#had to hold back from all the hq men

[scoobysnakz]

Older

||* Maybe it's because he's safe and keeps you warm in times or need. Or maybe it's because he has those unruly salt and pepper hair and worry lines. Either way, you want him and maybe he wants you.

Maybe you don't know, or maybe you don't care. But he can smell you, the rush of dopamine when he turns his back and you can see his trapezius shining deliciously in his dimly lit room.

pt2

||* dilf!miguel, vaginal fingering, praise kink, eye contact, perv!miguel, college-age reader, lap sitting, slight hair pulling, one shot, Daddy issues, Dom/sub, smut written by a virgin, not proof read

You're young. And oblivious. So painfully oblivious.

At first, Miguel had just assumed it was a defence mechanism. Don’t give them a reaction and they’ll leave you alone. But the more you smile at the guys flirting with you, the more you lean into their non-platonic hugs, the more certain he becomes that you’re just unaware.

And- in all honesty- he's jealous. He doesn't want to feel the shame that weighs down on his shoulders each time your expression softens at his praise. He doesn't want to feel guilt for watching your hips sway as you walk away. He doesn't want to be like them but he craves the audacity to leer at you in broad daylight.

Maybe it's his morals or maybe it's because he's a coward.

Either way, you’re young and oblivious. And deep down, he loves it.

It's worse in HQ, these men are meant to have morals, good morals, and yet they treat you like a fuckdoll to the eyes.

Your perfect, untouched, college body just for them to perv at.

And Miguel hates it. He hates how he has to ignore your pretty eyes staring up at him as he talks, how he has to scold every Spiderman for being a pervert, and he hates how he's just as bad.

Maybe if you weren't so bubbly sweet he wouldn't have to spend each night palming himself to the thought of your perky body, every shower spurting his hot cum on the misty glass and every moment alone with his office with the doors locked and hand muffling his moans.

“Migs?” that nickname, that only you can use, that only you dared to think of.

He turns to face you, a lazy smile drawn across his painfully perfect lips. “Princessa?” And you immediately try to hide the blush that threatens to bloom on your cheeks.

You hold out your hands, a tray holding a ‘spidey spectacular’ on top. In reality, it's nothing spectacular- a beef burger with barbecue sauce, large fries and a medium drink.

“Got you some lunch,” you grin.

He hops down from his podium, cringing at how your body tenses at the loud thud. “Why?” his tone is harsh, cold, forced.

He knows why. You care, you check in on him when no one else does, you randomly ask him if he's drinking more water than coffee that day, if he actually went to sleep the night previous- unknowing to the thoughts of you that kept him up.

“You haven't eaten today,” you stick your arms out, a playful smile on your face and he doesn't ask how you know. You just do, “and you can't capture those nettlesome anomalies on an empty stomach!”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Nettlesome?”

You laugh, a soft one that makes his core ache with need. “My literature professor has permanently engrained fancy words into my brain.” your shocking professor. Probably some perv who keeps you behind to help you with your tests and oggles at your perfectly shaped ass when you bend over to pick up a pen.

And a painful reminder that as mature as you may be, you’re still young. 18 years too young.

He takes the burger from the tray, gaze lingering on the second as he tries to decide if it's for him or not.

“I’m eating with you,” you answer his question without him asking.

“No, princessa.”

You huff at him, soft, rounded lips falling into a pout. It's a habit you've made- bringing him lunch and sitting with him to make sure he's actually eating the food you've bought no matter how hard he protests.

“Fine. I won't eat with you, I'll just sit and stare and probably piss you off,” you smile smugly at him.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, turning away from you and throwing the paper from the burger in the bin.

You hum in response, not even caring for his grouchy attitude because it doesn't bother you. Because you're young, and you don't understand how men work yet.

He pulls himself up to his podium, glowing red webs dangling from the large metal disk where you soon follow.

Maybe you don't know, or maybe you don't care. But he can smell you, the rush of dopamine when he turns his back and you can see his trapezius shining deliciously in his dimly lit room.

You pull yourself close to him, hand resting just between his thigh and yours. So soft and delicate and he wants to ruin the innocence within them. Wants to see your dainty fingers wrapped around his cock, wants to see how you use those digits inside of yourself while- hopefully- thinking of him.

“How’s school?” he feels like an awkward uncle at an even more awkward Christmas party. Is this what it's come to? Him having to ask about your college life because that's your main focus because you’re young… er.

A small scoff escapes you, and you immediately cover up with a cough.

“I’m not seven,” you tease, hand held out to shove him but you immediately withdraw it which makes him frown.

“You look it.” it's your turn to frown.

You blink up at him, wondering if he knows how you crave these sweet moments between the two of you. You hate how dependent you've become on him, how you can't get through the day without thinking of him and using his health as an excuse to come see him.

“You’re an ass,” you fold your arms across your chest, nose scrunching in feigned irritation.

Miguel clicks his tongue at you, head cocking to the side in disapproval. “Language, princessa.”

You mutter a feeble “sorry”, a forced waver to your voice that makes him chuckle lightly.

You turn your head to face him, his dark, almost curls illuminated by the neon orange of his numerous monitors. His eyes meet yours, deep maroon paralysing you in place, peeking fangs slowing your breathing, chiselled features pinking your cheeks.

And you smile. A sickly sweet, beautifully innocent smile. Any other person would look away, grow red with shame, and maybe say something embarrassing. But you? You just smile.

Because you're painfully naive.

You blink up at him, wondering if he knows how you crave these sweet moments between the two of you. You hate how dependent you've become on him, how you can't get through the day without thinking of him and using his health as an excuse to come see him.

“Really?” you turn your head to face him, neck craned back so he gets a perfect view of your soft skin. “Do I look seven?”

Of course, you don't look seven. You look twenty, which you are. But you're mature and not in a creepy way. No one else would think twice about seeing if he's okay, and no adult would have their panties organised by colour like you do either.

The sound of his chewing eventually fills the bleak room. You can see him looking straight ahead through your peripheral.

“No.”

“A man of few words,” you grin.

“A girl of far too many.”

You aren't a girl. You’re a woman. You don't spend time chasing boys, you enjoy literature, and you have your whole life planned out. Kids don't do the things you do. Kids don't want a life with a decent man, with him.

“School’s boring,” you cut through the silence, voice soft, quiet, shy.

Relief washes over him like the first rainfall in the Sahara. He swallows- quickly, and brings his attention back to you- not that it ever really left you.

“It shouldn't be, you're smart, princessa, and if your professors are doing their job you should be engaged with their subjects,” he hates that he sounds so parental and demanding when he speaks to you but it's like a default setting. He expects the best from you because he knows you can achieve it.

You scoff and this time you don't bother hiding it at all. “Thanks,” you mutter dryly, “I’ll keep being smart and then school will be more exciting.”

He grimaces at your dull tone. He's used to your sparkly side, the smiles and the giggles and now you're acting your age, all attitude and sarcasm.

“That’s not what I meant,” he groans, his voice harsher than before.

“What did you mean then, Miguel?” you press on.

“I meant that you're smart enough to entertain yourself, unlike other people.”

And in its own strange way, his ‘complisult’ makes you smile. He sees who you are, that you aren't some immature child.

It feels nice not being viewed as a child for once. A slow, steady warmth travels through you. He's being nice to you, not a rare occurrence but uncommon enough to mean something.

Slowly, you edge your hand closer to his, fingers gently nudging against his own. You pause for a moment, knowing you’re pushing it and waiting for his reaction but when he doesn't pull away you give his hand a squeeze.

“Thanks,” your gentle voice making his cock harden beneath his suit, “in its own way, that was sweet.”

And you grin at him again. Soft lips beaming up at his plain expression as he tries not to think about how badly he needs some relief.

Against his better judgment, he squeezes your hand back. And the soft, nervous, almost squeak that escapes you makes it all worthwhile.

“It’s true. When I went to your universe,” not to jack off while you shower, “I saw your study notes. You work hard, princessa, and it's good, admirable,” hot.

All your life you be craved words so sweet. Someone to tell you that all those years of dedication to being the best and coming second is too, better than good. Someone to tell you that when they saw your study notes they didn't see you as dumb you have to revise but studious enough to want the best.

You don't even think twice about him being in your universe, just putting it down to an anomaly or another perfectly innocent reason.

He can smell it again, that dopamine rush. You pull yourself closer to him, taunting him unknowingly and let your head rest on his shoulder.

You do this often, allow yourself to lean against him, intertwine your fingers with his, plant endearing kisses to his stubbly cheeks when he helps you out. And you do it so secretly that it's almost sexual but the innocence you perform these acts with makes it feel painfully platonic.

All he can do is ride out this moment of pure torment. Cock stiff and thighs burning.

Deep down he knows he shouldn't be like this, savouring your innocence that he can so easily capture on cameras he can use later. You're so pure, sacred almost, that it feels wrong to even have his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Migs?” that nickname that only you get to use because if he gets to call you princessa its only fair.

Your hand slips off of his and moves to rest on his thigh. “Migs?” you say a little louder this time. He hums dully.

“Princessa?”

Sometimes you wonder if he knows how wet his voice makes you. The low rumble that passes through his chest, the silky smooth movements of his lips, the slight tinge of an accent that makes your cunt flutter.

You let your thumb travel over the ridges of his fingers, smooth over the peaks of his knuckles.

His hand is so big compared to yours, something that the two of you haven't ignored.

He wonders how the rest of you feels, past the tight lycra of your suit as it covers your wrists, against the fresh cotton of his bedsheets, flush against his chest.

The dull humming of the monitors accompanied by your heavy breathing and the subtle whirring of the random machinery warms up the silence between the two of you.

You shift yourself to face him, pretty lips pursed and brow furrowed.

Maybe it's because he's so safe right now. Or maybe it's because you failed your paper and his praise is all you need. But he looks painfully handsome.

Broad shoulders rising and falling with every breath. Soft lips parted in hunger. The sea of deep sepias and carmines that is his eyes.

Miguel has always been there for you. Well, maybe not always, but often enough. Your roommates being assholes? You can sleep at HQ. Suit ripped? He’ll make you a new one.

And in this moment, you can't see past that. He may be older, grey strands peppering his umber locks and worry lines framing his features, but that doesn't matter.

So you lean up close to him, faces inches apart. Just to smell him, just to see him, just to be near him, just to feel him.

He flinches at first, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. His gaze runs up and down your figure, trying to figure out what you're doing, your innocent expression leaving far too much up for interpretation.

For a moment the two of you just stare at each other, arousal burning white-hot in your core and bodies thrumming with desire.

A calloused hand moves to cup your cheek and pull you closer. Miguel lets out a low sigh, hot breath tickling your face and making your nose scrunch in a way that can only be described as perfect.

Your breathing slows and your heart hammers. He's so close, soft lips just within reach.

“Can I?” his voice is almost a croak, a desperate plea.

He can't tear his eyes away from your quivering lips. He wants to feel them against his own, taste you, have your mouth in his possession.

You don't get time to finish your feeble “please” before he's pressing his lips against yours.

It's soft at first, the two of you gradually warming to the sensation of each other. But when you let out a soft sigh something inside him switches. All morals and guilt go completely out the window and his senses are filled with you.

His tongue probes hungrily at your lips, seeking access to the warmth of your mouth and you happily agree. His hands slide down to your hips, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh crudely hidden beneath your suit.

“Need you,” you groan, hands gripping his chest with desperation. He silences you with another kiss, tongue immediately attacking yours, too impolite, too hard, too impatient to wait for your sanction.

He's blinded by lust, a desire that's been building up inside him for too long. His arm snakes to the small of your back, protruding talons catching on the material of your suit. He pulls you into his lap and you nearly gasp at the sensation of his erection brushing against your clothed cunt.

You lean back slightly so you can look at him, chest rising and falling with each pant. “Say something,” you pout, his mutism making your head swarm with confusion, “let me hear your voice.”

