out every curve, every dip.

She pressed her lips to Caitlyn’s sternum, kissing a trail across as Caitlyn’s hands slid into her hair, tugging slightly as Vi teased one of her nipples between her lips, teasing her with the tip of her tongue. It was Caitlyn’s turn to suck in a sharp breath, her hips grinding down against Vi. She arched into her, craving more contact.

“You’re so fucking beautiful…” She felt Vi whisper between kisses, her lips back against her sternum, moving up to her collarbones.

Caitlyn used the hand that was wrapped in her hair to pull and tilt her head back, dragging her mouth back to hers, her tongue dipping immediately into her mouth as she rocked her hips again. Vi’s tongue met hers hungrily and the hot slick feeling of it against hers made her feel like she was about to come apart right then and there.

The dull ache between her legs had grown into a throbbing heat, and Caitlyn’s thighs bracketing hers left her spread open and exposed. So when she felt Vi’s fingers brush against her through her underwear, she moaned into her mouth.

Vi’s fingers stroked against her slowly, teasingly, no doubt being able to feel how wet she was, even through the thin material. It was Caitlyn’s turn to grit her teeth.

But when Vi slipped one finger around the barrier, and dragged it through Caitlyn’s wet folds, their moans mingled in the space between their lips, breaths panting against the others.

Vi dipped teasingly into her entrance, then slid up to circle her clit with the pad of her finger. Once. Twice. Her finger dipped again, slipping just barely into Caitlyn’s slick before circling her clit again and again.

“—fffuck.” Caitlyn breathed into the side of her neck, rolling her hips in time with Vi’s fingers. She felt her insides contract around nothing, and just as if Vi herself could feel it too, she slid that same finger up into Caitlyn, this time to the knuckle. Caitlyn’s hips bucked against her palm, and she shuddered as Vi worked her finger in and out of her. Then she added another and curled them, hitting the spot that made Caitlyn see stars behind her closed eyelids.

She could feel her climax building rapidly, as Vi continued to work her with her fingers and she fought against it.

She wasn’t letting herself get there, not yet.

Her nails dug into the muscles that rippled down Vi’s back with every movement of her arm, trying to find purchase.

She craved to feel her, to hear her come apart. To make her feel the things that she was making her feel.

She slid her hand up under Vi’s jaw, her fingers finding themselves on either side of her throat, as she lifted her lips to hers once again.

Vi’s pulse pounded beneath her thumb, as she devoured her mouth, her other hand sliding down between them. She felt Vi’s gasp in her mouth as her fingers dipped under the elastic of her underwear, her fingers finding how utterly wrecked she was.

This time it was Caitlyn that smiled against Vi’s lips, her fingers sliding down into her wetness and pressing into her with two slender fingers.

Caitlyn pulled away and looked down at the woman below her— her kiss-swollen lips slightly parted, flushed chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut, brow creased as she felt Caitlyn slide her fingers out and begin to circle her clit in slow circles.

She was fucking beautiful.

Her heart lept into her throat as Vi’s eyes opened and locked with hers, and the sight alone was almost enough to push Caitlyn over the edge.

She felt the telling tremble in Vi’s free hand as it came up to cup her face, and when their lips met again, the kiss was deep and slow. Their tongues dipping into each other’s mouths, sliding against the others in a way that heightened their senses, setting every nerve alight.

They were a tangle of trembling limbs and exploring tongues and shared moans as they both crept closer to the point of no return.

Vi’s fingers curled into Caitlyn again, and Caitlyn responded in kind. She felt Vi flutter around her fingers, pulling her deeper and she finally stopped fighting her own climax, knowing that Vi would be falling apart with her.

Vi moaned into her mouth as her hips jerked up against her, and curled her fingers into Caitlyn two more times before Caitlyn was falling apart above her. Joining her as the waves of their orgasms washed over them, leaving them trembling and panting, still tangled in each other.

Vi collapsed back against the pillows, her hair clinging to the tiny beads of sweat across her forehead. Caitlyn followed her, pressing her lips to her shoulder and tasting the salt on her lips, before pressing a soft kiss on Vi’s bottom lip.

She felt the satisfied hum rumble up from Vi’s throat as she pushed Caitlyn’s hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering and trailing down her jaw before placing another soft kiss to her lips.

As Caitlyn rolled to lay against her side, Vi’s strong arm coming around trace lazy circles on her now bare back, she made a mental note to clear their schedules more often.

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Thanks for reading ❤️

#ineedagf

By cutegirlsart on X

[russo-woso]

For the “A new adventure universe” could you do one where some of the girls for the team babysit for the night to allow r and lessi a night together. Maybe the girls (Leah , Lia , Steph and Beth maybe) just show up and force them to go out even if it’s just to the cinema. Saying that they need time for them :)

Free babysitters || Alessia Russo x reader

Masterlist

Summary You and Alessia have a very needed break whilst some of the girls look after Florence

-> Part of the A New Adventure Universe

“We’ll look after her.” Beth had offered after you commented on how long it had been since you and Alessia went on a date.

With the pregnancy and then the newborn stage, you and Alessia hadn’t had any time by yourselves and it was at that point where you craved some alone time with Alessia - even if it was just going for dinner and then to the cinema afterwards like you were tonight.

Florence was now seven months and you were confident enough to leave her with some trusted people - them people being some teammates.

Kyra had offered in the past - saying her and Vic could look after her but you and Alessia both burst out laughing, immediately saying no.

But when Beth, Steph, Lia and Leah had offered, you had immediately accepted their offer.

So here you were, getting ready for your date as you waited for the four of them to arrive.

You hadn’t gone fully out, but had still made an effort - putting on a nice outfit before putting some makeup on.

You walked down the stairs, hearing Wren giggling as she played with Alessia on the floor.

The sight made your heart melt, watching your two girls giggling with each other.

“Hiya love. You look gorgeous.” Alessia said, noticing you as you watched them.

She got up off the floor, walking over to you and resting her hands on your hips, kissing you gently.

“So do you, lessi.”

You were about to lean in for another kiss when the doorbell went off.

You both groaned, Alessia walking to the door as you went and picked wren up.

“Hi bubba. Me and mummy are going to go out but auntie Beth, auntie Lia, auntie Steph and auntie le are going to look after you.” You told her, wren babbling away as she sat in your lap.

A smile took over her face as she saw the four of them.

You greeted them all with a hug, wrens legs kicking happily as you rested her on your hip.

“Someone’s happy, huh? Is our little gooner happy?” Leah cooed, taking wren from you.

“Right, she’s just had a feed so she probably won’t have another bottle until she goes to bed. She’s normally in bed for around half seven-ish. It’s fine if it’s a bit later. Her clothes are out ready in her nursery. If you need anything, call me or less.” You told them as they all listened carefully.

“We’ve left some money out for you to get yourselves something to eat. Wren’s Changing station is in her nursery too if you need to change her. We shouldn’t be too long, we’ll be back before nine.” Alessia continued, resting a hand on your back.

“Got it.” Leah nodded, still holding a smiling wren.

“Someone’s happy we’re leaving.” You said, kissing wrens head, Alessia doing the same thing afterwards.

“You two start going, we’ve got her.” Lia told you

“If we need anything, we’ll call you.” Steph added

“We’re gonna have the best time, aren’t we wren?” Beth asked, tickling wren who giggled.

“Okay, we’re going. Call if you need anything.”

“We will. Now stop worrying. We’ve got her.” Leah told you and you nodded, trusting the four of them.

You and Alessia left, jumping in the car as you drive into town.

“She should be fine, right?” You asked Alessia who nodded.

“Love, she’s fine. We trust them.”

“Yeah.” You said, taking a deep breath. “She’ll be fine.”

You and Alessia had finished eating, the two of you both having a pasta dish.

Alessia paid and you both headed out of the restaurant, the cinema only being across the road.

Alessia held your hand tightly in hers as you crossed the road.

You got your popcorn and drinks, finding the screen your film was playing on.

“This has been nice.” Alessia whispered, as you rested your head on Alessia’s shoulder - the two of you being the only ones in the room.

“I’ve missed wren but I’ve also missed our time.” You said and alessia agreed

“You know, we could always make it a bit more nicer.” Alessia said with a wink. “We could go back to the car. We can always come back and watch the film.” Alessia suggested, a smirk on her face.

You smiled, knowing what she was thinking.

“Let’s get out of here.”

You both got out of the car, your outfits and hair all messy as you approached the door.

You knocked gently, aware that wren would be asleep.

Leah came to the door, smirking as she looked you both up and down.

“Well well well… I wonder what you two did. Did you even go for dinner in the end?”

“Shush.” You said, rolling your eyes as you walked in.

“Have a nice time, you two? Actually, no, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.” Beth said

“We had a really nice time.” Alessia said with a small smirk on her face.

“How was wren? Did she go down easily?”

“She was an angel. She went to sleep at half seven.” Steph told you

“Good. Thank you so much for looking after her, I think we really needed a break.”

“I think we know.” Beth added, inspecting your neck.

“Beth, why are you looking at my neck?”

“Just looking at the evidence that shows you had a good time.”

“Why? What’s on my neck?” You asked, having a slight clue as you saw Alessia blush and look away.

You walked into the downstairs bathroom looking in the mirror to see five buckets littering your neck.

“Alessia!”

“That’s our cue to leave.”

[corromon]

Charlie, a short story.

I wanted to try something new with this. So if you could give it a read and lemme know what you think it'd be appreciated <3 text is under the read more.

It was raining again today, not that it mattered to you much.

You spent another fruitless day at your desk again. Spending 11 hours to do what you could’ve done in 2. You’ve suspected for a while that you might have something wrong with you, people don’t normally struggle this much to concentrate, normal people don’t feel that strange lump in your neck that you’ve been feeling as of late. Maybe you’ve not long for this world you begin to muse.

That’s stupid. 

You’ve had thoughts like these for years now, on and off and on and off. Like the tide of a beach, it comes and goes. The only constant in your life, it seems at least at the moment. Is your living situation. You’ve had this job working from home for what feels like your whole life. It hasn’t been but you have a hard time connecting with the you that existed before this.  At times it feels like those memories belong to someone else. Anyway, it’s clear you need to make some kind of change in your life because you’re not getting as much done as you used to. 

This is a thought you find yourself having, a lot.

Glancing at the time you see it’s time to feed Charlie. Charlie is your pet cat. Was, your pet cat. The relationship between you two got uncomfortably nuanced when he started talking. And it got difficult to not think about when he started walking around like a person, wearing clothes and playing with your unorganised knicknacks. All things considered though you adjusted to the situation fairly quickly you muse, as you prepare dinner for the both of you. 

“Dinners ready.” you call. Nothing. He’s probably distracted again.

Plating up the dinner you walk over to the living room. Through the glass door you see Charlie sitting on the sofa wearing one of your much too large hoodies. There’s a bunch of odd little crafts projects strewn about the living room. The creak of the door causes his ears to perk up “Oh! Sorry I didn’t hear you dad. Did you call?”. You told him not to call you that,whatever, don't linger on it “It’s alright, just wanted to let you know dinners are ready”. Charlie removes the earbuds he had dangling off his ears and walks over to you smirking, you think he’s smirking his face can be a hard read sometimes.

You both sit at the dinner table. Unseasoned fish n veggies. Again. You were never much of a chef. “Sooo, we gonna talk today?” he teases. 

“About what?” you ask. 

“Me? Like, this whole. situation” he gestures at himself. 

“Oh, I mean. I could get you some proper clothes soon.” you reply between bites, you’re pretty hungry. 

He sighs “You know what I mean, I feel like you’ve been ignoring me lately”. He wasn’t wrong, you had been, for a few months. “Like, do I make you uncomfortable or something?”. 

You pause on that for a bit, choosing the right words not to offend him. 

“No you don’t make me uncomfortable. I’ve just been busy lately. Feels like I barely have enough time even for myself” you’re half lying, it does feel like you rarely ever have enough time. But, you recognise that’s your own fault.

 Charlie looks down picking at his food with his paw. He sighs.

 “It’d be nice if you found some time for me too”. 

That stung.

“I’m sorry, I’ll try this weekend. Ok?” it’s all you could come up with. Charlie sighs.

 “Ok, you going to ‘work’ now then?” he’s not hiding his disappointment.

 “Yeah, got some last minute stuff I need to finish up, sorry. You can leave your dishes, I’ll clean em later.” You get up, walking towards the door.

“Can I have a hug at least?” Charlie asks.

 You turn to face him, he looks as tiny as the day you found him. You walk over and hold him in a hug. “I promise I’ll spend more time with you. Alright? We’ll talk more tomorrow morning” you reassure him. You feel him squeeze you a little and he nods.

Before you know it you’re back at your desk. You see your group chat is already full of messages… 

You go to bed late, again.

Waking up your head feels hazy, you check your watch. 5 hours and 47 minutes of sleep. Should be plenty, you think. You brush your teeth, strategically avoiding eye contact with yourself in the mirror, you don’t really like what you see. After getting dressed and leaving Charlie’s food out you get straight to work. 

You think you smell something for a bit before focusing on your computer again…

 …Where you get little work done again, and a headache for your trouble. As you sit at your desk kneading your head you hear a knock at the door startling you.

It’s Charlie. Wearing your apron. He’s a bit of a mess.