The neediness of your tone makes him smile, a boyish, cheeky one that makes your stomach flutter.

“What do you want me to say?” he questions, fingers tracing up and down the bridge of your spine.

“Just… talk me through it,” you pause, cunt fluttering and thighs tensing, “it’s my first time,” you admit quietly. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It's something you've never admitted, viewing virginity as a burden more than the blessing men do.

“Who said I'm gonna fuck you?”

Oh.

You purse your lips, your smile faltering and skin prickling with embarrassment as you fidget on his lap. His cock strains against his suit, hips threatening to buck up when you unintentionally grind against him.

You look down and a smirk forms on your face. You press the heel of your palm against his erection, eyes widening with arousal at the whine that escapes him. “This did.”

You swear that for a moment you can see a glint of red in his eyes, much darker, meaner, than his usual cool mahogany.

“Don't,” he grunts, hand gripping your wrist.

The excited grin on your face brings him back. He can't do this to you. He can't take your innocence, be the one to steal what makes you so pure. He's done things he's ashamed of, killed, lied, hated. He isn't deserving of the sweet bliss that’s you.

Your lips fall into a disappointed pout. Have you done something wrong? Maybe you’ve been too eager?

“I… I'm sorry?” you pose your apology as a question, unsure of what's actually going on. You’re inexperienced but this… this isn't normal.

“No, mierda, no, princesa,” and his hands back on your cheek, thumb tracing over the curve of your vermillion. “No digas lo siento.” your brow furrows in confusion but he doesn't elaborate.

He wants to ruin you, corrupt your pretty pussy with his hot cum and watch it seep out in think dribbles before he can stuff it back in with his fingers. But he can't.

That sweet innocence in your eyes, lashes fluttering with arousal from a simple kiss. He can't do this to you.

“Look at me,” he commands and on instinct, your eyes meet his.

“Good Girl,” he croons.

“I'm confused, Migs,” you push his hand off your cheek softly, head cocked to the side, “you’re confusing me.”

He brings a hand to your cunt and he cups it, the heel of his palm digging into your cunt. “Let me do this instead, hmm?” you nod in agreement, head too fuzzy with the strange mixture of arousal and bewilderment to even process the jolt of pleasure that shot down your spine.

The sound of ripping draws your attention down to your arousal-slick folds but he clicks his tongue. “Eyes on me, chica,” his tone is slightly harsher now but his eyes are still warm.

You don't know what he's doing. If he's coming or going. If he's teasing you or allowing this to go further.

“Mi-” he presses his index finger to your lips, not that he needed more than his intense gaze to silence you.

“You said this is your first time?” you nod again.

“No one else has touched you?” his fingers part the tear in your suit, your damp panties on show for him.

“No one.”

His thumb starts to slowly circle your cotton-clothed clit eliciting a soft gasp from you.

“Do you want me to touch you, princessa?”

Your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs but he doesn't flinch. A sharp talon nips at your weeping bud and you nearly cry. It sends a jolt of pain fused with sickly sweet pleasure coursing through your veins. “Asked you a question didn't I?”

You nod your head again, not knowing how to answer.

“Use your words.”

Your cunt is dribbling its juices all down your thighs- and he can smell it. His mouth is practically drooling at the scent it your arousal. He's trying so hard not to rip your suit all the way and split you open with his cock. But you're gentle, soft, sweet, delicate. So he has to be as well.

Taking a shaky, deep breath, you nod your head again, “I want you to touch me, Miguel.”

“Muy bein, princessa,” his thumb slips under the waistband of your panties and comes to rest on your clit but he doesn't stimulate you. Just leaves it resting on the hardened nub.

You whine at the lack of friction, hips trying to grind against his hand but his free hand holds you down.

“Migs, please,” you know you sound pathetically needy but you don't care. The man you've been lusting after since he first recruited you has his hand in your pants.

“Then keep looking at me,” he instructs, “wanna see your pretty face. Can you do that for me?” he grins at the twitching in your cunt caused by his words. That's all the confirmation he needs.

His thumb begins its slow pattern around the hood of your clit while his other hand rests on your waist, keeping you planted firmly on his lap. And maybe so you can feel how big he is.

His hands are surprisingly gentle. You've seen him kill before, seen the plethora of blood he can draw from someone with one fell swoop. Yet he's always been so careful with you, right now being no exception. Maybe that's what’s drawn you to him, the idea of him viewing you as something so sacred that he can't bring himself to damage your fragile body.

The tedious speed he's using is purposefully slow. He wants to draw this out for as long as possible, keep you a squirming mess on his lap, your sweet nectar running down to his thighs. But you want more; you’re too shy to ask for it but you want it.

You press your lips to his again, tongue slipping into his mouth almost sloppily. He's taken aback at first by your sudden burst of confidence but he doesn't protest. The hand that was resting in your hip moves to the back of your head to press you deeper into the kiss.

You whine hungrily and he rewards you with a faster pace. Your thighs clench around him, not actually expecting your plan to work. Your eyes flutter for a moment but he grips your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him.

“Princessa, I'll stop,” his warning is heed enough.

Your mind’s a foggy blur of arousal and pure bliss. He keeps toying with your clit, slowing down when your gaze falters but speeding up and rewarding you if you've kept eye contact.

“Please, I'll be good, so good for you,” you mewl, craving his kind words of praise again.

“Will you? Will you let me see those pretty lips of yours smile so sweetly for me while I make you feel good?” you nod your head excessively, mumbled “yes I will”’s and “good for you”’s spilling from your lips.

The hot coil of pleasure tightens with each flick of his distal. More and more sweet moans spew from your loose hanging mouth which are just music to his ears. Your leaky hole clenches around nothingness but you're too shy to ask for more. Miguel’s thumb is good enough but what you really crave is that hard cock that's pushing up against your stomach.

Soft, sticky clicking sounds mellow in the warmth of the rooms atmosphere, arousal blending in smoothly along with the scent of your nearing climax. He can sense it, your hips stuttering and your nails digging into the meat of his chest. But he can't let you go just yet.

“Hold it for me,” its a command, not a request.

You bite your lower lip, eyes nearly watering as you try you hardest to hold back. Your poor cunt throne needily while it continues to pump hot juices all over his hand. “I-I don't know how,” you blubber, thighs trembling and hands twitching.

Your body runs white hot with pleasure while your mind teeters on the edge of climax.

“I know you can, be a good girl, princessa,” he pressed earnestly, two-toned lips falling into that signature smirk.

You let your head come to rest in the crook of his neck. He flinches at the warmth of your breath and grabs the back of your hair roughly. You whine at the sharp tug but don't protest further.

“Fuck did I tell you ‘bout looking away?” his voice is almost harsh but you don't care. Your whole body is tingling with so much euphoria, blood pumping hot with pleasure, that you don't even care about his talon catching on your clit.

You’re so close to cumming, to reaching that paradise he's dangling in front of you like a carrot on a stick. “Let me, I-i can't, Migs.”

He frowns.

Once you're done that's it. He has to let you go, push off his lap and keep you at arm's length. But he can't bring himself to do that, get rid of your warmth and tiny frame.

“Migs? Please, let me…” you cut yourself with a silent moan.

Your mouth falls slack, eyes widening for a moment before fluttering closed. Warmth washes over you, trickling down your spine like honey from a jar. And for a moment you think you've gone deaf because Miguel’s lips are moving but you can't figure out what he's saying.

Your arousal spills from your cunt and all the way down his hands in a warm, blanketing trinket of your pleasure.

He clicks his tongue in disappointment but lets you ride out your high with his thumb remaining on your pussy.

“Fuck,” you breathe, voice cracking in a way that only makes his cock harden.

“Mmmm, did my princessa enjoy herself?” you look up at him, eyes glazed over with lust.

Your orgasm took enough energy for you to be exhausted now. You can barely lift your head let alone reply to him. When you try to smile your eyes just roll back slightly, your lashes fluttering and your nose scrunching.

You’ve come before, plenty of times, but this feels different. This time it feels all warm and gooey like it's going to stick to you forever. Maybe it's because it's Miguel’s fingers instead of your own toying with your cunt or maybe it's because you got to hold onto him. Either way, you've just cum all over his hands and can't form a proper sentence now.

Miguel smiles down at you, revelling in your blissed-out expression. Knowing that he's drawn this pleasure from you makes his insides churn.

“Pretty Girl,” he coos, hand smoothing your spine, “so pretty for me, hmm? Cumming just from me playing with her pretty pussy.” as if to prove a point, he spreads your sticky folds open with his thumb two middle fingers, a soft gooey sound catching your attention.

“Wonder if your cunt is just as pretty?” be slides a harsh finger inside with a grunt, eliciting a sharp gasp from you, “want me to fuck your tight hole, princessa?”

And you nod. Too fucked out, too tired, too needy, too in love with him without either of you knowing it yet, to push him away.

[auragasmics]

HE LOVES IT WHEN I...

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ synopsis! sugar daddies have a sweet tooth for all their sugar babies. but for you, these rich dilfs are ready to spoil you rotten for all your cute quirks!

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ pairings! sugar daddy bokuto koutarou, ushijima waktoshi, and akaashi keiji x fem! reader

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ cw! 1.7k, drabble + headcannon format, age gap (hq men are early 40s, reader is late 20s), car sex, oral ( m -> f), daddy kink, backshots, fingering, mirror sex, teasing, slight degrading, use of petnames

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ xoxo, chris! sigh...i love bokuto sm! he can eat me 25/8. ushi can too!

pt.1

Sugardaddy!Bokuto loves it when you say thank you.

It turns him on to unbelievable lengths. It follows the same old routine, one he doesn’t plan to change anytime soon. Each time you accepted yet another bag filled with your latest hauls, you turned to the doting man, his hand eagerly waiting to catch your own. 

With a faint smile present on your lips, the soft coos of your voice rose to Bokuto’s ear, coaxing for his copal hues to widen. The pair of words were simple mannerisms, instilled from a young age for all. But whenever it rolled off your tongue, the porcelain shades of Bokuto’s skin couldn’t hold back the innocent hues of red from surfacing. 

All he needed to hear was your pretty mouth say it one more time that day, just once more. 

“Aht, don’t push my head away. That’s just mean,” Bokuto pouted, the pads of his fingers digging into the limp plush of your calves. He’s got all his weigh on you, pushing you down onto the backseat of his car. You winced mindlessly, your hazy eyes flickering among the space Bokuto occupied between your legs. Your fingers lazily carded through his locks, strength dwindling by the second.

 “B-Bo…I can’t take anymore,” you slurred, resting your head along the sleek platinum headboard. You couldn’t begin to comprehend what snapped inside Bokuto, his insistence leading to you gasping for a lick of air. He didn’t give you time to slip from the citrine dress you wore, only to be bunched around your bucking hips. 

“‘M so sorry, Princess. You just looked so good today, I wanted a piece of you,” he mumbled incoherently, his busy lips latching onto the twitching bud of your clit. He's relentless, working the slicked muscles to paint sticky strokes along the bud.  

He’d been tucked away in his own heaven, relishing in every drop of your essence that spilled into his mouth. He pulled at least three orgasms from you this way, each one slower than the last. 

“Wait–I can’t cum again, Bokuto please!” you sobbed, your back forcing out a harsh arch. You frantically nudged yourself deeper into Bokuto’s hold, your hips swiping at whatever could be caught. 

Sharing in your urgency, Bokuto kept his tongue pressed into your folds, the voids of his eyes taking in the sight before him. He always did love when you chased after your own high, using him however you saw fit. 

He pulled his hindering grip from your legs, allowing for your thighs to smother him in a swift close. Not another syllable had to be uttered as you approached your high, both hands grasping handfuls of Bokuto’s hair. 

A bubbling fit of words fled from your lips, Bokuto giggling at the view. He drew himself from your cunt, placing a final kiss onto the exposed bundle of nerves. He rested back onto his haunches, keeping his hunkering figure hovered above your own. 

As he swiped the pad of his thumb along the spit-ridden mess of your lips, he whispered to your dazed visage gently. “Be nice and use your words. Now, what do you say fr’ me, Baby?”

Through your heavy lashes, you mustered the bits of energy to respond, granting a satisfied smirk to creep onto Bokuto’s face.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Sugardaddy!Ushijima loves it when you spend his money.

God, does he love it? The swipes of his card, the sifting through the thick bills tucked away in his wallet, Ushijima was addicted to it all. He didn’t even have to say a word, your hand already reaching for whatever mode of payment he had for the day. 

You weren’t aware of it, but there was a special glint that illuminated the olive hues of his eyes. Maybe it was how you twirled the thin sheet of plastic between your fingers, whistling some tune to pass the moments of processing. 

He was obsessed with the fact that every heel beneath the soles of your feet, every ring that hugged your finger, and every dress that clung to your body was all his doing, all stemming from the fruits of his labor. 

When that gratifying giggle rang from your throat, it was enough to fuel a flame within Ushijima’s belly—something he knew would be extinguished soon.

“I can’t hear you, Sweetheart,” Ushijima groaned, his hand prying from your stuttering hips. You lifted your head from the tear-stained pillow, pulling the swell of your lip through your teeth. “It’s so fucking good, Toshi! I w-want more,” you keened, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. 

Ushijima returned to the sight laid before him, the plump curves of your ass pressed against his tensed abdomen. Tracing down the arch of your spine, he was met with the glassy voids of your lidded eyes, spools of drool decorating your lips. 

Taking a provoking turn, he drew his hips from their post, dragging his length from your walls. He chuckled at the sound of your cries, the sadist whims surfacing to the forefront of Ushijima’s mind.

“C’mon Baby, you gotta work for all those bags you got today,” he surmised, landing a playful smack on your ass. The mewling whimpers from your lungs came to a sudden halt once you noticed what Ushijima held in the palm of his hand.

The hefty stack of blue bills sat snug in his hand, waving them to your gawking glance. “If you can make me cum just like this, I’ll add everything in my hand to your allowance,” Ushijima wagered snarkily. “Deal?”

With a sheepish nod, you agreed to take on Ushijima’s bet, planting your weakened knees into the mattress. A heavy breath brewed inside your lungs, acting as encouragement for your newly placed endeavors. Ushijima knew all too well how big he was, considering he was always so insistent on taking charge. 

Yet watching his pretty girl struggle to take him was just one of his favorite pastimes as of late.

With the single dive of your hips, your walls enveloped Ushijima’s cock in the viscid warmth once more. A stout arch coaxed itself into your spine as a keening sob sang from your lips. An overwhelming euphoria was placed upon your weary body, stemming from fullness residing within your cunt. Your digits dug into the cotton plush of the pillow, barely grounding your mind.

“Fuck–you must really want it, don’t you Baby?” Ushijima chuckled raggedly, the faint patterns of stars clouding his vision. He hadn’t anticipated your eagerness, the swift drops of your hips resting against his flexed abdomen. He felt everything, every twitch of your walls, every roll of your hips, even every kiss the head of his cock pressed into your cervix. 

The explicit clash of skin began the soft comforting tunes to Ushijima’s ears, hiding his blissful whimpers behind the music. His eyes were trained to the unfolding scene, from tracing the slick sheen of sweat dusting the curve of your back to catching each wave that passed through the supple skin of your ass. Reminding of something that of a fever dream, Ushijima melded into the amorous aura, quickly forgetting the bet he’d made with you. 

Giving in to his fading sense of self, Ushijima drizzled the stack of bills along your body, each one drifting to cover the sheets beneath you both. With his hand now free, Ushijima reached out to you, cupping your chin as he presented you with a single rhetorical question. 

“Who’s my rich little slut?”

Sugardaddy! Akaashi loves it when you flaunt your new clothes.

He finds it to be the highlight of his day. It’s even become his sense of downtime from the frantic day, hopping from shop to shop all across the city. He’ll sit in his favorite leather armchair with a cup of the richest brandy in hand, watching your giddy reflection paraded about through the mirror. 

“Don’t you look pretty? Told you this color suits you best, Sweetheart,” Akaashi cooed, his chin nuzzled within the crook of your neck. You couldn’t bother to respond to his compliment, not with his thick digits drawing relaxed circles along the supple bud of your clit. You clawed at his forearm in protest, the silk fabric of his dress shirt catching each scratch of your nails.

Perched atop his lap, Akaashi kept your thighs parted for his entertainment, his eyes pinned to the mirror’s reflection. He admired it all, the staggering rises and falls of your chest, your trembling lips, and the spilling streams of spit lining your chin. He only wished you could revel in the same vision he bore witness to. 

At his tender handling, your body melted into Akaashi’s hold. From the frantic beats of your heart, the nerves beneath your skin prickling with need, and the hot pants warming the air, it was all for him. Your back arched against his chest, squirming amidst the mind-numbing solace Akaashi delivered. 

“Look at that, making such a mess on my fingers,” he hummed, the tips of his digits ghosting the fluttering slit of your cunt. He allowed for a single finger to graze past your entrance, the lewd squelching spurring you on. “P-Please Keiji…don’t tease me like that. Just–” you sobbed, your hips bucking to meet his fleeting touch. 

“Sorry, baby. Not until you tell me how pretty you are,” he whispered, painting your limped jaw with lingering pecks. Drifting down to the pulse of your throat, Akaashi nipped at the skin, leaving the slightest hints of marks in his stead. 

His calming tone flew to your ear, earning your hazed attention. “Look in the mirror and repeat after me,” he instructed softly. You nodded concurringly, the lids of your eyes prying from their screwed hold. 

You were met with Akaashi’s narrowed glare, the darkened hues of his eyes pinned on you. Embarrassment rang through you, eyes glazing over your pitiful state. What caught your immediate attention was the ruby dress he’d just purchased sitting around your waist. 

Not to mention the pornographic sight of your cunt on full display for him, inducing for a merciful whimper to creep out your lungs. 

Yet for Akaashi, his own concern was hearing that voice of your repeat every word that soon left from his mouth. “I’m Akaashi’s…” he began, waiting for your frail reply.

“I’m Akaashi’s…” you uttered shyly, the inescapable heat swarming beneath your cheeks. He noticed your resistance, matching it with lingering swipes of his digits between your glossed folds. 

“Pretty Girl. I’m Akaashi’s pretty girl,” he compiled together, shifting back into his seat patiently. You swallowed the lump sitting in your throat, bundling the bits of energy to comply with his wishes. 

“I-I’m Akaashi’s pretty girl,” you whimpered out at last, granting a smile to spread along his lips.

“That’s my good girl. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

[kissitbttr]

this is miguel o’hara being a dick

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader

-

miguel knows he’s fucked.

he has been neglecting you, putting his work above your needs and ditched on dates he can’t count with his fingers. at first you were okay, given that you’re dating such a busy man like him, you understand the consequences.

but you’ve had enough. there were nights where you cooked dinner, only to be left untouched by him or where you softly cried yourself in the middle of the night because he was still out. the only time he comes home is when you’re already asleep, then he left to the HQ in the morning before you’ve gotten the chance to wake up.

you confronted him about this. paid a visit to his office before going to work. Jess and Lyla had warned you to not disturb him but you managed to make them back off with a single frightening look.

yes. they are scared of you. a lot of them are. they do not want to test you at all.

the moment you stepped into his office, he didn’t even bother to look. eyes were just too focused on his work that he assumed Jess was the one who walked in.

“oh, you’re fucking your co-worker now?” your tone laced with sarcasm and anger with arms crossed over your chest,

hearing the familiar voice, he had never whipped his head so fast. “y/n? what are you doing here?”

“well” you start, heels clicking against the floor as you step towards him. “since my boyfriend has been MIA for almost a week i figured i should stopped by.”

his head shook, turning his focus back to what he thought mattered most. “not right now, mi amor. I’m working.”

“i can see that, dumbass” you respond in a cold tone. frowning as to why he couldn’t take one second off from that god damn screen. “you and me are going to get breakfast together. now. before i go to work.”

“i told you I can’t. I’m busy” he replies, brushing you off with his hand. “next time.”

“i’m a busy woman too!” your voice shakes, wanting so bad to scream at him and throw that tiny desk at his head. “but I always want to make time for you, Miguel!”

no response. he muttered something under his breath but you couldn’t hear him.

un-fucking-believable

“you’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?” tone laced with venom as you spit the words. clenching your fists by your side as you struggle to hold back the tears. “i feel like this relationship is one sided, the only person that is truly making an effort is me. you don’t—“

Miguel couldn’t take it anymore. he threw a desk and it went flying, thankfully it didn’t hit you. though your eyes went wide in shock, a loud gasp left your lips as you covered your mouth with your hands.

“you’re right! I don’t! I don’t care about some silly little fucking breakfast when the universe depends on me!” he pointed at himself as his irises turned red when he looked at you. his breathing went heavy and he still wasn’t aware how scared you were at him at that point.

“do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to keep all this shit together?! how many people will die if i don’t do what i gotta do! I don’t always like it, y/n but i have to do it! and here you are trying to play house with me it’s fucking pathetic!” he scoffed, putting his hands on hips.

oh he did not realize how much his words hurt.

the room was filled with silence. you stared at him in disbelief but remained a stoic expression. you were taught better than to be weak before any men. Miguel was no exception. your mother would be disappointed if you let a man win.

“wow” you breathed, nodding. “that was a good speech actually, the longest one I’ve ever heard you talking” you tried to sound sarcastic but how you felt and how you sounded failed you.

Miguel was quick to notice this and his features quickly soften. he reached out quickly to hold you.

“cariño i—“

“I’m returning back to my apartment by five. do not fucking look for me” it was final. the way you said it, how your eyes remained empty as you spoke to him. Miguel knew better than to test you,

but he just did and now he’s paying the price,

his heart broke when he heard you said that. you were so tired of him and you just wanted him back. you want your man back but he couldn’t see how that mattered to you.

“baby, please—“

you held your hand as you turned around. “don’t you even think about sending Jess or Miles my way.”

with that you walked out of his office without uttering another word. leaving him speechless and heartbroken. he knew better than to follow you out, it would just make things worse. he was just going to let you cool off.

he didn’t know how long it was gonna take.

it has been almost a month that you two have been living separately. and he’s losing his mind. he can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he can barely walk out of the house without seeing all the things that remind him of you. the team even sensed something is wrong because he has been more short tempered than before and it almost made the rest of spider society terrified of talking to him.

he’s gotten more violent, that’s for sure. every enemy he encountered, he would leave them bleed with their faces unrecognizable. it was his way of taking his stress out. not exactly healthy but it’ll do for now.

but he thinks that this has gotten too far. he misses you terribly, your scent, your laugh, your voice, your body, and mostly… your pussy

God, the amount of times he sniffed your panties while he jacked off as the image of you clouded his mind was simply not enough.

and now here he stands before your apartment door. dressed nicely in a white buttoned up shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbows and a pair of black pants. his ring cladded fingers nervously grip around the boquete as the other hand shoved into his pocket.

Miguel had never been this nervous before. toeing his shoes and tapping his toes against the floor rapidly. it’s probably already been fifteen minutes that he’s standing like that staring at your door. thinking far too carefully what he wants to say.

he decides it’s now or never as he raises his fist and knock softly against the wooden door, hoping that you’re home.

“coming!” he hears your voice, his stomach somersaults hearing that after what it felt like a thousand year. “i am so hungry, why are you delivery guys always taking so—“

soon as you open the door, you freeze. definitely not the takeout delivery boy and instead it’s the one person you’ve been avoiding for God knows how long.

Miguel’s mouth hangs open slightly as he slowly taking in the sight of the gorgeous woman before him. you put on your favorite lime green night gown that stops just above your knees with a white silky robe, your hair fall down gracefully. natural curls framing your face. eyes glinting under the light, he almost falls to his knees and thank the Lord for your existence.

beauty doesn’t even begin to describe how you look tonight.