 “I made ya dinner, since it was getting late”. He gestures to the kitchen “If you’re feeling hungry”. 

“Oh, thanks. I guess I forgot” you respond, you weren’t hungry. You sit down in the kitchen and start scoffing it down. 

“Hey hey wait I wanna eat along with you” Charlie exclaims grabbing his plate. As he walks over, his paw snags on the apron. The plate smashes. 

You just stare for a moment as you begin to get up, another problem. Charlie grabs your wrist. “I’m sorry. I-I” he stammers. You pull your hand away, you don’t want to say something you’ll regret. “I’ll clean it later” you say walking back to your room. 

You begin to feel yourself getting sucked back into your work when you hear a knock at the door.

 “You can come in,” you say drily.

 Charlie opens the door and walks in, you hear him. “I’m sorry about earlier. And I cleaned the kitchen up so you don’t need to worry about it” there’s clear distress in his voice, you let it just roll over you. “Whatever, it's fine. I just need to work ok?”  you rebuke.

 There’s a silence in the air for a moment. You feel like he left the door open, he knows you don’t like him leaving the door open. You turn to look. He’s still standing there, the only sound in the room is the low hum of your computer. He breaks the silence.

“Do you, like me still?”

 You sigh “What kind of question.-” before you finish your sentence, you look into his eyes, you see tears beginning to well. “-hey, hey buddy ok, ok come here” you walk over to him arms open. He tentatively comes in for a hug and you pull him in tight, petting him. His head is hot in your hand, you can tell he’s crying “I’m, sorry. I just wanted to save you time cooking. So we could talk more over dinner” his voice is strained.

“It’s, fine I appreciate it” you respond, a lump forming in your throat breaks your cool tone. 

“I didnt even thank you for the dinner. I’m sorry Charlie. It was really sweet of you. Really.”  you reassure him.

You hug him tighter. You hear the pings from your chat in your headphones. You turn it off. “I think we need to have a long talk, how does that sound to you?”. You offer. “That sounds great, “ he says, wiping his face. 

You spend an indeterminate time in the living room talking about your predicament with him. How you felt about your pet becoming a person, how you were less than thrilled when it happened.

 “It’s weird, I used to think of you more like a silent roommate before. Like out of everything in this situation, hearing you call me Dad was the hardest.”  you confess.

Charlie shoots a concerned look “Oh! I mean if you prefer I can call you something else.” 

“Eh, just call me by my name,” you say.

 “K , I also wanted to ask something”. He continues “I know things are different now but if it’s not a lot to ask. Is it ok if I stay with you while you work again?” 

You recall holding him on your lap almost constantly back when you first brought him. home. It was a rainy day you recall. He was swaddled on your lap. A palm sized little thing. 

“I don’t need to sit on your lap I get it might be a bit uncomfortable now.” he starts, you cut him off

 “ You don’t need to assume that you make me any less comfortable. Ok?” you reassure him “If I'm uncomfortable with anyone it’s with myself, that's my problem. Not yours.”

 He gives you a warm smile and leans into you. “Alright” you both sit together a while. It’s nice.

He turns to you, giving you a boop on the nose “You should go to bed early though” he teases. “I suppose you’re right” you reply, your work isn’t going anywhere. Right?

You both go to sleep on time that night.

[mrs-bluemarine]

Hey, so remember that cyber bullying is lame as fuck and we don't like people who do that? *edited with more information

*Second edit to this post. Rot uses she/it pronouns. I know this now, but during making this post I was unaware, so below the cut I referred to her with they/them, before correcting myself in my first edit. I do apologize for misgendering her, as that was not my intention. I hope you can understand, thank you for reading

Content warning for talk of bullying, body shaming, threats of harm, joking about sexual trauma, and like, manipulation?

So the tl;dr is there's a person who I've been recently warned about that's rejoined the selfship community. They've hurt two people I know personally and care deeply for. I'm making this post because they don't wish for the attention to be on them, which I completely understand

I don't have any personal connection to this person, however I value the words of these two people (who I will call Mutual-A and Mutual-B) and I only wish for their safety and comfort. I do not want any harm or rude things sent to this blog, simply block and move on

Reblogs would be appreciated, and I ask for people to at least skim over what I talk about under the read more. I don't feel comfortable knowing that my other mutuals interact with a person who's harmed people that I care for

^ their new user name, since I don't want to type here and accidentally find this places where it shouldn't be. I do believe they had a different selfship blog here, that has since disappeared, I think they deleted it, since I had the original blocked and this one wasn't.

Now like mentioned previously, I have no ties to this person and the only "interaction" I've had with them was seeing the incredibly rude and disgusting things they've said about Mutual-A. As a nonsharer myself and someone who fights with my mental issues, I don't think shaming someone's body and outright wishing physical violence on people who share your comfort characters is a sane or normal thing to do. If these screenshots look familiar it's because they've been taken from a post about this person in the past, when this was originally happening

Again, talk of body shaming and wishes of harm (which no matter how silly is still a threat)

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As for this second person, Mutual-B, what they've been through with them was some time ago. While Mutual-B wasn't a victim of harassment to as big of scale as Mutual-A, I still think their feelings on the matter are important to highlight. I don't have screenshots of these ordeals in particular, only word of mouth, but I trust this person deeply, and never before have they tried to bad mouth anyone without reason. On multiple occasions with this person Mutual-B has told me they threatened to call out B as a p.ro.shipper, something THEY ARE NOT, simply for reblogging or interacting with posts with tags they didn't already have filtered out. I've know B for a while now and I can tell you that it's simply not true

Warning for jokes of sexual trauma/SA and manipulation

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That's all. Once again reminding to NOT attack this person, just block and move on. For a community built on self love and comfort I don't find any of this shit to be acceptable to have in it

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EDIT, because apparently we're not done here.

Since making this post, this person (will be referring to them/her as Rot) has since made a post addressing the situation. I'm also adding on more screenshots found by myself and others (apologize for the quality of some, as they're taken from my computer due to the picture limit) Going to go ahead and add another content warning for talk of SA/a character who has committed it, will add more warnings if needed

First thing Rot talks about in her post is how her interaction with Moot-A was a year and a half ago, which isn't true, right now it's been barely over a year and two months ago. I feel like this is a way to try to paint us badly by "Bringing up stuff from way back in the past", I understand a few months difference isn't much, this is a tiny nitpick I'm sure but it still didn't settle right with me. I can also understand if this was just plain misremembering.

Second point, as for the warning above, Rot makes it clear that she ships herself with a canonical rapist, J.immy from the game Mouthwashing. The fact he assaulted his coworker is incredibly important to the story of the game, there is no denying it or any chance that this could be some gross misinterpretation. Not that Rot tries to deny this. She understands who Jimmy is. She just choices to ignore it.

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And I find that really fucking disturbing. Considering how she assures people she doesn't condone his actions and how she says she takes SA seriously, then why the fuck would you even ship with him in the first place? Would also like to point out that if you do choose to ignore the worst flaw of his character... there's still so much more to him that's simply bad. But that's irrelevant/personal opinion. J.immy is a well written character and villain, I can agree, however he is a man who should not be touched with a ten foot pole

Considering a lot of her harassment towards A was about how bad A was for "mischaracterizing" a shared F/o and how A diverged from canon, and how much she disliked A for it, I find it very hypocritical for her to ignore J.immy's biggest flaw. The fact she doesn't mention his actions in game isn't something I didn't notice either, whether that's intentional or not I'm not sure, but it still feels gross

She and others also mention the character K.enjaku. However, I have not watched/read J.J.K. so I have no comment on that.

My final note on this is simply. I don't care if you ship with villains, I myself have multiple characters that are villains or bad people that I hold dearly. (this is a reason why i'm hesitant to talk about this in particular) however. There's just some things and characters you shouldn't fucking touch.

The last thing I will add to this edit is her stance on pro.shipp.ing. She's reprimanded past friends for reblogging posts from pro.shippers, she's threatened to call them out as pro.ship for it. She also pointblank puts on her blog that she doesn't want that part of the community to interact with her. Except she still continues to reblog posts with the pro tags. People make mistakes, but the fact she's scolded and threatened people for doing the same while these posts get to stay on her blog upsets me

**I've also been given screenshots of dark content she's reblogged. Now I do agree with the statement that dabbling in darker themes with ships is fine (there's some big scary ""n*ance"" in that comment). I won't shame someone for enjoying fucking idk kidnapping or unhealthy relationship dynamics. Again, I don't think I'm the right person to play holier than thou on a high horse, but I feel it's worth mentioning since someone went as far as to send me those screenshots.

Warning for allusions to SA in the 3rd/nonfiltered post

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^^ last screenshot is added simply because nonsharervents has a "bad rep" because OP is neutral to/allows pro.shippers to interact

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[iibgdrgn]

not a rookie anymore | kwon ji-yong

pairing: kwon ji-yong x male reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings: age gap, reader is 26

a/n: hellooo first time posting here! i'm really excited to share my works, hope you enjoy them. likes and comments are rlly appreciated. btw english isn't my first language so i'm sorry if there's any mistake!

He saw you for the first time when you were just a rookie at the agency. A skinny, quiet boy who barely spoke unless spoken to. You didn't stand out much back then, not in the way that you made people turn heads in the hallway now. You were polite, focused, and tried your best not to be a bother. He never really talked to you while you were there. That wasn't surprising. G-Dragon wasn't known for idle chatter, especially not with rookies. Everyone understood that his time was sacred, absorbed by his music. And you? You were just one of many hopefuls trying to build a name in the same building that already echoed with his. When he walked past, you and your group would line up like soldiers, bowing in sync with the well-practiced chorus. "Good morning, Mr. Kwon."you'd all say in unison. In response, he would just give a slight bow. That small gesture was enough to send your group into chaos once he was out of sight.

G-Dragon was already a star at YG at the time. He was around 29 years old, and you guys were about 18 or 19, so yeah, it was pretty normal to feel overwhelmed just by his presence.

Time moved forward, as it always does. Years passed, and your group actually found success in the industry. By 2023, G-Dragon had left the agency, leaving your group as YG's main male artist. It was strange, at first, being the ones younger trainees bowed to, watching your posters replace the ones you used to stare at. Your fifth and sixth albums did well. The fanbase grew louder, the stages got bigger. You signed a five-year contract a few months ago, keeping the group active at least until 2030. You were happy with how things were turning out. This was everything you used to dream about back when you were just a trainee. Sometimes, it felt like a dream, like one day you'd just wake up as a teenager again, dreaming of becoming the man you were now. But fortunately, that never happened. The only thing you ever woke up to was your alarm telling you it was time to head to the studio.

You weren't much of a fan of naps, sleep was never something you craved in the middle of the day. But today had been long, the gym had drained more energy than usual, and your body gave in. Just an hour, you told yourself. Just enough to recharge.

The alarm buzzed again at 8:00 p.m, dragging you reluctantly out of sleep. You lay there for a minute, still tangled in the warmth of your blanket, wishing you could ignore it. But the album was almost done, and the timeline was tight. With some luck, and a few more long nights, it'd be ready before 2024 ended.

You pulled on a hoodie and a beanie that hid your still-messy hair. The drive to YG didn't take long. It never did. That was the point. You'd picked your apartment for this exact reason, because inspiration didn't care what time it was. When a melody hit at 3 a.m., you wanted to be five minutes from a mic, not twenty. You didn't like waiting.

A few minutes later, you arrived and headed straight to the studio. Security knew you by now, so you passed through without much pause, nodding politely before heading to the elevator. The button for the sixth floor lit up under your finger, and a soft hum filled the space as the elevator began its climb.

You leaned back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, letting your mind drift over the tasks ahead. Nothing too intense tonight. Just stitching the members' vocals together, adjusting the mix so everything sat just right. It sounded actually pretty fun.

The studio was at the very end of the corridor. As you walked through the hallway, you passed BLACKPINK's dance practice room, TREASURE's, and what used to be BIGBANG's. It didn't carry a name anymore. The plaque had been removed. Now, it was just another practice room, available to whoever booked it first. You glanced at it, only briefly, and kept walking. Your own group's room came into view, but you weren't heading there tonight. That room was for choreography, and for that, you needed to finish the song first.

Three hours slipped in a blink, music always had that effect on you. When you were deep into a track, time stopped making sense. Still, your body knew what your mind refused to admit, you needed a break before the frustration took over completely.

You left the studio and headed down to the cafeteria. At this hour, it was nearly deserted, just a couple of late staff. You grabbed a coffee and a small box of milk from the fridge for your usual combo; latte. Back at the studio, you leaned against the desk, your coffee in hand. The screen still glowed with the open track, the same section playing on loop. You ignored it for now and reached for your phone as you noticed you hadn't checked Instagram in hours.

A few messages waited in your inbox, mostly from friends, or stylists sending you stuff to approve. You answered the ones that needed it, then tapped into stories. A few updates from the guys private accounts, someone out to eat, another complaining about dance practice. Then came the reels, your favorite thing. You liked one about cute bunnies eating carrots, another one with a cover of one of your group's songs. Then came the scroll. Thirty minutes disappeared like vapor, your thumb moving almost on autopilot. You didn't even realize how long you'd been lost in your phone until the room started to feel too quiet again.

Break over.

But before getting back to work, you opened the camera. Your coffee still sat on the desk, and behind it, the track was still open on the monitor. You snapped the photo, added a black-and-white filter and posted it to your story. Then, you locked your phone and pushed it face down. Time to finish the song.

Your plan to avoid stressing, to just let things flow, fell apart. Another three hours passed, but this time they were heavier, slower. The song wasn't coming together, no matter how many layers you adjusted or how many takes you revisited. Something was missing, not in the feeling, but in the structure. You isolated the rap section, played it again and again, counted every beat, scanned the waveform until your eyes blurred.

That was it. One beat missing or misplaced, either way, it threw the whole thing off. You stared at the screen, shoulders slumped. Re-recording wasn't in your plan, but now you didn't have a choice. The track wouldn't sit right until it was fixed. But your patience had long burned out. You hit save, closed the project, and leaned back in your chair.

The clock read 1:53 a.m. Your mind was fried, and you didn't want to think about the song anymore. Not tonight. So you stood, grabbed your phone, and left the studio.

The elevator dinged softly as it started descending. One floor, two floors. You leaned against the wall, shoulders slouched, thumb grazing your phone screen almost absentmindedly. You had completely forgotten about the story you'd posted earlier. The photo, that black-and-white shot of your coffee and the unfinished track, had gathered its usual storm of likes, enough answers to scroll for minutes.

But one notification made you freeze.

@ xxxibgdrgn had replied to your story.

Your stomach twisted. At first you didn't believe that was real. It had to be a fan account, you thought. But the blue check was there, the account was verified.

He didn't even follow you, you were sure of that. He had never interacted with you. Not once. Not being able to wait anymore, you tapped the notification, not really breathing.

"good taste."

That was all it said. Two words. But they came from him, G-Dragon. The idol of idols.

You stared at the message like it might disappear if you blinked too fast. The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, but you didn't move. You typed slowly. Paused. Deleted. Typed again.

"didn't think u'd even watch it. thanks tho."

And you sent it.

Then, your fingers hovered again. That reply had been polite, safe. But your thoughts were spinning too fast to stop. Your hands were already moving before your mind could fully catch up.

"kinda stuck on the track tonight. guess that coffee wasn't magic after all haha."

You hit send before you could overthink it more. The elevator doors had opened onto the lobby, and someone was waiting outside. A woman in a blazer stood there, eyebrows raised slightly, clearly wondering why you hadn't stepped out. You blinked like waking up from a trance, cheeks warming when you realized the small smile still on your face. You gave her a quick bow, muttering an apology, and stepped aside. As you slipped your phone into your pocket, you tried to school your expression, like it was no big deal. Like he was just another senior artist. Like you weren't currently texting one of the most legendary names in the industry. You wouldn't open your phone again until you were home, safe in the privacy of your living room, where you could stare at the screen in disbelief, smile and react like a complete idiot without anyone around to see it.

The parking lot was nearly empty. Only a few cars left under the flickering lights. Yours was parked right where you left it. The drive was short, just as you expected.

Inside your apartment, you dropped your keys onto the table with a soft clatter, slipped out of your sneakers, and let your bag slump beside the door. Your body headed straight for the couch before your mind even caught up. You sank into the cushions, the room dark except for the ambient glow from a streetlight filtering through the curtains.

You unlocked your phone. One message, the answer you were expecting.

"It's okay to be stuck sometimes. Keep digging."

You smiled. The words were simple, but they hit differently coming from him. You didn't even care about the text content, not really. It was the fact that it was real, a conversation between just the two of you. You stared at the screen, thumbs hovering. Then finally typed.

"noted. any recs?"

Three minutes passed. Then four. You got up, wandered into the kitchen, opened the fridge just to grab a bottle of water you didn't really need. Every few seconds, you glanced back at your phone like it might light up from across the room.

Ten minutes. You gave up and turned the TV on. Some late-night drama flickered across the screen, but you weren't really watching. Your mind was elsewhere. You were halfway through considering turning everything off and going to bed when your phone buzzed on the table. Your hands moved faster than you meant them to.

"Listening to old music always work for me. Maybe start with jazz. Then go somewhere weirder."

You smiled, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You felt weirdly proud, the words felt like advice passed through some secret doorway, these were his methods, his go-to comforts, and for me reason, the idea made your chest feel a little lighter.

"thank you. i will :)"

You picked up your headphones and scrolled through your spotify library. You found a playlist, Coltrane, Davis, Baker. The soft brass tones filled your ears as you leaned back into the couch again, one hand resting on your stomach, the other still loosely holding the phone. That's when the questions came.

Why was Ji-yong texting you?

No. Mr. Kwon. G-Dragon. You corrected yourself, out of instinct.

Years ago, it would've made sense. Same agency, same building. But now? He wasn't part of YG anymore. He didn't owe you a reply, or even attention. You weren't even sure he'd ever looked directly at you when he still roamed the company halls. Back then, he hardly spoke to anyone, an untouchable figure orbiting on a higher level, unreachable even to other idols.

Did he remember you from those years? Was this some moment of nostalgia? Or was he just bored, scrolling through stories and replying on impulse?

You didn't have the answer.

But at some point, it stopped mattering.

Your thoughts blurred, softened by the music and the weight of the day. Somewhere between the second and third track, your breathing slowed. Your phone slipped from your hand, your headphones loosened and slid down to your shoulder.

The saxophone played on, a gentle lullaby for a mind still trying to understand what had just happened.

[...]

You didn't even know the reason for the party. One moment you were sprawled out on your bed, mind half-asleep, and the next, you were in the backseat of a car. Plus, you weren't alone, two of your group members tagged along, one of them being the one who actually got the invitation in the first place.

You arrived fashionably late, 1:30 a.m., to be exact, and the second you stepped inside, you understood what kind of party it was. A post-release celebration for a JYP group. You didn't recognize them at first, not by name, but the glossy poster set up by the entrance helped. You made sure to memorize a few of the members' faces, just in case you ran into them and had to offer the classic "congrats on the release" with a polite smile. Probably wouldn't happen anyway. The place was packed. Loud music, flashing colored lights, bodies moving to the beat in the center of the room while the songs of the group were being played.

You and your best friend, Yoon, gravitated toward the bar, not necessarily to drink, at least not yet, but because it was quieter there, away from the whirlwind of neon and sweaty excitement. You sat side by side, half-dancing to the rhythm as you sipped on sparkling water. Your best friend leaned his head on your shoulder with a dramatic sigh.

"Hey!" he shouted over the music, too close to your ear. "What if you text him? He's taking too loooong."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "He's probably just late" you said, reaching for your phone anyway. He watched you like a hawk as you unlocked the screen. You opened Instagram to message the friend who was supposed to join you but hadn't shown up yet.

But the moment you opened your DMs, your friend bolted upright like he'd just been electrocuted.

"WHAT?" He said after jumping from your shoulder.

You blinked, confused and a little startled.

"What—what's wrong?"

He didn't even let you finish. He pointed a finger straight at your phone like it was a crime scene.

"YOU TALK TO G-DRAGON?!"

You froze, thumb hovering above the screen where the last messag with @ xxxibgdrgn sat quietly, far down in your inbox. Two weeks old now.

"I mean..." You shrugged, already feeling your face warm. "Yeah?"

"Yeah? Yeah?" His jaw dropped dramatically, exactly as you expected. He looked like you just told him you could time-travel. "So you're just casually dropping that you're friends with, like... a literal legend?"

"'Friends' is a stretch" you said, raising your brows. "He talked to me once."

Your friend gasped like he'd been stabbed.

"And he talked to you first?"

You looked back at your friend, trying not to smile.

"Don't make a big deal out of it."

He groaned loudly, sinking back onto his stool and running both hands through his hair. "This is—this is criminal," he muttered. "You've just been sitting on this information like it's nothing?"

You gave him a look. "What did you want me to do? Post a screenshot?"

"Yes!" he said instantly. "Wait — no. But also yes! Maybe on your private account or something! I just— how are you so calm about this?! I physically cannot not make a big deal out of it."

You laughed under your breath and slipped your phone back into your pocket. "Well, he hasn't messaged again, so maybe it wasn't a big deal."

He narrowed his eyes. "That's because you haven't messaged again."

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. He had a point.

A smug grin spread across his face. "Mhm. That's what I thought. You better send a 'hey' before someone else becomes his next muse or creative soulmate or whatever."

You rolled your eyes. "You're actually delusional."

"And you're in denial. Which makes this so much more entertaining."

You were about to answer when your phone buzzed in your hand, not a text this time, but a call. You raised your brows and showed the screen to your friend, Haeon. It was the one person missing from your golden trio.

"About time" you muttered, answering. "Where are you?"

"I think I'm lost" his voice came through, slightly muffled by the music and the unmistakable sounds of a party happening not where he was. "I ended up in some garden? There's, like... a statue of a dolphin? Or maybe it's a seal. I don't know, it's dark."

You pressed your fingers to your temple, trying not to laugh. "We're coming."

[ ... ]

You lost track of time. It had to be close to 3 a.m., maybe even later. But no one at the party seemed interested in checking the clock. The energy in the air was still alive, like it had just started an hour ago, not like people had been drinking and dancing for hours already. After finally locating your lost friend, the three of you made your way back to the bar. You didn't drink much, but enough to feel a little lighter, funnier. Your smile came easy, and your body moved without overthinking.

The three of you eventually made it to the dance floor. The music had shifted, it wasn't the JYP group's album anymore, but a mix of random tracks. You closed your eyes, letting your head move in slow circles, a grin tugging at your lips. Your friends were next to you, pulling out ridiculous, chaotic moves. You joined them, throwing your body into it, laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

"Show me what you got, show me what you got!" one of your friends shouted, pointing at the other like he was challenging him to a duel. Immediately, Haeon broke into a sloppy remix of your group's choreography. You clutched your stomach, wheezing with laughter, until he grabbed your hands and tried to get you to join in. You stumbled forward, giggling, trying to keep up. You attempted a few of the moves, but your limbs didn't fully cooperate, your balance thrown off by the drink and the sudden spotlight. You must've looked ridiculous.

That's when you heard a soft, amused laugh from nearby. Your head turned. It was a girl, unfamiliar face, but something in her energy made you instantly like her. She clapped playfully for your dancing, then gave you a slight, graceful bow.

"Can I borrow your friend?" she asked, gesturing toward the boy who still held your hand. You smiled and nodded before even thinking. She had the kind of presence people didn't say no to. You turned to your friend for confirmation, but he was already halfway through a spin, pulling her along with him. You laughed and stepped back, watching them disappear into the crowd.

You chuckled, then turned to Yoon, who was still grooving beside you.

"I wanna go to the bathroom," he said, breathless. "Wait for me, yeah?" You nodded.

Alone now, with no one to dance with, you decided it was time to rehydrate. You slipped away from the flashing lights, crossing the room until you reached the bar.

You sat at the bar, elbows resting against the cold counter. The bartender approached and you ordered a gin and tonic, something simple that wouldn't hit too hard, at least not immediately.

You took a small sip, relishing the way the cold spread across your tongue, the bitterness cutting through the heat rising in your face from all the dancing and laughing earlier. The air was cooler near the bar, a reprieve from the heat of the dance floor, and you let yourself enjoy the stillness.

And then you heard a voice.

"Good taste."

You blinked. For a second, you didn't move.

Kwon Ji-yong. You hadn’t noticed him sit down. Of course you hadn’t. He was leaning casually against the counter, a half-smile on his lips, one arm draped along the bar like he owned the space around him. Maybe he did.

He wore a loose-sleeved shirt, silky and half-unbuttoned, the light catching the fabric just right to show there was a tank top layered underneath, white, fitted. Around his neck hung a tie, barely tied, more decorative than anything. It was sky blue, with little daisy flowers printed all over it.

You found yourself staring. Too long. Way too long.

He was talking, probably, but your brain had gone momentarily blank. All you could think was that he looked like something out of a music video, and not one set in reality. Like a dream had decided to become physical. You blinked. Once. Twice. And then, finally, words stumbled out of your mouth.

"Do you only know two words or is that your thing now?" You said without thinking.

His smile didn't fade. "Depends who I'm talking to."

You laughed "I mean," you shrugged, turning toward him fully, "it was a decent opener."

He nodded once, like he already knew. "Mm. I liked it the first time," he said, his gaze steady, relaxed. "Thought I'd try it again. See if it still worked."

Then he chuckled, low and warm, shifting slightly on the barstool. One leg angled toward you now, knee brushing lightly against yours, not enough to call it a move, but enough to feel. There was no arrogance in the way he did it, no show. Just a quiet kind of presence, like he knew who he was and didn’t need to prove it. You let your eyes drift to his tie, to the small embroidered flowers dancing across the fabric. You bit the inside of your cheek, then gave in. He looked like a damn super model.

"You always dress like this at 3 a.m?"

He smirked. "Only when I think I'll meet someone worth impressing."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling again.

"Smooth."

"I try."

And then there was silence, but not the kind that pushed people apart. The kind that asked you to stay in it. You let yourself keep looking, too long maybe, but he didn’t look away either. His gaze dropped briefly, tracing the curve of your jaw, then back up, slowly.

He leaned in just a little, not enough to close the space, just enough to make the air between you feel different.

"You know," he said, glancing down at your glass, "you've got a way of making it feel like we've done this before."

You blinked once, slowly. "Like we've met?"

He nodded, eyes still on you, soft and steady.