Miguel realizes how he probably looks like an idiot. clearing his throat to regain his composure as he smiles awkwardly at you. “Hi.”

you stare at him as your features then showcase a displeased expression. “what are you doing here?”

you’re leaning your body against the doorframe, arms crossed in annoyance. eyes flickering from his face to the flowers he’s holding and back up to his eyes. as much as you hate to see him, you can’t help that little feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you see the flowers he’s holding.

tulips. your favorite

he takes a one step closer to your frame, breathing out a sigh as he looks down at you. “I’m sorry, mi amor.”

that earns a scoff from you, looking away. “good start.”

“i was a horrible boyfriend.” he admits, gulping as he sees how sadness and exhaustion taking over your face just like that. “you don’t deserve that. what i said to you that day… none of it was true. you were not… pathetic, nor were the idea of having breakfast together… I appreciate every single thing we’ve done together, baby. believe me, por favor…”

a hard stare is the only thing he gets from you. the way your lips form into an angry pout and how your eyes seem to get tired and bored from his confession.

you’re a difficult person to please. he knows that.

“i know that being stress is no excuse of what I’ve done… I should’ve—fuck I should’ve done better. a month without you was like hell, mi corazon. ay, me sentí como si estuviera perdiendo la cabeza.” he sighs in frustration, head shaking as he recalls many sleepless nights. “i love you so so much. i do not want to go through that again … i know that it’s going to take forever to get your trust back and everything, but i swear on my mother’s grave that i—“

“stop talking”

he shuts his mouth after that. eyes looking up to you when he realizes you’re talking to him after a prolonged silence that’s taking over.

seeing how broken he looks almost feels like your heart got plucked. as mean as you are or as much as you wanted to look like you don’t care, you can’t when it comes to Miguel. you love this man far too much and despite his cold cold persona, that’s a huge sweetheart underneath.

“you hurt me, Miguel.” eyes casting down the floor as you try to keep your voice low. “you threw a desk to my direction…”

he shakes his head at that, resisting the urge to cradle your cheek. “lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean—“

“yes i know, i heard you.” you sigh, eyes closed momentarily. “you scared me”

Miguel feels his heart breaks when he hears how your voice breaks. he carefully lifts his hand to softly palm your cheek, thumb grazing against the skin. he exhales a soft sigh when you aren’t pushing him off.

“I didn’t mean to do that to you, my love. fuck, I’ve hurt you. i will never forgive myself for that. i was supposed to be the one who protect you and i was being a huge asshole.”

“a cute one though” you pout at him,

he chuckles at that, feeling the tension between you two are finally cutting down. “you’re too sweet, baby… after all i had done to you”

“nothing compared to how you treated me for the past two and a half years.” you smile sweetly at him, hand wrapping around his wrist. feeling at home once he holds you in his palm. “still a good man.”

he shakes his head in disagreement. “no, no that doesn’t excuse it… i was in the wrong.”

you hum in response, looking at the pretty flowers still in his hand. “are those for me?”

he nods with a smile, “you’re my only woman, no?”

you bite the inside of your cheek as you smile, taking it from his grasp as you sniff the pretty petals. “i love them. thank you.”

he once again goes quiet, taking another step closer. eyes looking down at your glossy lips and he can’t take it anymore. he doesn’t care if he’s stepping boundaries here. “i miss you, cariño. can i show you just how much?”

his offer sends shiver down your spine, making it impossible for you to stand still. Miguel always knows your sweet spot, how to make your knees feel wobbly without having him to touch you.

you do miss him touching you,

“i have a ballet class to teach tomorrow, papi. Saturday morning class, you remember ?” a pout formed on your lips, yet you still allow him to pull you close to him as he closes the door behind. “plus don’t you have work too? i bet Jess needs you.”

Migue nearly growls at you calling him ‘papi’. his jeans growing tight as you look up to him with doe eyes that you know he loves. though sometimes, you don’t understand the effect you have on him.

“that can wait… you’re more important to me than anything” he whispers, giving your open hand a kiss. large palm coming down to grip your waist, giving it a light squeeze. “do you want me too?”

you respond with a slow nod, biting back a smile as you interlock your hand with his pulling him inside. his smirk grows wider as he leans over to capture your mouth in his,

“let me fuck you real good then we can come home, eh mi vida?” he promises against your lips, slipping your soft silky robe off of you before picking you up in bridal style causing to shriek and giggle,

“i wanna hear you scream my name.”

-

part 2?

[realcube]

UNCONVENTIONAL PLACES

unconventional locations you have sex with the hq men (aka anywhere but bed)

characters ♡ (all aged up) oikawa, daichi, sakusa and ushijima

tws ♡ fem! reader, oral (receiving), vaginal, degradation if you squint — minors dni!

OIKAWA doesn't think there is a point of owning a hot tub if you're not going to use it to the fullest extent. you say you'd be lot more comfortable if he bought one for inside the house, but here you are, happily bouncing away on his cock in your outdoor hot tub without a care in the world for who might hear. he's sat with one arm relaxed around the edge of the tub and the other placed on your hip, guiding you up and down, a smile playing on his lips as he watches the ripples and bubbles foam up against your waist. putting in so much effort just to get him off, so selfless — he can tell it's taxing by your breathless moans and your juddering shoulders — you're so good to him. he wants to reward you, but a part of him thinks that allowing you to use his dick to split yourself in two is reward enough. but hearing your shamelessly lewd moans and watching your perky ass bounce against him, he just can't resist — your his dream girl, after all; you deserve everything he has to give. his other hand suddenly moves to claim a steel grip on your waist, holding you in place while he shoots his load inside you. it's messy but he'll ask someone to clean it later. this wasn't the first time he's creampied you in a tub and it definitely won't be the last.

DAICHI can't quite put his finger on it but there's just something about seeing you so sweet and domestic, innocently putting the laundry in the dryer with your hair lasily throw into an updo and an angelic smile plastered on your face (you were thinking about what he was going to do you tonight). you'd both got the day off work so you planned to spend the whole evening together but he just couldn't wait, he needed you now. he couldn't even hold himself back long enough to rush you to the bedroom or the living room first, he had to take you right then there. he had you bend over the rumbling dryer, his large hand tangled in your hair, utilising his strong grip to push your face against the cold plastic surface. the whole machine shook, and so did your body, as he pounded into your from behind repeatedly, all while your throbbing clit was pressed against the vibrating machine. naturally it didn't take long before you came. unfortunately daichi didn't have the extra stimulation provided by the dryer but that was alright, as he knows he has you; such a good wife who will let him rail her in any hole he wants until he's dry.

SAKUSA knows there is nothing better than his sweetheart when she's all soapy and bubbly. now, don't be fooled: he will lead you to believe it's a hygiene thing and he prefers you when you're clean but he's so whipped, he'd fuck you after you ran a half marathon then jumped in a murky river. no, he likes you in the shower for purely aesthetic reasons; there's nothing hotter than you with wet hair clinging to your cheeks, while soap and rippling water cascades over your perfect figure. such an ethereal delight you are. he expresses that by trailing fleeting kisses down your torso but of course he doesn't stop when he gets to low. instead, he's on his knees on the rough tiles of the wet room with his face buried between your legs. water runs down your body, and with his mouth connected to your cunt, it spills over his face, mixing with the beads of sweat forming on his skin and your slick that drips off his chin. his tongue thrusting movements and nose pressuring your clit doesn't cease until your legs have given out and you're moaning uncontrollably, sinking to the ground against the wetroom wall.

USHIJIMA has been stressed about upcoming international volleyball championships. it all training, training, training with him and it has been that way for the last couple weeks. you can hardly get him in bed with you, he's always on the court — so like the problem-solver you are, you decided to bring bed to the court. ushijima had a wing built on to the side of your house which was one big volleyball court, he was practising spikes and serves on his own while he waited for his teammates to come round. he wore that intense look on his face that never seems to dissipate recently. you saunter up to the other side of the net, a volleyball tucked under your arm, wearing a swedish adlers kit that you had cropped to all hell, "may i join you?" you tease in a sing-songy voice and that's all it takes. before you know it you're bend over on the floor, volleyball tucked between your thighs and stomach while ushijima rams into you from behind. usually he's a gentle giant but not today; if you're going to come onto the court while he's practising and act like a whore then he's going to treat you like one. he's rough and grabs you by the ass and tits and thighs to manhandle you into whatever position he likes; front, back, upside down if he really wants. this total control and recent sexual frustration contributed to his climax before your own, and as soon as he has shot his load inside you, he pulls out, a mixture of your fluids spilling out of your hole in the process. glancing down at your dishevelled state, he grunts, "clean this up. they're going to be here soon."

[messylustt]

౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐦

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. a lot of words.

fic masterlist previous part pt eight next part

violence + blood + injuries; making out; suggestive content; my god whew — miguel’s hand raises to…what? you don’t know, because the spider society’s alarm bell is ringing. mayhem, fire, fights…masked men. you only want to help. when miguel confronts you about your ‘help’ clearly displaying anger and well…worry, something unexpected happens…you both getting as close as you did before…maybe closer?

You’re still staring at Miguel, staying close. Closer than you probably should be. And just as his hand reaches up to…to what? What was he going to do?

Because now the alarms are sounding. Followed by the cries of spider-people. You quickly whip your head to the door. And at first Miguel doesn’t look away from you. As if the word ‘emergency’ isn’t registering in his brain. No. He keeps his eyes on you, his lifted hand having to drop away as you rush to the door.

Miguel clenched his jaw, cursing the whole idea of having an ‘emergency bell’.

You’ve reached the door and then the hallway seeing mayhem. Everyone is running (or more so webbing) around, as a fire had started in the centre.

Miguel is soon joining you, just as you spot Miles and Hobie running up. “There you are, mate.” Hobie sighs in relief, grabbing your shoulders as he goes to move you.

“Wh-“ You look around. “What’s going on?”

Miguel narrows his eyes on Hobie’s hands. He knows now’s really not the time to feel petty, but part of him wants to break his ringed fingers. Hobie moves you with him further down the hallway. “If they recognise ya, they’ll wanna kill ya, luv. So, let’s maybe go…ay?”

Your eyes widen. “Kill?! What? Why?”

Miles is hot on both your heels. Miguel not far behind him. Then Miguel notices Miles, brows slightly furrowing. “Why are you here?” He asks, making Miles glance back.

“Uh…I was invited.” He says slowly.

“Uh huh.” He eyed the kid. “By who? Gwen?”

Miles gulps at the look Miguel is giving him. “Yeah…”

“Mm.” Miguel hums, looking distasteful as he walks past Miles, catching up to you and Hobie. “Now we’re letting anyone in?” He mutters to himself with a small scoff.

“Hobie, what happened?” You ask, as he continues to move you, his grip staying on your shoulders. He brings you to the tech room, it appearing empty. You look behind you at the way you came. “I didn’t know you could get here through there.” You mutter.

“Lyla.” You hear Miguel say, her appearing by his shoulder. “What is this?” Though the look Miguel is displaying makes you feel as though he already knows.

“An attack on HQ.” Lyla says, beginning to tap away at her little screens.

“Okay, there are way too many of them.” You hear Pav say, running into the room.

“We held them off as much as we could.” Gwen is close behind. “But their strong. Like freaky strong.”

“Y/n!” Pav exclaims, bringing you in for a hug.

“Oh—“ You weren’t expecting the hug, everything happening so fast, as you slowly pat his back.

“Where were you?” He sounds concerned.

“I was just…” you drift off, licking your lips. “Gwen, whose really strong?” You quickly look to her.

“You remember the men who attacked last time? The one’s with the masks?” Gwen asks, to which you slowly nod, catching on.

“They’re back?” You ask. Gwen nods.

“But they look different.” Gwen’s says—her having seen the ones who attacked you and the tech room when they were in pools of their own blood, curtesy of Miguel. “They’re…”

“Bigger.” You mutter, picturing the masked men that were in Miles’ universe. “Better suits? Strangely taller?” You ask her.