For a second, you didn't know what to do with that. So you brought your glass back up, hiding behind it as you took another sip, long, unhurried. The cold edge of the drink pressed against your lip, grounding you just enough to organize the words that were trying to form.

He didn't say anything else. Just waited, patient in a way most people weren't anymore. He wasn't filling the silence to make himself feel more interesting, wasn't trying to prove anything. That made you feel... strangely safe.

You lowered your glass slightly. "Actually... yeah. We did meet. Kind of."

His brows lifted, curious.

You smiled a little, more to yourself than to him. “Back when I debuted. I didn’t introduce myself or anything. I just… said hi. Maybe twice. You were always surrounded. And I looked—I looked really different.”

“How different?” he asked, low voice edged with intrigue.

“My hair was silver back then,” you said with a faint laugh. “Like, full-on mirrorball silver. I was also… skinnier. More bones than confidence. I avoided eye contact like it was radioactive.”

That smile of his grew, not wide, not flashy, just crooked and soft and real. “I remember.”

You looked up at him, a little startled. “Wait, seriously?”

He nodded again, eyes never leaving yours. “You were with your group. You all sang something for me.” A pause, then a light chuckle. “Crayon, right?”

Your jaw dropped a little. "Oh my God."

The scene crashed back into your brain like a splash of cold water, the harsh lights of the practice room, your group lined up awkwardly in front of him, voices cracking with nerves as you shouted Get your crayon! like your lives depended on it. YG had told you to do it. Said something about "earning respect the old-fashioned way."

“You’re kidding,” you whispered, half-mortified.

Ji-Yong chuckled softly. "It was cute."

You groaned, dropping your head into your hand. "YG encouraged us to serenade you. Like, seriously. Told us it might 'set the tone for our reputation.' So we just... went for it."

"I remember thinking you looked scared out of your mind," he said, amused.

"I was. I didn't even look at you."

Before he could answer, your phone buzzed sharply in your pocket, jolting you back to earth. You pulled it out with a sigh.

You snorted.

Ji-Yong raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"

You held up the screen for him to see. "Emergency. Apparently Haeon is defending our honor with a handstand battle."

He laughed, quiet and sudden, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes crinkling. It was stupidly cute, and it made you smile too, involuntarily. “Sounds like a crisis.”

You pushed your chair back and stood, smoothing out your shirt. “I should go before someone films it and it turns into our next viral concept.”

“Could be iconic,” he teased, still grinning.

“Oh, we’d never recover,” you said with mock seriousness. Then, a little softer, “Thanks. For the drink company. And, you know, the unexpected blast of rookie-year trauma."

Ji-Yong leaned on the bar, fingers tapping lightly. “Anytime.” He gave a small, crooked smile.

You dipped your head slightly, a small, playful bow, and turned to go. You didn’t glance back right away, you made it to the edge of the crowd first. But curiosity won. You peeked.

He was still watching. Of course he was.

And when your eyes met again, his smile curved a touch more.

You didn’t wave. Didn’t say a word. But something warm nestled behind your ribs as you turned away again. Maybe that message he’d sent weeks ago wasn’t the whole story.

And then, in the corner of your eye, you spotted Haeon attempting a handstand, arms flailing, legs everywhere, before collapsing to the floor with a dramatic thud.

You sighed.

Yeah. Definitely a crisis.

[kingkat12]

pervert, pervert, pervert (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: syntribation/masturbation, voyeurism, reader is a FREAK

summary: working for Mr. Godfrey was making you a nervous wreck-- how were you supposed to deal with it, other than the way you knew a little too well?

word count: 5,613

← previous chapter |

a/n: this one goes out to all the girlies that KNOW. you know the feeling when that part of your jeans rubs up against your clit when you shift in your seat? yes. yes, you know, don't you lie to me xx

I bought the magazine.

I wasn't planning to, I swear.

But there it was, staring at me from the newsstand like a dare; Forbes, special feature, The Man Who Rebuilt an Empire. And right there on the cover, in crisp matte print, was my boss. His sculpted nose, the high curve of his cheekbone, the impossible shadow of his jaw-- Roman Godfrey. Mr. Godfrey. 

I had only worked for him for a week, but I was already spiraling. I thought I'd be able to keep my fascination with him under wraps for at least a month, yet alas; I handed the cashier a crumpled five, grabbed it like it might disappear if I waited too long, and stuffed it in my bag before anyone could see.

I took it home. Ran a bath, lit a candle, and stared at the magazine cover like it might blink first. Honestly, I didn’t even read the article, I just... looked. And it was then that I realized how outright gorgeous Mr. Godfrey's nose truly was, how the sharp angle of it was something so unique that I couldn't take my eyes off it, and I think some broken, wicked part of me liked that it took my breath away, liked how it made me feel-- small, unworthy, aching.

And this morning?

This morning, that nose was five inches from my face.

I stood outside the glass office doors balancing his coffee, trying to breathe through the memory of last night; not too much milk, one cube of brown sugar, stirred exactly three times. Through the glass, I could see Mr. Godfrey seated at the head of the long table, surrounded by advisors and business partners, speaking with the same detached authority he always did. He didn’t need to raise his voice-- he simply existed, and everyone fell in line by birthright.

I stepped inside as quietly as I could. My heels made a soft click against the polished floor, and no one turned their head. That was the way it worked-- I was background. Necessary, but unimportant. And still, as I walked toward him, I felt every molecule of air bend around his presence, like gravity shifted in his direction. Of course the universe would bend to someone so gorgeous.

Mr. Godfrey looked good. Unbearably good. It was undeniable, simple as that. His suit was perfectly tailored, and he sat with the ease of someone who knew he was being watched, but never needed to look back to confirm it. He was of such wealth that his posture alone wasn't even a performance, but nature-- spine straight, one hand resting casually on the table, and the other lifted a document with slow, deliberate precision. It was clear that he was focused, and that the meeting was of importance, meaning I had to act accordingly on my fifth day of work.

But then... he licked his bottom lip.

It was subtle, almost absentminded, but I felt it in my knees. My throat tightened, my grip on the mug stiffened, and suddenly, the heat from the coffee felt like a warning in my palms. 

Get it together, pervert. Why couldn't I be normal about this? I blamed it on Forbes.

I was close to him, now. Close to him and his perfect nose, so close that I could smell the sharpness of his cologne. Then, when I leaned forward, just slightly, to place the cup on the table before him, I caught it-- the upturn of his nose. The Forbes nose.

It was stupid, the way I fixated on it. But there was something about the slope of it, the arch, the way it gave his face that hint of aristocratic cruelty-- I had stared at it for too long on that magazine cover last night, and now here it was again, real and breathtaking.

Stupid little me lingered for three seconds too long.

Maybe four?

Until, like a snap of a band around my wrist, Mr. Godfrey's eyes shot towards me as his face remained turned to his business partners; caught you. 

My breath hitched as he continued to speak like he wasn't glaring at me with the wrath of God, and the break of my fourth wall jolted through my spine. Fuck. My hands, traitorous and clammy, fumbled under the weight of his stare. The coffee sloshed hard against the rim of the cup, a dark arc of heat kissing the lip of the mug, a wave that threatening to spill. I gasped, audibly, stupidly, as the liquid nearly tipped toward the floor, and for one horrific second I thought it would splash right across Mr. Godfrey's papers, his lap, his perfect goddamn suit.

No one moved, but I heard someone gasp across the table, sharp and quiet.

I jerked the cup back just in time, barely keeping the liquid contained by steadying it against the heel of my palm. The saucer clicked, clacked, harder than it should’ve, as I set it down too fast, too loud. My fingers hovered above it like I’d placed down a live grenade.

Mr. Godfrey's eyes dragged over me like a blade, like he could see the heat blooming across my cheeks, the pulse thudding in my neck, and the tiny tremors in my fingertips. His eye didn’t twitch, his lips didn’t part, but he saw... oh, he saw everything.

I mumbled something between a sorry or excuse me, or maybe it was just the sound of my soul fleeing my body? I turned away so fast that I nearly clipped the edge of the conference table with my hip, narrowly avoiding it.

I fled back toward the door, the burn of Mr. Godfrey's green eyes following me all the way through the glass wall. The clack of my heels bounced hard off the walls, and I sat down behind my desk right outside, ready to sink through all the floors of the skyscraper and disappear for all of eternity. 

"Stupid," I hissed, barely above a whisper. "Fucking idiot. Stupid, stupid."

I knew this would happen. Of course it would. The second I took this job, I knew it was a risk. I just thought I’d have a little more time to prove myself before I humiliated myself in front of him, but no. One week in, and I was already the secretary who couldn’t even serve coffee without looking like she’d had a small stroke. Perfect impression. Just perfect.

My heart was pounding too fast-- I couldn't think. My body was on high alert, skin buzzing with residual panic and something darker, warmer. I just needed it to stop.

I shifted in my seat, trying to exhale through the tension. Mortification still gripped me by the throat, but beneath it was that other feeling, the one that made my skin feel too tight, my stomach flutter-- I crossed my legs. The stretch of my pencil skirt whined softly at the motion, and I squeezed my thighs together just enough to send a tiny shiver of release through my core.

Just enough to breathe.

This was what happened when I spiralled, when I got overwhelmed and overstimulated-- I had learned how to self-soothe the odd way. Years of buried anxiety attacks that crept up in school, at family dinners, in public places where I had to keep my composure, I found my own escape, my own... coping method, if I may.

My fingers clicked open the first email in my inbox; it was some logistics guy from the New York office. My nails tapped the keys too quickly, like I was being timed, like I could answer fast enough to undo what just happened, but the friction of the seam of my pantyhose grazing against my underwear made it bearable. 

Made everything bearable.

A sigh escaped before I could stop it, quiet and embarrassed, and I ducked my head to hide it behind the screen. It wasn’t even about pleasure-- not really. It was about calming down, about surviving the fact that I’d just made a complete fool of myself in front of the most terrifyingly beautiful man I’d ever met.

The man whose cologne I could still smell.

The man whose voice still echoed in my skull.

The man I had fantasized about the night before while staring at the cover of a fucking magazine.

It was only last year that I found out what I was doing technically counted as masturbation. I remember blinking at the screen, reading some late-night advice column, and feeling that horrible, guilty heat crawl up my neck. But honestly? I didn’t care. No one ever saw. No one had ever noticed. It was just a small shift in posture, a soft clench of my thighs. I could easily make myself cum without anyone ever noticing, so what was the harm? It was discreet, it was harmless, and most importantly, it worked.

My cheeks burned. I scooted forward in my chair with a sheepish little smile tugging at my lips as I replied to a second email, this one from the Dubai office. My fingers were fast and competent, my face was calm and professional-- I was the image of a well-oiled machine.

... Even as I got off beneath the desk with my thighs.

I even managed to act normal when all of Mr. Godfrey's business associates left his office (see, I was a pro!), and I sent them off with a polite goodbye and a sweet secretary-smile. Nothing out of place, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing suspicious-- just a secretary doing her job.

But then... he stepped out.

Mr. Godfrey.

He didn’t walk past me, didn’t leave-- he simply leaned against the doorframe of his office like a man who knew he didn’t have to say anything to make his presence known.

I didn’t dare to look up, but I could feel his green eyes scour me like x-rays, like spotlights. They drilled into the top of my head, down my neck, across my back; it made my breath catch in my throat. I pressed my thighs together harder, half in panic, half in instinct, as shame flooded me like a second skin; the same shame that made my adrenaline spike. 

He cleared his throat-- "Good morning,"

I nearly jumped in my seat at being addressed, and immediately unfolded my legs before daring to meet his gaze. "Good morning, Mr. Godfrey!" I hoped my cheerful voice would overshadow the nervous twitching of the outer corners of my mouth. It wasn't my favorite thing to know that a telling-off was looming over me, especially from someone with authority-- usually, that ended up with me bursting into tears. 

Mr. Godfrey's green eyes burned themselves into mine, and something told me he was imagining an alternative universe where he could shoot lazers through them and obliterate me in an instant. "The way you dress," he snarled. "It's disgusting."

"... What?"

Narrowing his gaze, he folded his arms over his suit-clad chest, getting his hair out of his eyes with a nod of his head. If this had been a movie, my vision would've gone pink and hazy as time slowed to show the way the softness of his hair flowed with the kick of his neck, falling perfectly into place as he looked at me. "You represent me," Mr. Godfrey threatened. "From the way that you move, to the way that you dress. Let down your hair."

"O-Okay?--"

"And are your hands unsteady, or are you just pathetically clumsy?"

Mr. Godfrey could've squeezed my tongue between the tips of his fingers and dragged it out of my mouth with force, and that would've felt the same as I felt now, trying to speak. "Not usually," I confessed. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't sleep well and... and the cup slipped. It won't happen again, I promise." Please don't fire me, please don't fire me, you gorgeous man. No more studying his side-profile. Please, please. No more getting off to that Forbes magazine. I could be good, please, please.

Rolling his eyes, Mr. Godfrey let out a disappointed groan. It was almost as though he wanted me to snark back at him like I had done in my interview, yet I knew that'd get me kicked out of the company with no less than a dime in compensation. "Why didn't you sleep?"

What? Why he was he making normal conversation with me? This wasn't usually how this worked. He'd come in, tell me what I needed to do for the day, and call me in for his ridiculously specific coffee after a while. This was new. "I got a bit distracted, sir,"

"With what?"