“Yeah…”

“They’ve upgraded.” You mutter.

“Which means they aren’t here for a tiny thief job.” Miguel says, walking past you all to one of the only computers that didn’t get smashed. He pauses though, licking his teeth, as he mutters rather quietly. “Does anyone know the password?”

You hold back your amused smile, as you walk up to the computer. You lean down, tapping at the keyboard. The screen glitches a little, but for the most part it works.

“You’re looking for the security cameras right?” You ask Miguel, still staring at the screen. Lyla was clearly too busy to compute it, so you tap at more keys, bringing up roughly twenty different security camera images.

You zoom in on the middle three, displaying the fire and the masked men. Miguel leans over the desk beside you, staring at the screen. “They started the fire by smashing the tech there.” You point to a far spot on the screen, noticing the destroyed screens and machines.

Everyone had begun to surround the computer. “Why do they want to destroy tech?” Pav ask, as you shift your gaze to Miguel.

His gaze is focused on the screen, and more specifically on one specific ‘masked man’ . You narrowed your gaze on him. Where had he gone earlier? Has he met this guy? How does he recognise him? They all look the same to you.

Green woven—now metal—suits, but still those handmade masks…except now with added metal elements scattered randomly. “Miguel.” You say, making him shift his gaze to you.

You tilt your head, silently communicating that you know somethings up. The raise of your brows asks him why he isn’t voicing anything.

Miguel’s teeth are grinding as he stares at you, silently communicating back. You narrow your eyes upon understanding his expression as one showing he’s not going to voice anything. If he doesn’t have to anyway.

Hobie stares at you two for a moment, blinking. “Can you two read each others minds now? Is that what we’ve been missin’?”

You shift your gaze to Hobie, who’s standing, arms crossed. Then a rather loud scream makes all your heads whip to the computer. A masked man is holding up a spider-person by the throat. But what makes you want to puke is the way his claw is beginning to stab into the spiders chest and running down, tearing skin and other bodily flesh.

Hobie, Gwen, Pav, and Miles are quick, rushing out of the room and assumably to the lobby, where the guy’s screams are easily heard. Other spider-people are trying to fight back, but the masked men seem to be knocking them down a little too easily. How are they doing that so easily?

You swiftly turn your gaze to the screen, eyes darting, as your chest heaved. “One of them took it, Miguel.” Lyla says, making you shift your gaze to him.

He’s moving away, most likely to get to the action to help as well. He meets your gaze. “Don’t you dare move.” He warns, before he’s slipping through the secret entry.

What did Lyla say? One of the masked men took what? You look back to the computer, wincing every time a spider-person got hit. Hard. You take note of one guy, his hits extra painful to watch—the one Miguel was staring at. You wanted to help. You wished you could help.

Then you hear the shuffle of metal making you spin. But your heart slows upon seeing Peter and Mayday. Wait…mayday?!

You rush forward, seeing Peter’s frantic expression. “Y/n, Thank god. I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do.” He gesturing to Mayday.

“Peter why is she here?!” You’re extremely worried.

“I didn’t know an attack was gonna happen! I would have left her home.” He’s looking behind him, clearly knowing he has to help, but still holding tightly onto an unbothered, babbling Mayday.

You quickly grab her, pulling her into your arms. “Go.” You say. “They need you out there. Go.”

Peter looks hesitant, and you understand why. “I’ll hide.” You say, knowing he’s skeptical because you’re well…human and could barely fight back against those men. Especially if spider variants are getting knocked out.

“They won’t find me. They won’t find her.” You hold Mayday close to you, as she rests her head on your shoulder, her smile still present.

Then Peter is nodding. He trusts you. He knows you’re not one to be stupid. “Go.” You say again, and he moves, rushing out towards the action.

Your heart is beating on overdrive. Holding Mayday tightly, you turned back to the screen. None of your friends were knocked out, injured or…dead. But just as you go to find somewhere to hide—as you had promised, you noticed something.

A small machine, with a switch, it’s almost unseeable through the screen, but you catch it. That isn’t the spider-society’s tech. That’s from the masked men.

No. It suddenly clicks. Why all the spider-people were getting knocked out easy, why they could never sense when a masked man was l close. It was as if someone switched off their spider-sense and strength.

You felt Mayday lean away, using her own spider webs to attach to a farther desk, yanking you along the ground. “Mayday.” You hold her back. Now was not the time. Why did Peter give her her own webs?

You rip the web, pulling her back. “Mayday.” You say making your look at you, hair curling around her face. “You have to stay still. Okay? Just stay in my arms. Then how bout we play a game after?”

Her face lights up. You’d played these games with her, the main two being learning fun handshakes, and the other was hide and seek. “Alright?” You ask gently. She excitedly jumps in your arms. “You gotta stay still, though.” She stills, wrapping her arms around your neck.

You sigh, turning back to the screen. You can spot Gwen looking confused, clearly feeling the effects of not having a spider-sense. Then you spot Miguel. He seems unaffected by the change, noticing the masked men a lot quicker than the other spider people. Then you shift your gaze back to the switch.

The spider variants didn’t know. Shit, shit, shit. You had said you’d hide, to keep Mayday safe. But you can’t just do…nothing. Then you decide something incredibly stupid, like beyond a seeable level of stupid that could turn out terribly.

But you had to try. Because they weren’t winning out there. You pull Mayday away, making sure she caught your gaze. “Okay, Mayday…we’re gonna a play a game now. How’s that?”

She nods quickly, clapping her hands. “Alright…you remember hide and seek?”

She again nods at you, slightly playing with your hair. “I’m gonna count. And you’re gonna hide. Somewhere good. Really good.”

She begins to try and get out for yours arms, eager to play. “Mayday. Find somewhere really good.” She’d always been very good at choosing a hard hiding place. It always took you forever to find her. And you were counting on that.

Then you reluctantly let her go. You wouldn’t be long. You wouldn’t be. “One…” you pretend to cover your eyes, as you watch her waddle away through the cracks between your fingers.

You were stressed. This plan couldn’t go wrong. You wouldn’t let it. “Two…”

You were gonna reach that switch. “Three…”

And now you can’t see Mayday, knowing what direction she ran in, and roughly where she had hid, so that you could rush back to her. You had to be quick.

You ran towards the secret exit, grabbing a loose pipe. You’d rather go out there with a weapon. Loud sounds reach your eardrums when you made it outside the room, but you continued to run.

You couldn’t slow, or take your time. You rushed past spiders, thankful none are noticing you. Just stay unnoticed—you keep repeating to yourself. You reached the middle of the mayhem. And god was it hectic.

You couldn’t let Peter see you. You couldn’t let Miguel see you. You couldn’t let any of them see you. It’s as if you never came here. You ran, skirting past broken tables and machines.

Everything felt hot, the fire still partially there. You held back a scream as a tumbling, fighting duo nearly barrelled into you—it managed to knock away your pipe, but you couldn’t stop to dwell. The switch, the switch, the switch.

You slid to your knees, rushing under a table. You’ve almost gotten punched, and you’re sure a cut is bleeding. But you run, you can now see the switch, and also your friends. They look terrible.

You grit your teeth moving quicker. You’re so close. And just as you think relief is near, a body hits you, knocking you down. You wince, looking up to see a masked man. He tilts his head, blood coating his entire claw along with his suit.

You shuffle back along the floor, trying to get to your feet. But his boot comes down onto your chest, making you wheeze. “Aren’t you that chick who got away?”

“Different chick.” You wheeze out, scrabbling to get his foot off you.

“Nah, I remember the poster they put up in the lab. Your face is recognisable.” He presses harder against your chest. Your hand scrambles to the side, against the dirty floor. Find something. Anything.

Your hand finally clasps around a loose peice of metal. You tighten your hold, the sharpness cutting your palm. You swing your arm across, stabbing it into the guy’s calf.

It goes in deep, resulting in him lessening his boots hold. You manage to roll away, swiftly getting to your feet. He goes to lunge for you again, but your arm shoots out in a punch, right across his face. He stumbles slightly back.

But you seem to be more hurt then him. “Mother fu—“ you hiss, holding your now bruised knuckles. “Shit…why did I do that?” You mutter to yourself.

But you try not to dwell on the pain as you run past him and the others, finally reaching the switch. One hand is bloody while the other is bruised and you’ve never felt more relieved. You push the switch, a small whirring sound reaching your ears.

Then suddenly you catch sight of all the spider-people’s spider-senses turning back on, practically animated. But your relieved smile drops as practically all the masked men shift there gaze to you. Shit.

With all the turned heads, you catch Hobie’s turn as well. His spider-sense now taking note of you. His eyes widen in a mix of confusion, worry and anger? Wow you’ve never really seen him angry before.

Miguel takes note of you now as well now, as you shift your gaze to him, pressing your lips together as you breathe through your nose. Miguel’s expression is downright terrifying. You watch as he snaps one the masked men’s necks as he moves towards you.

You gulp, noticing some of the masked men move to you as well. You swiftly grab the small switch machine, and begin to back out of the room, or at least try to.

And just as a claw reaches for your face, an orange web yanks you aside, nearly making you tumble, but a tight hand wraps around your upper arm. “What the fuck are doing here?” Miguel lowly hisses out.

“Miguel— I have to go.” Mayday. You had to get to Mayday.

“No, no you can’t just go anywhere. You were already practically an enemy to these guy, but oh now they want to kill you.” He says this while slicing his claws across one of the guys throats—having tilted his head back to display the guys bare neck.

“Miguel.” You hiss. “Let go. I have to go.” You rush these words out.

But Miguel didn’t want to let go. You were bleeding, bruised, and almost dead. “Why didn’t you stay put? Why didn’t you stay goddamn put?” He growls.

You’re breathing hard. You had to go, and you didn’t have the time to explain. So you do the best thing you can think of. “I’m sorry about this...”

Your hand had reached for something on the a table, a plate, another peice of metal, whatever it was you knock it across his face. Not to cut, or harm, just so that his grip would loosen around your arm.

And it does, leaving you room to run. And god did you run—fast. You skirted past fighting people, the spider variants finally knocking some of the masked men down, now that the switch was off.

You reached the secret entrance, rushing into the tech room. You kept the switch machine close to you as you rushed to Mayday’s hiding place. You tried to slow your breathing, not wanting to freak her out. You wiped your bloody hand on your pants, wincing as your cut rubs against the material.

You didn’t want to scare her.

You reach the small cupboard type thing, having to lift yourself up. She had clearly webbed herself towards it. But with you being taller than her you managed. You took a breath. Pretending that you had been playing the entire time.

“Oh, Mayday.” You sing songed quietly. “I wonder where you are?”

You neared the closed cupboard door, hearing a faint giggle. You sigh in relief at the fact that she’s still here. You whip the doors open and you hear a small squeak. You scoop her up.

“Found you.” You said softly, earning now huffing giggles from her. She was okay. She was okay.

But then your heart drops. You hear heavy scuffing boots enter the room. No. Please no. Without thinking you rush into the cupboard, shutting the door.

Mayday begins to babble on about something, but you put her head into your neck. “Shh.” You shakily whisper. “Shh.” You stroke her hair. She moves a little, but luckily she begins to relax in your arms.

You can hear the taunting boots near. And you hold your hand over your mouth, quieting your heavy breathing. Please stay quiet Mayday, please stay quiet—you think to yourself, holding her closer to you, as you slide to the floor of the cupboard. It only just fit you both.

Then the door is getting harshly pulled open and your eyes widen. No, no, no. But then just as the masked man comes into view, his body is getting harshly lifted, his feet raising as blood bleeds out from his stomach. Your eyes widen.

Then he falls to the side, revealing a heaving Miguel. Your head knocks back against the cupboard back wall, as you hold Mayday tighter to you. You couldn’t let her see. Any of the blood, you wouldn’t let her see.

Miguel meets your gaze, just as Hobie, Pav, Gwen, Miles and Peter rush to a stop beside him, all staring into the cupboard.

You begin to shakily stand, still holding onto Mayday for dear life. You were scared. Your adrenaline slowly disappearing.

Peter rushes forward taking Mayday from you. He notices there isn’t a scratch on her and Peter is beyond relieved. “Make sure she doesn’t…see.” You say, sounding somewhat out of it as you blink, so your eyes would stay open.

Then Hobie is slipping his arm around your midriff, supporting your legs, as you gulped down arising tears. You wouldn’t cry. Not in front of everyone.

“What the hell was that?” For once there is no joke in Hobie’s tone.

Your eyes a blurring, but you wanted to stay awake. You hated how much your body could exhaust. “You were supposed to stay up here.” Miguel is saying, his breathing still heavy.

You know that you arriving back to the tech room, alerted that now dead masked man of where you were.

For once Miguel doesn’t mind that Hobie is holding you. He’s helping you. And though Miguel would rather help you, his hands are covered in blood—Hobie having used his surroundings and web to mainly fight them, his hands being rather clean from the red.

You half heartedly chuckle. “You can just say thanks.” You meet his gaze, a small smile edging your lips.

“Are they…” You drift off, Gwen filling in.

“They left. They aren’t dead. Some of them are. But the others…left.” She says, making you nod.

“Thank god.” You mutter out, the pain finally feeling like it can catch up to you. “And fuck…” You slightly push off of Hobie, shaking your bruised hand. “When were any of you gonna tell me that punching someone really fuckin’ hurts.”

“Well, usually punching someone with a metal head tends to hurt.” Pav says, raising his brows slightly.

“Eh.” You chuckle, continuing to flex your hand.

;;

Miguel didn’t leave your side when you went to medical, you getting stitched, and mended.

“Don’t sleep in here.” He says, gazing around at practically every spider person. The medical was of course packed.

“But the fire reached my room—“

“Not mine.” Miguel says, already slipping his arms around your body—though he keeps his hands, for the majority, off of you. His hands were still covered in blood, though dry, meaning the blood wouldn’t taint you, he still couldn’t.

“That’s fine—“

“Shut up, and move.” Miguel wasn’t looking for your acceptance, taking you to his room.

;;

Once inside, he shuts the door, leading you to sit on his bed. As you did, he had slightly begun to pace the length of his room.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching his stressful state. “Can you stop?”

He shifts his gaze to you, semi stopping. His body was still tense, his jaw clenched. “Sit.” You say, gesturing to the chair. You narrow your gaze until he obeys, moving the chair to face you, as he took a seat.

Glass still slightly littered the ground, the slight scratch marks on the chair staying easily visible.

You noticed for a moment that he couldn’t look at you. His gaze instead getting caught up with his wrist. You glanced down at it, noticing a thin…bracelet? It was covered in blood, and he had begin to fiddle with it, making your brows furrow.

“What’s that?” You ask. But he still doesn’t meet your gaze, clenching his hand into a fist.

“Nothing.” He says. But it wasn’t nothing of course. It was your bracelet, the one he had found in your rooms doorway, back in your universe when you had went missing.

“I didn’t know you were one to wear jewellery.” You speak light heartedly. But he barely reacts. “Miguel.” You say, sighing. “Can you at least look at me?”

And it’s the slight sadness in your voice that makes him. He looks up and you’re shocked to see a million different emotions swirling in his eyes.

“Why did you do that?” He asks, now not looking away from your eyes.

“What?”

“That.” He hisses lowly. “You were supposed to stay in the tech room.”

“Miguel you do realise that I couldn’t have just stood there and literally watched…right?” You ask, seeing his gaze flicker everywhere on your face. “I saw something important, and thought i should help.”

“But you shouldn’t have.” He says.

“Yes, I should have…” You stand up now. Miguel moves to stand also, but you hold your hand out, making sure he stayed seated. “I want to help Miguel. I want to be of help.”

“Yeah, well you being of help nearly got you killed.” He snarls.

“Exactly the same as all of you.” You say, stepping closer to his seated self. “You guys go through so much dangerous stuff all the time. And finally when I can actually help you hate me for it.”

“Because you’re—“

“A weak human, yeah I got it. But I wanted to help. And It worked…none of you guys are dead!” You exclaim, breathing heavy.

Miguel stares up at you, his breathing close to matching yours.

“That is all I’ve ever wanted to do, Miguel.” You say. “Help.”

“You almost died out there.” His voice had begun to soften.

“And so did you!” Yours hasn’t yet, though.

He couldn’t resist. Slipping his hand under your thigh he pulled you towards him, making your body tumble. He caught you by a second grip on your other thigh, making sure you landed in a straddle over his lap. His legs were still a fraction spread, which made yours naturally spread further around him. This satisfied Miguel’s want to keep those legs spread. Wide and open for him.

He pulled you even closer, your body sliding along his thighs, right up against him. Your heart was beating like a drum in your ears. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was breathe and stare. Stare at Miguel’s piercing red eyes that now practically told you everything he hadn’t voiced yet.

Miguel stared at you, his eyes seeming to hood over on their own. You were yet again, so close. He could taste your breath. And he wanted to. God did he want to.

He’s sure it would taste so sweet. You would taste so fucking sweet. His clawed hands stayed wrapped around your thighs, as he began to lean in, his eyes focused on your freshly wet lips, your nervous habit. You were nervous. He met your gaze once more, before darting his eyes down again. He couldn’t stop leaning in.

Your heart has stopped, having been beating rapidly in your ears. You want to gulp down your nervousness but Miguel is now so close to your neck.

His warm breath fans over your skin as his mouth opens a fraction. His hands ran up your body, to grip around your waist. Then he leaned in, his lips attaching to the side of your neck. You heard him hum, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine.

His hands begun to slip under your shirt, the feel of your bare skin making him go practically insane. He couldn’t believe it. He began to slowly litter small kisses—at first—his breathing growing heavier and heavier.

Your chest was heaving as he pulled you tighter to him, his lips now pressing harder against your skin. When they turned open-mouthed you could feel the drag of his fangs, his tongue coming down to soothe forming bruises.

Your head had begun to roll back, your hands tightly gripped onto Miguel’s shoulders. “I couldn’t let you die, cariño.” He whisper-groaned into your neck. His panting breath only occasionally felt, because he couldn’t back away from your skin.

His kisses began to lead up to your jaw. You were flushed, your body hot, everywhere. “Miguel—“ you breathe out.

“Shh, I just wanna…I just…” but he couldn’t even finish the sentence as he reached to hover over your lips. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, his claws embedding themselves into your hair, as his other hand tightened a fraction around your waist.

Now you’re breathing hard, your eyes slightly glazed over, your mind utterly dazed as you stared at Miguel. “I just want to…”

You gulp. “Want to what?” You quietly asked, your own eyes flickering to his lips.

“I— carajo.” Was the last word he managed before his lips found yours, your head knocking back. Miguel wrapped his lips around your bottom, breathy groans easily escaping him, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His heart was beating on overdrive, nearly at a concerning tempo as he lapped at your mouth.

And god did you taste sweet. So fucking sweet. And he gets to feel you—have you. He doesn’t have a care in the world as long as you stayed this close. Right against him letting him keep you this close. Your tongue dragged across his bottom lip, soon finding his tongue. His head moved to push further against yours, as he swirled his tongue around your mouth.

Then your body slightly jolts. His hand that was gripping your waist had tightened to a point that his claws had cut you a fraction. Miguel immediately let your waist go, realising that his body’s reaction—tightening around you, was to make sure you wouldn’t leave. “I’m—“

But you’re cutting him off with another kiss, slightly raising on your knees, so that his head had to tilt up to stay kissing you. His hands slipped to wrap around your raised thighs. “Tell me you weren’t gonna apologise.” You spoke to his lips, leaning away a fraction.

But Miguel eagerly chased your mouth, managing to pull your head back down, with a swift grip to your hair. “Miguel—“

He shook his head, his lips brushing against yours. “If I say no, will you keep kissing me?” He tilted his head, lips still lightly brushing yours, as his tongue came out to lick your top lip. “Mm?”

“Yea—“ but Miguel cuts you off, kissing you hard as one of his hands stoked up and down your thigh. “Then I’m not sorry at all.” He muttered between kisses. He was addicted. That’s the simplest way to put it. Utterly addicted. “Dios…I’m not sorry.”

Your hands slipped around his neck, beginning to play with the ends of his brown hair, your fingers soon sinking to softly grip the strands. A breathy moan escapes Miguel’s lips at the feeling of your fingers, his mouth opening against your own. A small forming smile edged your lips at the reaction.

“Shut up.” He whispered, smashing his lips back to yours. His kisses had grown even more heated—if possible—spreading across your cheek, his nose brushing against your hair. “Dios, y/n, can I touch you…mm por favor…?” He asks, trying to pull your thighs back down onto him.

But you held your own, staying just out of reach—legs either side of him on the chair. When Miguel would much rather you pressed against him. Of course he was hard, aching almost painfully. “Y/n.” He lowly growled out.

You grabbed his chin, lifting his head up, as you teasingly pecked his lips. “I’ve never seen you beg, give me a moment to enjoy it.”

Miguel clenched his jaw as he harshly pulled your thighs further apart, making you gasp, landing right on top of him. He moved his hands to your hips, keeping you still, as his head slightly leant back at the feeling. “Mm…that’s it…” He whispered out.

You could feel his bulge right under you, making your core ache. Now you felt hot. And as you looked at a breathless Miguel, his chest heaving mismatched you couldn’t help but begin to slightly move your hips.

Miguel’s breathing hitches, his hands gripping your waist. “Y/n…”

“Shh.” You partially mocked, earning a small growl from Miguel. “Didn’t you say I had to do anything for you?” You moved your hips along him, grinding torturously. “This seems like it would certainly help.” Your tone is breathy, as your hips movements sends jolts through you both.

“For a…mission.” Miguel remembers the start of the deal—the conversation—correcting you, through heavy breaths. God, what were you doing…keep doing it.

“Which loosely means for you.” You copy his previous words.

His head slightly falls back. “Mierda, cariño…”

You go to place your hands on his chest, when his head comes back up, his grip slipping from your waist to your hips and managing to stop you. He leans towards your ear. “But do you really think I’m gonna let you grind on me like that? Make me pathetically reach my high with clothes…still on?”

Your breathing hitches. His hand reaches up your shirt again, but pauses by the side of your waist. Then before you know it, Miguel’s holding your thighs—wrapped around him—as he stands. You quickly wrap your hands around his neck thinking you would fall.

Miguel chuckles at the reaction, instead, effortlessly walking with you towards his bed. He leans forward, resting you down as his hands came to cage you in. You’re resting on your elbows, pushing a little higher up. Miguel leans even more forward, so that you’re forced to lean back with him.