"With... reading," The words on the front page over and over as I scanned the beautiful upturn of his nose? Exactly.

"What do you read?" he asked, now seemingly interested.

Fuck. "Nothing that would interest you, sir,"

There was a sparkle that appeared in his eyes. "Try me," 

Having to rake through my brain for random book-titles was nerve-wracking, especially when Roman Godfrey was staring me down with his green challenge burning a hole through my skull. I decided to be honest; "The last thing I read wasn't very appropriate, sir. I shouldn't say," The last thing I read that wasn't Forbes, that is.

Mr. Godfrey allowed his eyes to widen, just a little. Finally, that seemed to crack through his harsh mood this morning, and he let out a scoff that sounded an awful lot like a pitied laugh. "Lie, then,"

"Pardon?"

"Say the first book that comes to mind. One that seems smart,"

"Well..." This was beyond intimidating, yet I complied. Amusement simmered in my chest, somewhere. "War and peace. Leo Tolstoy."

That seemed to do the trick. With a nod of approval, Mr. Godfrey pushed away from the doorframe with a handsome smirk. "Good," he hummed. "That's a dull one."

"Have you read it, sir?"

"Yes," Tapping his fingers against the wood of the door, he cocked his head to the side, scanning me; "Now, let down your hair."

Rapunzel, Rapunzel? 

Oh. 

Letting my smile falter, I reached for the claw-clip I had in my hair and put it on my desk, looking up at Mr. Godfrey with eyes pleading for approval. I felt pathetic, really, yet there was something satisfactory about his scary tone. Then, without thinking, it fell from between my lips-- "What else disgusts you about me, sir?"

No, no, stupid!

I just felt so eager to fix myself, to comply-- fucking pathetic.

Mr. Godfrey's smirk fell in an instant, like a drop of water hitting the ground.

It felt like I had broken some sort of agreement by opening my mouth like that. Holding back my snark was certainly something I had to work on, especially in front of the most powerful man in Hemlock Grove. 

His eye twitched, barely noticeable. Then, he turned on his heel, imposing the most squeaky, uncomfortable squeak of his shoes on the walls of the office like it'd be punishment enough for my behaviour-- automatically, I pressed my thighs together and shivered. 

Mr. Godfrey slammed the door shut, making me jump in my seat. It felt like I was getting sonically beat black and blue, and I proceeded to cross my legs now that he was out of sight. 

Hopefully, this day would get better soon.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

... It did, but in the most peculiar way. 

Later that day, whilst I rummaged through Mr. Godfrey's spam folder for mails I could've missed, I got a notification from my personal work email, which was was odd-- no one ever sent me mails directly, since they all knew I waded through Mr. Godfrey's inbox and was easier to reach there. Hence, I checked it out the second it ticked onto my screen, and... well.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Disgust And So Forth

Dear secretary,

I trust that you will sleep better tomorrow. Coffee that is stirred correctly is always appreciated, yet coffee that threatens to spill all over my new suit which cost me $5,348 is not. 

And regarding your inquiries about my disgust, I would like to point out that your nails are unkempt and therefore distracting when I pass by your desk and see you type. I suggest you find yourself a manicurist. What is fashionable in nails these days?

I'm happy to answer any other questions you have for me via email, should you so desire. 

With regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

Never had I ever scooted forward on my chair as fast as now. My head snapped to the side, looking directly through Mr. Godfrey's glass office, hoping to catch him looking at me with that boyish smile I'd assume came accompanied with this email, yet-- nothing. He was certainly not looking, nor did he seem like he had just typed out this email. His green eyes were glued to his screen, his long, slender fingers reaching for a marker to circle the paper in front of him as though he was correcting something, deep in work and though.

Was someone in the office pranking the newbie? Then again, who else could've typed out this email? 

Fuck it.

From: You

Subject: Enlightenment And Epiphanies

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I must apologize once more. The incident this morning was utmost unfortunate, and it shall not be repeated. However, I would like to specify that I do not have the funding to dry-clean your suits as compensation if any accidents were to happen. Am I legally bound to do so, sir? I do not believe I saw that in my contract. I could have perhaps afforded that luxury, had I not had the salary of a secretary.

In regards to your observations about my nails, I must say I take offence. Just because they are short, does not mean that they are not looked after. As for styles, I believe French tips are rather in at the moment. What colors are appropriate for the office?

Kind regards,

Your Secretary.

I hit the send button with dread pooling in my stomach. I pulled a face despite knowing he could see me at any moment. Did I take it too far? Why was Mr. Godfrey sending me emails in the first place? This could probably get us both into a long, disciplinary meeting with HR if they found out about our odd emails.

I did my best to sneak another peek at him through the glass walls of his office, yet there were once again no signs of him having seen it or having reacted to anything unusual. Was I maybe overanalyzing this? Was this maybe normal behaviour at an office job? Since this was my first job ever, I decided to give Mr. Godfrey the benefit of the doubt until I saw his next email pop up on my screen unusually fast.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Clearing Up Legalities

Dear secretary,

You are not legally required to pay for my dry-cleaning. Still, I hope there will be no need for any dry-cleaning at all after you get the appropriate amount of rest for the night. And by law, your salary is more than satisfactory for a person with a bachelors degree and no other job references or experience. 

And as for the nails, I had no idea they were called French tips. In my experience, the French are awfully fond of claiming things that are not theirs; I will refer you to the phenomenon of French fries. 

Color?

Lilac.

With regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

I had to bite down on my lip rather harshly to suppress the girly giggle threatening to escape me. I shouldn't be feeling this giddy over an email from my boss-- maybe he was just being friendly? Maybe he was aware that his behaviour and tantrums were odd and sometimes hurtful? It was surely that!

Excited by the sudden rush of energy at work, I crossed my legs; that was when I realized to which depths I was truly excited. It was highly inappropriate to masturbate over mails from my unbelievably attractive boss, yet here I was, shamelessly shifting around on my chair to make sure the seam of my pantyhose scooted to the most pleasurable place between my legs. With a sheepish look of relief spreading across my lips, I typed my answer. 

From: You

Subject: The Spirit Of Napoleon Lives On

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I'm relieved to hear that my duties do not span paying for your dry-cleaning. Thank you for clearing that up, sir.

I will also make sure to be more critical of things that are tied to the French from now on. You certainly have a point. Next time I am in France, I shall make sure to keep it in mind. Anything else I need to be made aware of, sir?

And lilac is a pretty colour. Am I allowed any other designs?

Kind regards,

Your Secretary.

My lower abdomen was pooling with dread, excitement, and oddly profound arousal. Suppressing a choppy exhale, I dared another glance at Mr. Godfrey, once again hoping to catch him looking at me with my heart stuck in my chest-- yet, again, nothing. Now, he had even stood up, pacing back and forth in front of his desk with his long legs, reading the paper he had been marking over and over. Was it maybe a speech he was preparing? I had no idea. As his secretary, I should've probably had some idea, at least. Was I maybe doing a bad job? Perhaps.

In the meantime, I hoped to relieve myself of the way my heart was beating with anticipation. Maybe if I got off, I'd relax? I hadn't managed to, earlier. Maybe then, I'd calm down and treat these emails as what they really were, simply a boss trying to be kind to his new and anxious employee? 

A few more minutes passed by, and I made myself busy by googling nail salons and various nail designs. I even dared to play some snake on my Google browser to pass the time.

Then, finally, when I had built up a nice, steady rhythm with my legs clenching and unclenching, letting the pantyhose stroke up against my clit through my dampening underwear, the anticipated email ticked in. 

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Appropriate Fashion

Dear secretary, 

There are no rules in place about nail designs. Nothing is prohibited, but please make sure to be tasteful. We have some important people coming in next week, and I am not too keen on my secretary not looking the part. 

Actually, I cannot seem to remember who it is we are welcoming; is it some oligarch from Azerbaijan? Cannot find it on the schedule. Need to know.

With regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

Some part of me wanted him to order me to get the French nails, to get them specifically to his liking and taste-- the second my mind got into that mind space, I uncrossed my legs, clearing my throat as I started looking for who next week's guest actually was. I was unraveling. I needed to get myself together.

And just as I was about to read the long name of the rich, lavish business partners from Azerbaijan (Mr. Godfrey had been right after all), someone teasingly knocked on my desk. 

My eyes darted up over the top of my computer, and my smile immediately widened-- "Peter!"

There he stood, the only friend I had made during my time at Godfrey Industries. He worked in the legal department, and was Mr. Godfrey's paralegal that showed up from time to time. He was also one of the few people that dared to pass the threshold of my desk and venture into the dark forest, also known as Mr. Godfrey's office. Here, clad in a suit, staring down at me with a charming grin, Peter Rumancek leaned over my computer as he spoke, his brown hair falling softly over his eyes; "How are you doing? I see that your head's still intact,"

"Barely," I breathed, straightening my skirt-- I was undeniably happy to see Peter. Every time he came around, he either made me laugh or made my day. "I nearly spilled coffee all over Mr. Godfrey at a meeting earlier... It really set him off, so I suppose I'm going to be sent to the Guillotine at the end of the day. You passed by at the right time."

Peter huffed. "Is this goodbye, then?"

"It seems so... Au revoir, Peter,"

"Oh, sweet melancholy," He straightened up with a smirk, trailing his fingers across my computer. "But, uh, is bossman busy?" Nodding toward Mr. Godfrey, Peter made a face-- it was clear that he dreaded going into the office. "Need to go in and ask about the ongoing case."

And with complete certainty that Mr. Godfrey didn't care enough to look my way (as always), to even give me a second of his attention, I turned to look at him with the perfect view I had. Which was why, when I immediately met his striking green eyes, that my breath hitched with horror. Surprisingly, he seemed rather amused by my antics, briefly passing his eyes between Peter and I as if to mock me for flirting with his paralegal-- caught you. But Mr. Godfrey didn't spend much time caring or tending to my life, and he returned to whatever he was doing behind his enormous computer screen in no time.

Something about the way he seemed outright entertained by the fact that I had a life outside of being stepped on made my blood boil and my heart ache. I turned to my friend, the paralegal, and nodded solemnly, not saying a word.

Peter caught what had happened, letting out a breathy oh. He nodded too, mostly to himself, before he retracted his hands into his pockets. "I might meet the Guillotine before you," he joked, hoping to get a reaction out of me before walking into his impending doom.

But I could only stare at my computer, mortified. My right leg gave into a bounce, and some odd feeling I couldn't place kept gnawing at my chest and made me nauseous-- I didn't think before I spoke; "The French are awfully fond of claiming things that are not theirs,"

Peter blinked. "What?" 

"What?" I echoed-- it was as though I hadn't been the one to speak. Had I just quoted my boss's email? Fuck. I was really falling apart, wasn't I? 

In an attempt to save face, I tried to plaster on a smile. A twitchy one, at that. "Sorry, I'm spacing out. Mr. Godfrey is in his office, yes, but what's the case about? Do I have you listed on his schedule for today?" Grabbing the mouse to my right, I clicked back into the schedule, looking for Peter's last name while managing to squeeze in a quick glance into Mr. Godfrey's office again-- he wasn't looking at me anymore. I couldn't help but feel disappointed, despite knowing I shouldn't.

Peter scoffed, tapping his fingers against my desk. "Well, I shouldn't be telling you this actually, but this information might save you down along the road, so..." He lowered his voice, reluctant to tell me; "It's about the last secretary. She's suing him."

My gaze snapped up to meet Peter's.

Shit.

The image of her with the bunched up paper between her teeth, her mascara running down her cheeks, along with the odd tear along her skirt, flashed before my eyes.

What had happened to her?

I couldn't think about this-- not right now, not with the humiliation of Mr. Godfrey's gaze mere meters away. "You're on the schedule," I breathed. "He's probably waiting for you right now."

Peter caught my disturbance, yet decided not to comment. He had already said more than he was legally allowed to say, anyway. "Okay... Will I see you at lunch?"

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Sure,"

Peter gave me a half-hearted salute and walked toward the double doors, probably eager to be done with my odd behaviour for now. I could hear the low click of his shoes against the wood floor as I glued my eyes to the screen, or at least pretended to, hyper-aware of every movement in my periphery.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Peter approach Mr. Godfrey's desk-- it was odd how my boss immediately looked so nice whenever he spoke to anyone that wasn't me.

It was humiliating to think it was funny to him that I could have anyone be interested in me. Everything about it made me want to cry; why did I need Mr. Godfrey to like me so much? It was so obvious that he thought I was a cretin of sorts, so why did I need him to think otherwise so badly?

To distract myself, I finally answered his email. Maybe it was time to stand my ground?

From: You

Subject: Revolution - The French Way

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

You will be welcoming Mr. Aliyev next Thursday at 14:00. He is not an oligarch, but the son of the president of Azerbaijan, and he will be here to discuss a collaboration with Godfrey Industries regarding oil, and our shared ambition to extract profit while spending as little money, or effort, as possible.

I'll draft up talking points, as I did for your last meeting.

Also, I do look like your secretary. You would not have hired me in the first place if I did not. Your remarks about my appearance are unwarranted. Were I shuffling through the building wearing sweatpants, you might have a point. However, I am not. I will change my nails, but I will keep my skirts. They are office-appropriate.