“Lie back…eso es (that’s it)…that’s ma’ girl.” Miguel breathes, as your head rests back against his sheets. My girl. His girl. All of Miguel’s previous loud voices, the ones that had quietened when you hugged him have become one. Repeating the words—my girl, my girl, my girl.

my god, that was a trip. and finallyyyy! AHHH — I hope this is what you guys expected and hope you all liked it

I promise promise promise, I will carry on this smut on the next part <33 it was just getting so long—I couldn’t stop writing (I’m sorry guys I gotta keep eedging ya)

plus since it’s the last part (part 9) next, everything will be concluded, and all mysteries solved! coz that’s just plain cruel if I utterly leave you guys hanging

taglist: @dangerousdreamkitty @ale-maral @inosukesweirdwife @flooftoof @cynicallyaestetic @silassinclair @mariiyoushi @ilovedilfjake @toastlover21 @wlellsl @k1rbbo @bitchotine @guacam011y @blnk338 @wolfiepirate @kurxxmi @corpsebridenightamare @ohantonia @yunonaneko @irenered-20 @z3r0art @sunflowercandie @perilous-pasta @gloriouskryptonitecrown @whyamistillhere78 @ritzzzsblog @mm1sta @tealcoloured-murder @aweebsimp101 @livelaughlaurv @s0dium @roguepancake @sunshiines-stuff @internal-soundtrack @oscarisdaddy69 @clairacassidy @captainquake42 @nanaloverz @ilyless @sindulgent666 @shine101 @thebadasssass @hibeejibees @nirishin @ily2lia @lillunna @cinnamoncattie @futuristicpandakid @maroonobserver @thatsopanu @edgyficuselastica @kittekat420 @stararctic @maxi-ride @renn-pumkin-head @scaraza @justanotherkpopstanlol @fauxizs @cloudsandrenoswife @ilmovor @larissa-lolll @elliemm @httpkiyoomi @j2warren @arquiiva @ilovemiguelohara @a-monster-can-filled-with-cum @fandom-gal44 @elwyn7 @albiebright

taglist #2 taglist #3 taglist #4 taglist #5 taglist #6 taglist #7

[artinvain]

KINKTOBER DAY 18 - DEGREDATION!!!!!

cw: mean sevika, degredation, dumbification, spit as lube, squirting, strap use, smacking, clit smacking, sev calls reader a bitch (during sex) once.

no minors, men, agleess or blank blogs allowed!!!!!!!!

she knows she should be kinder, she shouldn’t let you walk away with your pretty big eyes watery and your head hanging low. but she can’t help it - the more time she spends around you the harder it is to contain herself. she's so pent up around you, muscles aching from holding her hands back - trying not to grab at your plush hips and press up against you. sevika spends most of her day with her suit pants feeling too tight whenever you walk into her office, her hips twitching and cunt aching for you.

and you are soft and kind and so beautiful. you smiled at everyone in the office even if you were visibly having a bad day. all sevika really wanted to do have spoil you - not have you work at all, she wanted to have you rolling around in her bed with her all day. she wanted to wake up on sundays and have lazy morning sex and then make you pancakes. but when you do walk into her office, talk to her, bump into her or answer her calls, all she can do is bark angrily down the line because she knows if she gives in - she will never let you go. and sure she could treat you right - but she was also clingy, obsessive and jealous and she wanted you to want her and only her.

sevika is sick with the obsession. all she wants is to tear your clothes from you and feel how soft and wet you must be between your thick, soft thighs. it’s all she can think about watching you walk around the board room table, giving all her colleagues and employees documents for the meeting.

your silk skirt falls over your hips and flares out on your ass and god when you bend over the table beside her she can’t help the way her eyes pop out to look you over, she leans back in her chair so your tits are almost in her face when you stand up straight again.

sevika’s eyes follow you around the room and back to the desk where you’re sitting to take minutes. her grey eyes hard as stone when you give her a small smile and she clears her throat to gather attention and start the meeting. her words clear and decisive and sometimes cruel when she wants to make a point and yet all the time her mind is focused on the way your hands might feel in her hair while she buries her face in your cunt.

it’s late when sevika finally finishes up and she’s surprised to find you in her office gathering files in your arms, the back of you so tempting, sevika wants to press up close behind you and grind her hips into your ass -

“what are you still doing here?” sevika barks and you jump, the files falling to the floor and god, you didn’t need this - you’d been bent over your laptop the whole day effectively running silco’s desk while his assistant was out sick. you had also been taking calls from the london head office for sevika at all hours of the night, and she didn’t even notice.

you look over the files littered on the floor and sigh, tears pricking your eyes.

“I was here picking up your slack,” you bite back and you wipe your cheeks and turn to your boss. your eyes don’t travel past her chin, you try to take deep.

“excuse me?”

“I have been up the entire week at odd hours of the night with every fucking hq under S&S in europe. I've been running silco's desk because apparently jayce is useless and I never expected you to thank me but jesus-“

you brain short circuits when you feel sevika’s warm, calloused hand grabbing hold of yours. you didn’t realise she had gotten so close. her body is nearly pressed against yours - separated only by her fingers tilting your chin up, so she can look at you. god you’re pretty - “you’re right I need to thank you properly,”

sevika smirks when you gulp and of course you were attracted to sevika she’s built like a god. you tentatively touch her arm and ribs, "touch me," sevika demands and moans when your hands finally press into her skin. you never expected her to look at you like this. but god were you glad she was. all the anger and fear and tension between the two of you finally settled into the deep seated lust that had always been there.

you meet sevika half way as she swoops down to kiss you, sevika groans at the taste of you and you’re up on her desk so quickly you’re dizzy. she shuffles between your thighs as you open your legs and "god," you sigh, your head falling back as sevika kisses at your neck - her hips starting to grind into yours.

"fuck, been waiting for this - you're always fucking teasing me," sev moans, her fingers trailing up between your thighs

"those slacks that hug your ass - always have your fucking tits in my face," sevika says pressing her digits into your panties and rubbing your clit. "you know you're mine now, right?' she whimpers, when your hips buck against her fingers.

"please touch me, please i need to feel you," you whine, pulling your own panties to the side. sevika groans, kneeling between your thighs and she pants at the sight of your cunt, lips glistening with your wetness. she pulls your lips apart gently with her thumbs and licks firmly between them. "needy fucking slut, god. if only i knew - i would've done this so long ago" she mumbles, her eyes rolling back in her head as she tastes you.

you hand goes into sevika's hair, your acrylic nails scratching through her scalp and tugging her hair as she circles you clit with her tongue, humming gently into you. sevika sucks on her fingers and wets them with her spit, before sinking them inside you.

"ah, you're so fucking soft baby," sev moans high pitched when her fingers feel that soft textured spot inside you and you moan loudly, "such a fucking tease," sev whispers, "been making me wait so long to touch this pretty pussy,"

"please, please," you whine, your legs opening wide for her as she sucks on your clit. "look at you, you're so fucking desperate," sevika mocks you, "stupid bitch, all you can do is fucking beg for it, s'okay baby m'gonna give it to you,"

sevika starts to thrust her fingers into you. "you're fucking mine, you hear me?" sevika says, her tongue licking and sucking slopping at your pussy. slow and messy just to savour the taste.

"you don't need to do any work, you're my silly little slut-" she groans, sucking your clit into her mouth and then starts to rub it with her thumb as her fingers fuck into you.

"s'pretty much all you're good for - being my personal fuck toy," she chuckles when you tighten around her "aw, you'd like that wouldn't you? you're kind of shitty at your job anyway sweetpea - but you're really fucking good at spreading your legs." she groans

"m'gonna cum," you gasp, your hands tighten on the edge of her desk. "cum for me baby, come on sweet girl," she moans, standing as her thumb rubs your clit, her other hand coming to grip your chin, "tell me you're mine," she whispers and when you don't reply - or rather you can't because sevika's fingers are curling and fucking hard into you - she smacks your cheek. you gasp in shock and pleasure at the stineg,

"tell me," she says again, but your mouth hangs open, your head dizzy and she smacks you again, you finally cum, "i'm your," you yell, legs shaking and tightening around her hand.

sevika stands and puts you panties back in place. "you're not shit at your job," she says, kissing your forehead and gathering you into her arms, "i know that," you chuckle, kissing her neck, "but thanks for the reassurance,"

"i did mean it though - about you being mine," she says and she's surprised you don't stiffen in her arms, really you relax into her, let her hold you tight and kiss your forehead. "you're coming home with me," she whispers into your hair and helps you stand. she pulls you away from the papers on the floor and guides you to the elevator.

"we can clean that up tomorrow," she says and hands a heavy arm around you, so that you're leaning into her. "oh we're doing teamwork now huh?"

sevika chuckles and rolls her eyes, "yeah, considering you're my future wife," you laugh aloud at that as sevika closes her car door behind you and climbs into the driver's seat. "future wife? you don't think that's a bit fast, sevika, what if you wake up in a week and hate me?"

"not likely," she responds and starts the car to take you home.

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

when you're at home sevika wastes no time, kissing you again and leading you to the bedroom. "finally get to feel this needy cunt around my cock," she whispers, peeling your clothes from you and kissing every piece of exposed skin she finds.

sevika sinks her fingers inside your still sensitive hole, moaning as she works you open with another finger. "god, opening up for me so easy, you're so fuckin easy," she whines, her other fingers coming to rub on your clit after she spits on it.

"taking it like such a good girl, fuck," she moans, "my good fucking slut," you cum around sevika's fingers and she starts to smack your clit as you cum, her fingers never stop fucking into you, "want you to cum all over my face baby," she's switching between rubbing and short smacks to your clit, until you're yelling her name.

"that's it, come on be stupid and so fuckin easy for me and just cum sweetpea," you whine and you back arches as you squirt, your mind rushing with pleasure, "such a good girl for me, baby yeah, doing what you're good for," she mumbles, licking and suckling at your clit, swallowing your cum as she feels your cunt tightening sporadically around her. sevika kisses your inner things and then gets up.

"need to fuck you," she groans, she can feel herself so close to falling over the edge. sevika wastes no time in getting up and pulling off her clothes to fix her strap to herself.

when she comes back to the bed, you're still catching your breath and she doesn't give you any time to relax more before she's sinking her fat cock into you and your eyes cross at the stretch, your mouth falling open.

"god, you needed this as much as i did, you feel how easy my cock slipped in?" she groans, pressing your thighs up against you and bucking her hips into you. "you're just a little cock slut aren't you? getting all stupid on me,"

her dick reaching so deep inside it's all you can say - "please daddy, so deep, s'good -" you mumble drunkenly and sevika chuckles,

"god, gonna fill you up. make sure you stay feeling stuffed full of my cock," she groans, "fuck m'gonna cum, gonna cum inside you," sevika huffs, her clit throbbing and the strap rubbing it so perfectly.

"please cum inside me daddy - need it," you grunt, gripping her arms, tears springing to your eyes as you cum with every snap of her hips, sevika cums, watching your watch as you do, begging for her cum.

sevika falls over you panting and surrounds you, her weight like a comfort as she kisses your face. "mine," she smiles, nipping and marking your throat.

"we're taking a day off tomorrow," she yawns, "wanna stay in bed and fuck you all day,"

you chuckle and start to trace her back with your nails, "can't it be like a week," you bit your lip as sevika peaks up at you from your chest,

"that needy huh?" she asks, her hips slowly starting to buck into you again, her cock slipping in and out with your wetness as your nails scratch down her back. "please," you whine softly and sevika grunts. "god fuck," sevika grips your hair and pulls your head back to kiss and bite on your neck, her other hand coming to play with your nipples.

"come on baby, i know you wanna cum," she chuckles, getting up on her knees and wrapping a hand gently around your throat, her hips snapping lazily in your sensitive cunt.

"yea, yea that's it baby, cum for me," she says when you start to whine and cry out, your legs shaking. "good girl, my perfect girl," she sighs as you cum again, pulling her down to hold you as she fucks you through your orgasm.

✨🏷️ @archangeldyke-all @sexysapphicshopowner @sevsbaby @iamaboringrattat @lavendersgirl @opropheticsoul @ariariarr @femme-historian (comment to be added to tag list)

[drabblesandimagines]

Trunk

Leon Kennedy x female reader (BSAA) for this request Fluffy, bit of mild spice, bit of blood, mention of panic attack, swears

It was meant to be straightforward surveillance ahead of the main op. Monitor the drop – the metal suitcase fitted with a tracking chip and three fake virus vials – note any observations about the pick-up, then inform the rest of the Wolf Hound Squad who would track the co-ordinates to find the terrorists’ base of operations.

You had pouted a little at being sidelined from the main action, but Chris needed someone stealthy to keep an eye over the drop and, with a squeeze to your shoulder, your track record meant you were the prime candidate.

You’d set yourself up in the eaves of the abandoned warehouse that served as the drop-off point, armed with a pair of binoculars, an ear piece and a couple of guns, as always, for if anything went south...