After all, I am not working at Vogue. 

Kind regards,

Your secretary.

I hit send.

And then I immediately wanted to die.

That was it-- my rebellious email had been enough to make my heart patter with excessive force, and the second I hit send, I feared I'd faint from the anxiety. I was okay with possibly saying this out loud to his face, but in an email? That email could get me fired. Blacklisted. Dragged to HR and spat out like gum from beneath someone's shoe.

Mr. Godfrey could ruin me if he wanted to, and that was the part I hated; how badly he could wreck me, and how little it would take. However... that was also the part that made my heart beat faster. Pervert, pervert, pervert.

I started to feel light-headed from all the worrying, and that's when I crossed my legs again-- searched for that sweet, aching pressure. The relief was the only thing that helped, and the only thing that quieted it all down.

Peter passed me by shortly after, but didn't stop to chat. He nodded at me, flashing me a charming, apologetic smile, and I allowed myself to sink into my seat with pleasure as his back turned to me and he disappeared down the hall. 

It felt wrong to do this at the office, perfectly in eye-sight of my boss, yet he had pissed me off to the point where I couldn't care. If he was going to treat me like shit, I had to make myself feel better, right? On top of that, I had an odd feeling I was close-- resting my head in my palm, propping my elbow on my desk, I stirred the mouse across my computer in random motion as I melted.

My thighs clenched tight. The desk shielded me, the chaos around me offered cover, and I let it happen. Again.

Was I sick for doing this? Probably.

Did it matter? Not in this moment. Not when the pleasure bloomed sharp and fast, not when my breath faltered and I shuddered at the ghost of Mr. Godfrey's voice in my head, the threat of him, the humiliation of him. 

I tried not to worry about the lack of following emails from Mr. Godfrey; he was probably not going to respond to it anyway. He had better things to do. Knowing him, he'd ignore me from now on, and maybe even pretend I didn't exist for the rest of the day. The idea that I was figuratively not seen, not cared about, not paid attention to, made me more secure about pulling this off, getting off like this, without being noticed-- not that anyone had ever caught me doing this anyway. They wouldn't know what they were looking at anyway, even if they saw me.

I made a fist in front of my mouth, clenching and unclenching, feeling my clit rub against that perfect spot in the seam of my pantyhose; it felt so unbearably good, and I had done this enough times to know how to cum quickly. 

So finally, when I felt it crash over me, when I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath, I finally felt relief. Relief from the humiliation, from not being respected, from being treated like I was nothing-- at this moment, I felt at peace. Blissful peace. 

I cleared my throat, allowing a cheeky smile to form across my lips. There was a huge thrill in being able to get away with getting off in the office in broad daylight, to be the nasty piece of shit Mr. Godfrey saw me as-- maybe he could see right through me? Maybe that was the real reason he hated me, because he recognized something twisted and depraved inside me that mirrored him?

I couldn't stop myself from smiling, drunk on shame and secrecy. So, with a newfound sense of confidence, I allowed my eyes the victory lap; to look into Mr. Godfrey's office and feel like a God, to know he could never figure me out, that he could never, ever have the fucking brains to know. He thought he was such a fucking big-shot, he thought he could stomp all over me, he thought he could intimidate me into making myself smaller?--

I froze.

Green.

Mr. Godfrey's green eyes were staring right back at me, wide with recognition.

I held my breath. My blood ran cold.

He knew.

He knew. 

Mr. Godfrey didn't blink, didn't look away. 

Leaning forward, refusing to break eye contact, his fingers ghosted over his keyboard...

And then, the notification ticked in on my screen.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Warning #1

Dear secretary,

I rather like your skirts. Keep them.

PS: I saw that.

Kind regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries

(a/n: did I just do that? yes. have I ever seen anyone else write about this? no. did I need to take it into my own hands? YES. MWAH GIRLIESSSSS HOPE U ENJOYED<33333)

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lovely little taglist:

@likecherriesinthespring @muchwita @fish-eyes-png @voidpixies

@voidofsunlight @sn0wybowie-blog @scarledy @carmillavalentine

@succubustacy @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry @ohperiodtpoohhh

[ccazimi]

cw: crack, fluff, smut, dubcon, panty sniffing/stealing, scent kink, etc. (he's literally part animal what do you expect)

tiger hybrid!sukuna who's prissy and sassy, much like an actual housecat. picky about everything, from the temperature and consistency of his food to the way his water tastes to what a light sleeper he is. sometimes you talk to him, and if he doesn't feel like responding, he literally won't even turn his head to you - all you'll get is an annoyed flick of his ear to tell you that he does hear you, he's just actively choosing to ignore you.

tiger hybrid!sukuna who has a serious issue with boundaries. he's allowed to ignore you if he feels like it, but you dare try and do the same thing back? unacceptable. will be extremely miffed if your attention isn't on him at all times. yes, even when he actively acts like he doesn't want it.

not to mention you need to deal with him literally getting offended at the fact that you wear clothes around him even though "it's just you two in the house" and on more than one occasion will you be absolutely mortified when you find he’s been stealing your dirty panties- he, of course, doesn’t get the big deal.

oh, you thought that was bad? wait till you find that he insists that you sleep naked with him, and your nightly ritual includes him not only licking you clean (at least your face and neck) but sniffing down your entire body. yes, the entire thing. the part where he gets to your pussy is the worst for you, and the best for him. and whenever he gets down between your thighs to smell you, he makes this weird face almost automatically, with his lips pulled back to show off those fangs and mouth a bit open somewhere between a snarl and a smirk, like he’s trying to taste the scent

tiger hybrid!sukuna who has a special vomeronasal organ at the roof of his mouth that can pick up pheromones—and that weird thing he does, when he opens his mouth while sniffing your pussy? yeah, that’s him drawing the scent in deeper, some focused, instinctual decoding process of your sexual health

"you're ovulating, probably peaked this morning. also you're kinda stressed...maybe you need to sleep more," he graciously informs you of his findings between your spread thighs. "oh and your pH is a little off. maybe skip that stupid new soap you got next time."

he looks up at you expectantly—clearly waiting for your gratitude. and you know he won’t finish this whole ridiculous routine until you sigh and say, flat as ever, "thanks for that. can we sleep now?"

"you've got two days left if you're trying to get pregnant, by the way."

you shoot him something between a glare and a grimace.

tiger hybrid!sukuna can pick up everything, but there are two times of the month when he can pick up those smells even with just his normal nostrils. the first one -obviously- is when you’re ovulating. but the only thing worse than the scent of you ovulating, is the smell that envelops you right before you get your period. “worse” in the sense that it drives him completely insane. sweet, cloyingly thick, warm. in fact he blames you for tempting him. you'll be innocently doing the dishes or something when suddenly it's too much for him and he pounces on you from behind, wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place, claws instinctively pushing out to dig into your skin so tight it hurts.

of course you panic, squirming as he begins rutting into the curve of your ass, his cock quickly swelling up till it's very noticeable. and the scent of him that becomes so much stronger when he's...excited like this - warm, musky, all iron and spice, wrapping around you.

"sukuna- let me- go!" you try as you struggle in his grasp, but it's too late he's too far gone, just mindlessly grunting and growling as he chases his release, too desperate to even fuck you properly. "almost there, just a bit more," he pants, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. "it's your fault anyway, walking around like -hah- i can't smell your pussy fucking begging for me." and right as you're about to splash some cold water on him, you hear him groan filthy, and guttural, as he finishes in his pants just from grinding against you.

and that's when he finally comes to his senses, trying to retract his claws to let go of you. unfortunately they get stuck in the fabric of your clothing, and he just panics making them get even more tangled while you yell at him to stop moving so that you can unhook his claws. finally you turn with your arms crossed, giving him the coldest, and most stern look of all time. he stares at you guiltily, a large wet patch forming on the crotch of his pants where his cum seeps through.

it's not his fault -not exactly- like any good hybrid he needs to be trained, and soon enough you've corrected that little problem of his (mostly)

tiger hybrid!sukuna is intensely territorial, especially when it comes to you. so when you come home smelling even faintly like another man? he’s agitated to no end — not even jealous, exactly, he just feels like it’s wrong. soon after come several arguments his way about “how he can’t piss around your house to mark his territory” or about how “it’s completely unacceptable to leave long clawed scratch marks on the walls or furniture”

tiger hybrid!sukuna who simply cannot keep his hands off you when you're on your period. this time he doesn't touch you (too much) without your permission, but he will beg you incessantly till you finally give in. and that's how you end up with your clothes shredded, and him biting and sucking every inch of your body hungrily as he makes his way down, tail wrapping possessively around you to keep you in place

tiger hybrid!sukuna with long sharp fangs that make his kisses hurt just a little, especially when gets too excited and nips your skin, drawing just a bit of blood that he happily licks up. he loves when they scar a bit too, just so that you’re marked as his.

tiger hybrid!sukuna with rough, spiked papillae on his tongue meant for cleaning raw flesh off bone that are now scraping against the bud of your stiff nipple. you gasp and writhe, and he knows he can't lick you nipples too much (as much he wants to) or it'll really start to hurt.

tiger hybrid!sukuna eats you out like he eats wild prey, teeth just shy of nipping your clit as he laps at your cunt. and of course the rough sandpaper texture of his tongue against your swollen nub feels like nothing else - a bit painful, borderline overstimulating, but so good at the same time. but just like with your nipples he has to be carefully so he doesn't seriously hurt you down there.

tiger hybrid!sukuna who just can't help himself from pinning your thighs open almost painfully as you cum, just to stick his tongue inside your hole and finally taste the leaking sweetness that's been teasing him for days. even when you're done, he continues to lick your pussy gently, almost affectionately. you squirm a little from the slight overstimulation but just let him do his thing as he laps your folds clean, deep purrs rumbling from inside his chest as he does so

[miniwheat77]

No fun. (Captain Price x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, p in v sex, reader dealing with a crisis, unprotected sex, alcohol, choking, talk of suicide. NO MINORS!

Please enjoy the shit show I’m going through, happy birthday to me or whatever.

They only want you when you’re seventeen. When you’re twenty-one, you’re no fun…

Eyes glossed over, world spinning. This is normal.

This is completely normal, most people spend their birthday sitting at a dingy bar, on their fifth glass of the cheapest liquor they have. Oh who are you kidding…

You had dried blood on your knuckles, underneath your black jacket was a blood stained shirt. It was a mix of your blood and whoever else’s after the mission you’d been on. It didn’t go so well and you’d been beat and slashed but it was a better way to spend your birthday than how you’d originally planned it. Though you expected someone to notice what day it was. Everyone always remembered birthdays, even last year on leave you got a text from Johnny at least.

But after she joined the base, you rarely if ever heard from any of them anymore. A new recruit, freshly out of boot camp. She was only on base for a few short months before they shipped her off somewhere else but she’d grasped the attention of the entire task force.

You weren’t jealous or angry. You actually quite liked the girl. She had her head screwed on straight for being so young and that’s what the military needed.

It was the nostalgia that killed you. You missed being a teenager. You miss the innocence that came with not being battle hardened. You missed when people showed interest and now, you were getting older and people wanted maturity. You missed the high school flings, breaking the rules. But here you were. Where you always seemed to be anymore.

Tipping back another glass of Jameson.

Most days you spent hungover. Sick to your stomach and you skipped meals like crazy but who really even gave a damn. They saw it but they didn’t ask. The abnormally pale skin, weight loss. More specifically, the shaky hands when you chugged coffee in the mornings to hide the liquor on your breath.

It was part of the military, who cares. They sure as hell didn’t. They only cared about themselves and that girl.

It didn’t end. Falling into bed shitfaced, eyes full of tears as you thought about the fact that there was no end in sight of this suffering. Only a black hole, sucking you deeper and deeper until you bottomed out and gave in. Either to the voice in the back of your head telling you to end it all, or to the addiction that slowly consumed you. At this point? You didn’t care anymore. Who would’ve guessed that your mid-to-late twenties held more staggered walks home from the bar than random hookups or a baby on the way like everyone else at this age.

Your lip was split, cheek was slashed. Busted knuckles clutched a bottle as you sat on the sidewalk and ignored the way you felt. And that was it.

Happy Birthday Y/N.

Captain Price was looking for you. He always checked up on people after missions and you’d taken a particularly bad beating but you didn’t really seem to care.

Captain Price had all but watched the spark burn out in your eyes. Something he hated but was rather familiar with. The military did things to people. He couldn’t find you anywhere, which made him worry. “Has anyone seen Y/N?” He asks. The young girl bites her lip. Looking away quickly and he notices immediately. “What is it?”

“Think she’s at the bar again Captain…” she trails off. “What? Y/N never goes to the bar.”

She looks utterly shocked. “Than we clearly don’t know the same Y/N.” She mumbles. “What?”

“She’s been at the bar every single night for the last few months. I didn’t want to say anything but I’m getting rather worried.” He thinks to himself. Had he noticed anything off about you? “That doesn’t sound like Y/N at all.” He mumbles. “That’s the truth. She’s got all the tale tell signs too. Pale, shaky, doesn’t eat. I mean she comes in late all the time. I’ve asked her a few times how she’s doing but she just brushes me off with an ‘I’m fine’ and goes on with her day. I mean… Y/N is insane on the field and that guy nearly took her head off with a knife today.”

Captain Price’s stomach drops. The spark in your eyes really was fading. Your love for the field was dissipating rather quickly and he’d missed it. All of it. He looks down, confused. He walks away without another word, to his office. You’d been struggling this bad and he’d never noticed it before? Who went to the bar after such a bad mission anyways? As bad as you’d been hurt, you should be recovering in the infirmary. That’s where he went to check on you, where you said you’d be. You must’ve slipped out then. He opens your file on his computer, seeing the photo that had been on that folder for years now. You smiled so wide. He’d hate to see how unhappy your next photo would be.

Y/N Y/L/N

DOB: xx-xx-xxxx

Something felt off about that… the numbers on the screen.

He glances down to the corner of the computer, reading the exact date.

Nine o’clock.

He stands up, nearly shoving his desk over as he hurries. He grabs his jacket, rushing for the door. “In a hurry, cap?” Soap smiles. “Yeah. It’s Y/N’s fucking birthday and we forgot.”

The look of horror on Gaz and Soap should’ve been something you’d laugh about usually. But you wouldn’t have been interested, not anymore.

Your mind races as you look down at the rushing water, how good it would feel rushing over your injured skin. Carrying your lifeless body down a rapid current, pulling you under. The buzzing, floating. It sounded like peace. Like an end to whatever this is. You don’t remember walking here. You thought when you woke up this morning to your Captain calling each of you for a last minute mission that it was a surprise party. They’d given her one.. the new girl. She had balloons and so many gifts from the task force you’d lost count. You’d gotten her a set of customized grips for her sidearm. She was ecstatic.

You got nothing in return.

Your hands shook violently as you held them over the rapid flowing water. You were so close now that it misted your shaking hands. You were so close…

It was so cold. It won’t be long now.

The five of them rushed into the bar, nearly knocking over barstools and a rack of pool cues as they went. Rushing up to the bartender. “Have you seen this girl?” Captain Price asks in a hurry. Holding up a photo of you. “Y/N? Yeah. Like every night for the last few months.” The young guy behind the counter smiles. “Have you seen her tonight?” He asks. “Of course I have, she just left bout twenty minutes ago. Although tonight she looked rough. You guys must be her military buddies. When she first started coming in she talked about you guys all the time.” He smiles. “Although these days she keeps to herself.” He mumbles. “Anyways. I’m not supposed to tell anyone but when she leaves here, she buys a bottle of Jack and goes for a walk, tonight she said the bridge over the river.”

Captain Price’s stomach drops. “You let her leave with alcohol? Isn’t that against the law?” Ghost asks, angrily. The guy smiles. “You’d have to have seen her these last couple weeks to understand. Poor girl is really going through it.” He looks sympathetic. He scoffs, turning his back. “I’ll stay here in case she comes back. You guys go.” The young girl nods.

They hurried back out into the pouring rain, piling into Captain Price’s truck and he speeds down the road to get to the bridge, only hoping things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

You’d staggered your way back up the bank to the bridge. You were soaked head to toe and you sat on the brick railing of the old bridge. Who knows, maybe the old thing would give way and you’d die in a terrible accident.

Your feet swung back and forth as you tipped the bottle of Jack back. It didn’t burn anymore. You were too hammered to taste anything. Your jacket was sopping wet, not providing any warmth anymore. You dreaded going back to that base. Having to look them in the eyes and pretend as if nothing is wrong when everything so clearly was. You’d tried so hard to talk about your feelings to anyone who’d listen but they wouldn’t. Even Laswell had shrugged you off when you’d mentioned to her how bad these days have been. It was a “chin up, you’re just tired.”

You are tired. So… so tired. You wiped your mouth, another set of headlights illuminated the bridge behind you. But nobody stopped.

You didn’t expect them too. You were just a lonely person dressed in black. Contemplating the depth. How many feet was it you think? One-hundred feet? One-fifty? Not too bad anyways…

Your eyes barely stayed open, everything was so blurry but the rush of the rapid river was so peaceful. You tilt your head back and let that spinning feeling wind you up. It usually made you sick, but tonight felt different.

“I’m such a bad fucking Captain.” He shakes his head, mumbling angry to himself. “Captain you can’t blame yourself. She hasn’t asked for help, she hasn’t confided in anyone.” Soap mumbles. “How are we supposed to know if she doesn’t tell us?”

“She has been trying to tell us. For weeks now. Even Laswell brought up how Y/N had come to her about a few bad days. I thought nothing of it. I swear if she’s jumped…” he hisses. “I should have noticed. She was in my office talking to me everyday for a week and it was so out of the ordinary for her and I just sat there doing my work, ignoring her. And forgetting her birthday…” he trails off. Everyone in the truck feels shame. “I’ve noticed it too. The shaky hands and late nights. I just thought maybe the work was getting to her.” Ghost mumbles.

Captain Price is nearly there, speeding to get to you.

You had tiny rocks, from when you’d slipped down the bank. Dropping one of them every so often and counting how long it takes before it hits the water. It was getting rather hard to see with the darkness surrounding you. Besides, you were heavier than a little rock, surely you’d hit the water faster than that.

Headlights lit up your back this time, only now, you heard the tires on the wet pavement coming to a stop behind you. Some bystander coming to play hero most likely. Maybe you’d entertain it so they’d leave you alone. “Thank you sir or ma’am. I don’t want to kill myself anymore!” You smile at the joke.

“Y/N?” You hear his deep voice call from behind you, your stomach falls. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. You stay quiet, hoping they’d think it was someone else. You hear his footsteps getting louder as they approach. Course it’d be your Captain no less.

“Trying to kill yourself? We can’t have that. You’re discharged!”

You smile to yourself again. Head spinning. “Y/N. Darling?” His steps have slowed and you turn to look at him. “You don’t have to be all gentle, sir. I’m not going to jump if you get too close.” You give him a lazy smile and that’s when he knows it’s bad. Really fucking bad.

“You’re supposed to be in the infirmary. Healing.” He mumbles. “I did go. That was hours and hours ago, sir.” You mumble. “Bandaged my arm.” You hold it up. The bandage was completely ruined with water. “I stuck my hand in the river, wasn’t thinking and got it all wet.” Your voice is slurred. “You.. you were down there?” He asks. “Mhm. I go down there all the time. Good fishing in the summertime I hear, sometimes I see the fishermen. I’ve talked to a few of em.” You move to tilt the bottle back for another swig but he grasps it, pulling it away. “Think that’s enough. It’s time to go.” He mumbles. “Don’t think so, Cap.” You mumble. Sniffling. He watches you drop another pebble between your feet, whistling as it descends to the water. He can clearly see what you’re doing. “Y/N…” he mumbles. “We.. we forgot your birthday.” He mumbles. You laugh. “That’s okay, I hoped everyone would. I mean I’m at the age they don’t really matter anymore, anyways.” It stings.

“That’s not true Y/N. You’re young. Too young for this. Please get down.” He breathes. He’s got a tight hold on your shirt that you didn’t realize he’d had at first. You spin around, rolling over the railing and facing him. You smile. He can tell you’re about to say some fucked up stuff just from looking at you. “You know.. I had this.. whole thing. Every-“ you hiccup. “Everything I’d say. If I ever found myself like this. I told myself I’d go to you and I’d say “Captain Price. I’m really struggling and I need help. And you know what I got?” You smile.

“You wouldn’t want to be like your dad, would you Y/N?”

Captain Price forgot that he’d said it. He knew about your past with your dad and everything you’d gone through as a kid and why you were so tough on the outside. He doesn’t know why he said it. Your presence was bothering him that day because he was just trying to get his work done.

“Oh he’d be proud wouldn’t he.” Your lip quivers and your smile falters. “I am young. Too old to live, too young to die.” You mumble. “If it’s okay, I’d like to walk back to base. Don’t think you want to leave your truck there.” You look at it. Spotting a pale white skeleton mask through the slightly tinted window. “Ah shit.. you brought everyone. That’s great.” You mumble. “I’ll start back.” You push past him, staggering down the sidewalk.

He rushes across the street, pulling the back door open. “There’s a coat back there, hand it to me.”

“Is she okay?”

“No. Far from it.”

Ghost hands him the jacket. “I’m going to walk with her, drive my truck back to base please.” He mumbles. You hear his quick footsteps behind you. Sighing. “Here.” He passes you the coat and you take it with hesitation. “I’m already soaked sir.” You mumble. “I don’t care.” He says. “How much longer do I have?” You ask. He looks confused. “What are you talking about?” He asks. “Surely I’m off your task force for this. How long?”

His heart shatters to pieces. How little do you think he cares about you?

He pushes you back into an alleyway, off of the main road and underneath the edge of the roof to keep you out of the rain. “Swap your jacket, go on.” He mumbles. Holding his hand out. You sigh, shedding the soaked jacket. “I’m not going to remove you from my task force for something we all go through Y/N. It’s a bad day, not a bad life.” He mumbles. “It’s been a bad few months, Captain.” You mumble. He sighs. “I know Y/N… I know.” He mumbles. “It’s going to be okay. Come on.” He mumbles. The walk back to base is slow you seem to be dreading the return. Captain price has never felt so poorly before. He had missed so much, look at you.

When you finally make it back, the concrete entrance coming into view, he stops you. “Listen. We’ve got a lot to work on okay? And you’re far from sober now. So I’ll come find you tomorrow. Go in and go to bed okay?” You nod your head. He makes sure you’re in your room. It doesn’t take you long to pass out but John waits outside your room to make sure you actually stay inside.

The next morning, you wake up. And something is off.

You wake up completely sober with a massive headache, which can only mean one thing. You’d overslept.

You dart out of bed, snagging your phone and seeing the clock read 11:00. You were usually up at 5:00 every morning. You scrambled to get dressed, struggling your hardest since this is the most sober you’ve been in weeks. You reach for the door handle, and that’s when you freeze. The events from the previous night come flooding back to you. Not only were you most likely already on thin ice with your Captain, but now you’d slept in late. You were furious with yourself. You rip the door open and head straight for his office. You open the door, not bothering to knock and walk straight in. You see her sitting in front of desk and want to scream, you probably look like hell. “Ah. Y/N.” He smiles. “Was just getting ready to come find you.” He goes to stand. “Uh.. yeah. Sorry sir, my alarm didn’t wake me up like usual, I’m not sure what happened.” Your hands shake, you look pale. He worries the moment he’s got eyes on you.

“It’s okay. I went in and turned it off, I figured you’d need the sleep. We were just finishing up, take a seat.”

“I can come back another time-“

“No, we were just going over her discharge.”

You look concerned. “Excuse me- discharge?”

“Yeah.. it’s not going to work out with her here.”

“Well obviously there’s not enough work to go around but she shouldn’t be discharged, brought to another base maybe but she’s rather good-“

“Y/N.” She laughs, getting your attention.

“I’m pregnant.” She laughs. Your eyes widen. “Shit.” You sigh. “I mean shit- that’s exciting. That sounded horrible. I’m sorry.” You mumble. Sitting down.

“Thanks, I know what you meant. We decided it be best before I get in too deep here you know?” She smiles sadly. “Yeah.. yeah I guess so. Your kid deserves a mom and that’s not guaranteed in this line of work. You’re making a good choice.” You mumble. She smiles. “Thank you Y/N.”

Captain Price smiles. Despite how fucking bad you were struggling you still cared so much for those around you. But he’s saddened by the fact that on two ends of the spectrums, your lives had severely changed. You were an alcoholic bordering rehab and she was pregnant, giving up her career. It was fucked up.

“Oh. And I got you this, I totally had your birthday mixed up with someone else’s- I’m really sorry.” She passes you a box. “I’ll be going now though, planes leaving here in about thirty. Thanks for having me.” She says her goodbyes and exits through the door. You look sadly down at the box she’d given you.

“Why’d you let me sleep in?” You ask. “Because I’m willing to bet good money that’s the most sleep you’ve had in weeks, no?” He smiles.

You nod. “But uh.. you’re not gonna like what I have to say.” He sighs, sitting down in the chair that she had just left, right next to you rather than across his desk from you. You swallow hard, nodding your head. “I want you sober in no less than a week. If you can’t do that, I’m shipping you off my base and to a rehabilitation facility. Am I clear?” You nod your head. “Yes sir.”

“Good. Now that that’s squared. We need to talk.”

You sigh. “Can we just skip this part and go to me being sober?” You look sadly. He laughs. “No. You scared the shit out of the entire task force last night. What’s been going on?” He asks. You sigh.

“To be honest? I don’t know.” You mumble. “The biggest thing is like.. I guess I thought I’d just have done more by this age. You know? A family? Kids? A sugar daddy at least?” It takes him off guard and he laughs a bit. “Christ, you haven’t changed a bit.” He rolls his eyes. You smile. “I just feel disappointed in myself, and seeing her really made me realize what a failure I’ve been. I’ve done all of this work and have nothing to show for it. I thought I’d made a bigger impact on everyone yknow? And then everyone forgets my birthday and it’s just like.. it was just a punch in the gut.” You sigh.

He sighs. “Us forgetting your birthday is no excuse. Time slipped our minds and then the mission. I made a huge distraction for everyone, if you’re gonna blame anyone, blame me. I didn’t even realize what day it was until last night when I sat down for just a second and saw the date.” He mumbles. “I don’t blame anyone sir. It’s not that big of a deal of course, I guess I just thought I was more important than I am.”

It stings.

“Y/N.. that’s not true okay? You are important to us. Yesterday on the mission and last night, you gave all of us a really good scare. Which reminds me, we need to be on our way to the infirmary to get you looked at.” He mumbles. He rests his hand on your thigh. “It was shitty of us to forget. We will make up for it, I promise. But for now? We’ve got to get you back on track.” He runs his hand back and forth. “You shouldn’t be disappointed in yourself either. It’s not too late to start a family, and now you’ve got a solid career for yourself. You could easily slip back into a desk job and never see the field again if you decided to have a family.”

“Though I will be really sad because you are one of the most skilled soldiers I’ve ever seen, that’s why you’re on this task force.” He laughs. You smile.

He stands up and helps you up. The both of you making your way to the infirmary where you get checked out and re-bandaged. The next week you’re on the road to being sober again.

The guys don’t say too much to you, which hurts you beyond repair. It makes you wonder if staying on this base is worth it. You seemed so close to them for so long and now?

It’s how it seemed anyways, until day 7.

You were on day 3 with absolutely no alcohol and it was getting easier. The first couple days were hell, but now it felt just like you were back into your same old routine. It was Sunday and you slept in longer than intended but eventually crept out of your room into the mess hall. You gathered your breakfast and sat down at a table and began eating by yourself.

You were fine until the four of them appeared. But they weren’t getting breakfast which was unusual. They approach your table, each of them carrying grocery bags. You looked up from your toast, confused. “Uh.. something wrong?”

“No, actually. We’re happy to see you eating real breakfast rather than pounding coffee with shaky hands.” Ghost chuckles, seeing you smile. “Yeah, well. I keep everyone on their toes it’s what I do. What’s with the grocery bags?” You bite into your toast, looking at them. “Ready?” Johnny looks at Ghost than back to Gaz. “Ready.” The four lift their bags and dump them onto the table. You watch candy and all sorts of stuff fall from the bags onto the table. Captain Price sets a six pack of non-alcoholic beer on the table. You laugh. “That’s funny Captain, really. Might just be my 13th reason but a good one.”

He rolls his eyes. “What is all of this?”

“All our favorite candy cause we’re gonna sit here today and we’re gonna catch up, cause we’ve clearly missed so much.”

“Ah- yes. My birthday included.” You take another bite of your toast, seeing them all flinch. “Yeah- well. We’re idiots what do you expect. Besides, we had this big huge plan made up this year and lost track of time so you’ll have to wait until next year. But anyways, here’s your stuff. Stop talking back.” Johnny shoves the pile of your favorite candy toward you. “Awe! You got me gummy life savers I haven’t had those since I was a kid!” You pick them up, looking at them. He rolls his eyes. “I know, you told me about it on our mission to Iran. Same with The… pixie sticks? Gummy sharks? And uhhh.. gaz said something about gummy frogs.” He pushes them all toward you.

You felt like crying.

Even though these assholes forgot your birthday. They remembered the little things.

You swallow hard. “That’s uh.. that’s really sweet.” You set your toast down. Your eyes zero in on the candy, and you feel the biggest breakdown of your life coming on. You feel so guilty. “Y/N?” Captain Price rests his hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, are you alright? Can you hear me?” You look up at him, standing up. But he wasn’t going to let you go this time.

“Hey- it’s okay. We know how you feel and there’s nothing wrong with it okay? Just try to relax.” You nod your head, tears stream down your cheeks and you look away from them. You don’t want them to see you like this. “Sorry- it’s been a rough few months.” You clear your throat, wiping your eyes furiously with the sleeve of your shirt. “It’s alright. We’re all here for you Y/N. You scared us.” Gaz mumbles. You nod your head. Your nose goes red, as it always did when you got upset. And you sat silent for a while with tears spilling over your eyes as the five shared a normal conversation, waiting for you to calm down. There was a long road of healing needed to be done for you, but you’d be alright.

And you’d have your brothers along for the bumpy ride.

———

The sound of your door knob jiggling makes you scramble to hide what you’re holding. Shoving it under a blanket and sitting on top to secure it.

Captain Price gives you a look, letting you know that he’s just seen it and crosses his arms after shutting the door behind you. “What is it?” He asks. “It’s- it’s nothing sir.” You feel your face going hot but he doesn’t see it. “Y/N. Tell me what it is. Is it alcohol?” He asks. “What? No. I told you- I’m sober.” You swallow hard. He narrows his eyes. “Well. I told you. I’m checking your room weekly and that’s why I’m here. So give it up.” He crosses his arms, moving in closer. “Sir-“ he sighs, moving toward you and pushing you away. “Please Captain- you have to believe me. It’s not alcohol I’m telling yo-“ he draws your blanket back and when he sees it, he can’t help the crimson running up his cheeks and his earlobes.

A little pink bullet vibrator. “Hm.. okay.” He laughs to himself, covering it back up with your blanket. “Before I search the rest of your room- is there anything else like that I might find?” He turns to look at you, seeing the look of pure embarrassment on your face. “N-no sir.” You swallow hard. “I’m usually on top of hiding it but I forgot you were checking tonight and I was us-“ your eyes widen in horror. “I lost track of time.” You swallow. He turns away from you to smirk, not wanting to embarrass you further. “I believe you. Step out for a moment?” He laughs. “Yes sir.” You rush out the door. You could crawl into a hole and die.

He usually sent you out when he searched, but you’d been good. No alcohol at all, you’d been sober and on the road to healing. With a little help from your pink friend when things got extra tough.

You’re sitting outside your door reading a magazine when he reappears, opening the door and leaning on the frame. “I’m impressed. Not even a drop.” He laughs. “Told you sir, I’m sober.”

“I know, I can tell. But we’re going to keep doing this. Least for a while.” He laughs. “I understand sir.” You blush, looking down. “Y/N- I gotta ask.” He mumbles. You turn and look up at him as he leans against the door frame. Hovering over you slightly since you’d sat just outside the door. “Hm?”

“What’s the reason behind you not being married with kids already?” He asks. You chew at your lip. Thinking over an answer. “To be honest? I don’t know. I’ve never clicked with anyone, let alone gotten far enough into a relationship to even discuss the topic of kids.” You mumble. He nods his head. “You have to cut men some slack, who are we to compete with this?”

You shoot out of your seat, eyes wide as he holds up your vibrator. “Captain!”

“Y/N.” He says your name steadily with a smile.

“I’m wondering if it’s the booze I should worry about, or this?” He smirks. Seeing you narrow your eyes. “Yeah well. If you confiscate that one, can you at least return it with new batteries? Those ones are going dead.” You smirk. He raises his eyebrows. “If I’m not mistaken, I think you’re trying to flirt with me.” He moves from the door, stepping in front of you. He crosses his arms. You lower your voice, taken aback by what he’s saying. “And I think you’re the one holding my vibrator.”

He smirks. He’s moved closer, his face merely inches from yours. “Never cared enough to ask about a boyfriend or kids before Captain, what are you getting at exactly hm?” Your eyes are dark, voice is low and sultry. Never in a million years did you think this would be happening.

Captain Price? And you? Come on.

He bites at his lip. “Go into your room Sergeant.”

“Yes sir.” You step to the side, walking into your room and spinning around as he follows you. He closes the door behind himself.

When it’s locked, he’s stepping toward you quickly, backing you up a few steps as he moves closer. “I’m not reading this wrong, am I?” He asks. He’s got a beanie on. Jeans and a black jacket. You look up through your eyelashes at him, eyes snapping to his and locking eye contact with him. A look in your eyes he’s definitely never seen before. “No.”

“Good.”

He smashes his lips to yours, kissing you deep and passionate. It’s sloppy, teeth knocking into each other. It’s something the both of you have needed for far too long now. Someone to just get lost in.

He cups your jaw, fingers locking at the nape of your neck and he pulls you closer, kissing deep and hard.

When he draws away, you’re in a daze. You’ve never been kissed like that before. Your fingertips feel numb.

Numbness starts at your fingers and moves up your arms, down into your toes. You’re frozen in the spot until he’s pushing you back into your bed. He parts your legs, pushing himself up against you and rocking his hips into yours. He kisses you again and you moan into his mouth as he grinds up against you. His cock is hard and you can feel it through your soft sweatpants. Ironically, a pair he’d bought you a few weeks before when you were having a particularly rough night.

He’d spent countless nights holding your hair back for you as you threw up from the withdrawals. Shaky and sweaty, sobbing your heart out. You thought you couldn’t look worse to him.

Now here he is, about to fuck you raw on a metal cot in your room.

He nudges the striped sweatpants down your legs, feeling how soft they are on his skin. He gets his jacket and shirt off, not even bothering with his jeans. Once the both of you are unclothed just enough to get his cock inside you, he’s notching his tip at your entrance and sinking into you. You gasp and he cuts it off with a kiss. Drawing back and thrusting fast back inside. You’re wet and he slides easy, feeling how warm and soft you feel around him. “Fuck you’re tight-“ he hisses.

Words you NEVER expected to hear out of your Captains mouth.

Who would have thought you’d love them so much, anyways?

Your legs shiver from his rough pace. He’s relentless with his thrusts. Holding your thighs up and thrusting deeper. Keeping your eyes locked to his when he’s not kissing you. He forces you to focus on him as he fucks you deep.

“I think I get it now.” He draws back, raising himself up onto his knees, still thrusting but not as hard. “W-what?”

You tilt your head back and close your eyes. Waiting for an answer. You gasp when he presses the vibrator against your clit. Slowing his thrusts and fucking you deep as he holds it there. You look down for a second, seeing his hands on you. It hits you like a freight train what’s happening. Your eyes snap straight to his in a heated stare and chills run down his spine. The way you look at him always has him on edge. You had a harsh look about you sometimes.

“S’not supposed to be competition.” He smirks. You can’t help but laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

He chuckles. He lays over you once more to kiss you. Pushing your legs up further into you and sliding deeper. He keeps the vibrator pressed into you. “Can you stay quiet?” He asks. “Yes sir-“ you shiver slightly at his tone of voice.

“Good. Deep breath now, you’re going to need it.”

He clamps his hand around your throat, taking your oxygen away as he hammers his hips into yours. You clutch your eyes shut, trying to swallow but you can’t. You feel the pins and needles in your face from your lack of oxygen but the intensity from the pleasure you feel takes over. You can barely hear him.

“Cum for me. Go on sweetheart.”

You grit your teeth. Your whole body feels numb except for that one spot.

You try to cry out but can’t, reaching your peak in silence as black pin pricks fill your vision. You shake and twitch, walls throbbing hard around him. You try to draw away from the vibrator but he draws it back. He finally lets go of your throat and you gasp in air just as he finishes with a groan. Clenching his eyes shut. You take a few seconds to breath, brain no longer foggy as you look at him.

It’s the best sex you’ve ever had by far.

Your chest moves up and down as you breathe hard. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth.

He draws back, standing up. The reality of what he’s just done hits him hard. The two of you had just had sex. On base. And he’s your captain and you’re a sergeant on his task force.

He can’t help but smile.

“You alright?” He asks. “Y-yeah. Mhm.” You look up at him, cheeks on fire. “Not how I saw my night going at all but I’m fine.” You laugh softly. “Yeah.. me neither. It’s your fault really, you’re a temptress.” He barely finishes his sentence before you’re slapping his shoulder. He can’t help but laugh. “Hey- I got you something, actually.��� He mumbles. “What?”

“I’ll be right back.” He stands up, getting redressed quickly and exiting through your door. You take the time to get redressed and cleaned up. Fixing your messed up hair and sitting down. You pick the magazine up once more, reading through it. He’s gone for a few minutes before reappearing. He sits on your bed in front of you, holding out a little black box. “What’s this for?”

“I saw something like it and thought of you.”

You look confused as you open it, drawing out the little gold necklace. It’s an old dried clover pressed between two tiny thin pieces of glass, turned into a keychain. A keepsake pendant.

“But I don’t think I understand.” You look confused. He smiles. He looks at his watch, reading that it’s past midnight. “Well, I meant to give it to you tomorrow but since it’s midnight.” He laughs. “Today technically marks three years since I recruited you for my task force. The day we officially met each other and you joined the base. You beat me to the base and didn’t have much to do that day so you spent it outside. We were on our way back from a mission. You found a four leaf clover in the grass and when I arrived I saw you waiting outside. I introduced myself and you said “hi, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” And passed me the clover and said “it’s a good luck charm. With me here, you’re gonna need it.” He smiles. You smile down at it. “You.. kept it?”

“Of course I kept it.” He laughs. “I figured you’d have just thrown it away. That’s.. that’s really sweet John.”

The use of his first name takes him off guard.

“Yeah well. You’re a really sweet girl who deserves better than this but I’m not too thoughtful.”

“That’s such a lie. This is the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten.” You look up at him. He laughs.

“I uh.. hope this won’t be the last encounter like this with you.”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to take you out on a date. A real date. If you’re okay with it. I know I’m a lot older than you.”

“I would love that, Captain.” You smile. “Thanks for being here for me these last few weeks.”

“I would never leave you hanging. I hope you know that.” He grasps your hand, taking it into his. “You’re doing really good and I’m proud of you. And I’m sorry for what I’ve said to you.”

“Thank you.”

“What are you going to put it on?” He asks. You think for a second.

“I’m thinking my vest.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”