..which it did the moment you detected movement from the south-east corner. It took a few attempts to get them in focus, but your heart sank when you recognized the figure – one Leon S Kennedy of the DSO rolling between abandoned shipping containers, honing in on the one you’d placed the metal suitcase in a few hours previously.

What the hell is he doing here?

You press down on your earpiece and it beeps once, opening the line to transmit. “Alpha to Lupe. Got a problem. Over.”

Silence.

“Alpha to Lupe. Got a problem. Over.”

Nothing – again. Maybe your current position has poor signal, but there’s no time to troubleshoot when squealing tyres echo around the structure, alerting you to the two black cars swerving in and heading to the shipping container in question.

The cars stop, their engines remaining idle and five well-built and well-dressed men depart – three from one, two from another.

Through your binoculars, you see Leon head straight for them, gun raised.

Shit.

--

You are jolted back into consciousness when your crown smacks on something hard, before being ricocheted back down to your nose cracking against something firm, groaning as you come to.

“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?”

The voice is familiar and rumbles through your chest with the horrible realization that you’re lying on top of someone. You try and scoot back, whacking your head again and a sinking feeling as you feel plastic digging into your wrists, keeping them bound behind you.

It all comes flooding back.

Numerous gunshots go off as you slide down the ladder back to the ground floor, half expecting to find Leon bleeding out or even dead on the concrete. Instead, he’s being heaved up by his armpits, unconscious, and pushed into the trunk of one of the cars, half in, half out as one of the heavy-set men commences a search, confiscating a multitude of weapons with a scoff.

You can’t see any other bodies, which is strange. Is Kennedy getting slow in his old age?

At the other car, a man with a blonde pony-tail is bent down, talking through the window to someone you can’t see. “Go on ahead with the package.”

The driver seems to protest, but ponytail shakes his head.

“We’ll take the rat elsewhere, have some fun… We’ll join you back at base after. Go.” He thumps the top of the car with his fist to emphasize his point.

The idling car now hits the gas with gusto, the tyres burning against the concrete before it skids out of sight.

The heavy-set man seems to have concluded his search of the unconscious agent by then, finishing with what looks to be Leon’s phone. He considers it for a moment before he drops it to the floor and grinds it into the concrete with the heel of his shoe, the screen splintering and plastic cracking under his weight.

He then leans into the trunk before holding Leon’s arms behind his back and securing his wrists with what looks like a zip tie, before heaving up his legs and giving his ankles the same treatment.

You grit your teeth as you think – you don’t have much time. They’re not taking Leon to the HQ, so it’s not like you can catch up and let the rest of the squad know they’ve got a hostage.

The other car’s gone, one of the guys is distracted, if you just-

“Well, well…” There’s a gun pressed to the small of your back and your stomach sinks. You’d thought the two remaining were the ones you had in your eyesight, assuming three others had got back into the other car, but one seems to have been prowling. Fuck, you’re better than this usually. Are you and Kennedy both having an off day?

A thick forearm wraps around your throat in a headlock.

“Drop the gun.”

Before you can even think of how to get out of the hold, a knee is forced between your thighs, weakening your stance and preventing any sort of retaliation you might be able to achieve with your legs. The forearm tenses and cuts off all air, the order repeated and it is not until your grip on your gun goes limp, letting it drop to the floor that it relaxes, leaving you gasping for breath.

“We’ve already caught ourselves a rat this evening, suppose it makes sense we catch a mouse next.”

You try and throw your head back in desperation - if you break his nose he’ll definitely let go, but there’s not enough room and the arm around your throat squeezes again, but this time there is no relief, only a smug whisper in your ear.

“Sweet dreams, little mouse.”

 Everything went black.

You squint in the dark of what you assume is the car trunk – an eerie red glow emitting from the corners which you presume are the taillights – and your eyes slowly begin to adjust to find two icy blue ones staring up at you under familiar bangs. “Leon?” Your voice is a little hoarse, but it’s better than being dead.

“One and only. Gotta say, this is a surprise. Been a while.”

You try and roll off his chest entirely but it’s awkward and cramped. The trunk is not large enough to be accommodating two adults, let alone one as muscular as Leon. You manage to shift most of your weight off him, though your legs are somewhat still entangled, ankles crisscrossed together with the same zip tie treatment. You cough, trying to relieve the tightness in your throat. “What are you doing here? This is a BSAA op.”

“DSO had intel of a terrorist cell being supplied with virus samples.” He tries to shuffle back a little, take in your face after you lying atop of him unconscious for however long.

“It’s a fake – it’s our drop.”

“What?”

“I was doing surveillance to confirm they accepted the suitcase with the tracker – the rest of the pack is gonna intercept their base once co-ordinates are confirmed.”

You see him raise his eyebrow in the dim light. “Pack? Redfield still going by that wolf crap?”

 “Oh, because birds are so cool, right?” You retort, though you’re more annoyed at your situation than him.

“How’d they get you?”

“Does it matter?” You avoid the question, not wanting to tell him the real reason you’d got caught was because you’d been concerned seeing him being shoved into the trunk.

“We’ve gotta get out of these restraints. I can try and…” You trail off, your breath catching in your throat. You pull fruitlessly at the plastic holding your wrists, ignoring the sharp pain, and try and bring your knees up to your chest.

“Already tried, there’s not enough space.” Leon interjects. “Maybe if I was here solo…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you mean to sound sarcastic, but with how you’re breathing it sounds more like a genuine apology. “I just thought it looked so fun when I saw you being kidnapped so I had to join in, you know?”

You’re breathing too heavy now, but it’s not getting down into your lungs. You’re not sure if it’s because your windpipe was crushed earlier, or that you’re on your side in an awkward position, or the fact that you’re stuffed in the trunk of a car with potentially limited oxygen.

Fuck.

“Hey.” Leon’s voice sounds foggy.

You shuffle as best you can, hoping a change in position might open up your airways, but it feels like as if the trunk is closing in around you.

“Hey. You good?”

“I…”

“You need to breathe deeper than that, okay?”

Deep down, in your logical mind, you know you do, but in the panic it’s just not happening, and your breaths grow only shallower. Your throat is too tight, the zip tie around your wrist and ankles is too tight, the space in here is too tight. Leon tenses his forearms behind his back for the umpteenth time, willing the plastic to break as he sees you falling further and further into distress. His words aren't getting through and he can't really touch you either, can't grab your hand or your shoulder and try and ground you for a moment to catch your breath. “I’m so sorry.” Leon throws his head forward and kisses you – not square on the lips, more at the corner of your open mouth, messy and awkward - but it’s enough to knock you out of hyperventilating as your scalp tingles.

“Breathe.” He orders, pulling back.

“You just-”

“Breathe. There’s plenty of oxygen in here – it’s not airtight. Breathe.”

You close your eyes and mouth and take a deep inhale through your nose, spluttering a little as you try to hold it. It takes a few cycles, Leon keeping silent as you gather your bearings, but eventually it steadies.

“Sorry.” You mumble, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have kissed you, I just couldn’t think of how else to divert your focus.”

“No, it’s okay. Definitely worked.”

There’s an awkward silence before Leon shuffles ever so slightly.

“Promise you won’t tell Redfield? I’d rather not have my neck snapped.”

“Why would he do that?”

“You... You two aren’t a thing?”

“No.” Your brow furrows. “He’s my captain. My life’s already complicated enough fighting bioweapons without throwing in dating my superior.”

“Oh. I thought…” He shrugs as best as he can before you can see the infamous cocky grin. “Well, how about you and I grab dinner after this?”

“If there is an after this.” You try and swallow down the anxious feeling that’s crawling up from your stomach once more. “Being moved to a second location against your will is nev- Ugh!”

The car drives over a pothole but, thankfully, your head doesn’t collide with the top of the trunk. Leon groans as the impact threw him over onto his front before he mutters under his breath and starts to grind his hips.

“Holy shit.”

“What?”

“I think they missed a weapon.”

“Really?” Your voice perks up. “What?”

“A knife.”

“How’d they miss a knife?”

“Is that a complaint?” Leon scoffs.

“No, just seems a bit amateur hour. Can you reach it?”

“Not a chance, but, er…”, he clears his throat, “you might. We’re gonna have to try and adjust positions first, I’ll need your back to my chest.”

“Okay. Erm…” You scooch yourself forward with your hip and heel of your boot - easier said than done as the trunk grows narrower the further you go down, your knees bunching up towards your chest. “Like that?”

“Gimme a sec.” He responds through gritted teeth, trying to roll over again. Whatever make car this is, it’s not American – the trunk space is abysmal. Eventually, he manages it, shuffling himself forward until your fingers are pressed up against what feels like his chest.

“Hey!” He snaps with a poorly concealed laugh as your fingers twitch against the fabric. “That tickles.”

“Sorry – reflex. Where is it?”

“Well, put simply, my crotch.”

You give yourself a moment to let the words sink in.

“You keep a knife in your crotch? How have you not cut off your-?”

“It’s more a scalpel than a knife,” he cuts you off. “And it’s hidden away in the lining – in-built sheath – near the fly. Think you can find it?”

You close your eyes tight, thinking it might help you focus. Your thumb brushes up against something firm and you feel Leon tense behind you.

“Is that…?”

 “My jockstrap, thank you.” He clears his throat again. “Higher than that and more to the left.”

You try to follow his instructions, but it’s impossible to go any higher, unable to bend your elbows. “I don’t think I can. Can you shuffle down any?”

“Er…” He tries, shifting down an inch or so, his knees pressing into the back of yours in a spoon, his breath tickling your ear as he settles back down. “There. Bit to the left again.”

You close your eyes again, feeling the zip with your thumb and head to the left until you feel what feels like a thin tube.

“That?”

“Yep. Now, just try and bring it up and out. The blade’s at the bottom.”

That’s easier said than done as you press your thumbs either side of it and feel it move ever so slightly up. It’s a slow and steady process, not helped with the fact of how sweaty your palms are now getting with Leon pressed right up against you. “I think it’s nearly there. If the blade’s at the bottom, can you shuffle back? I don’t wanna slice you open.”

“You got a good grip?”

You swear you can hear the grin in his voice with that one.

“As good as I ever will.”

He scoots back a little, not as far as possible, but enough room so you can pull the scalpel implement up and twirl it around carefully in your grip so you can start to saw against the zip-tie.

“Got it.”

“Does it feel like it’s working?”

“Yeah. Just kinda awkwa-" There’s a stinging pain in your palm as the knife slices through and you hiss.

“What?”

“Got my palm.”

“Bad?”

“Had worse.” You bite your lip at the pain then, eyes squeezed shut again, trying to visualize what might be going on behind your back. Your movements are miniscule, a concern that that if you went any faster you’d slip in your enthusiasm and stab Leon.

It feels like hours when you finally feel the tension give and your wrists are free of the horrid plastic.  

“Got it. Just…” Mindful of your bleeding palm, you roll over with your good hand and lean up, pushing Leon face down so you can set to work on his wrists. It only takes a few confident saws, despite how slick your palm is with blood, before the agent groans and pulls his arms in front of him.

You pull your knees up to your chest and quickly slice through the restraints around your ankles, before handing the scalpel to Leon to do the same. His fingers pinch your other wrist instead, bringing your bleeding palm up close to his face to analyze in the dim light.

“Shit, that’s deep.”

“It’s fine,” you try and shake off his hold, but his grip remains firm.

“That’ll be the blood loss talking. Hold on.” He pulls up his shirt with his free hand and rips at the hem with his teeth, tearing off a rough strip, before he begins to wrap it around your palm in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

“There.” He announces, tying it off with a tight knot. “Not ideal, but it’ll have to do for now.”

“Thanks.” You cradle it back against your stomach and hand him over the blade so he can finally cut through the zip-tie around his ankles. It seems just in time too, as the car begins to slow.

“How do you want to play this?”

“You sit tight, I deal with whoever opens the trunk… then we go for dinner.”

“You know I am not a sit tight kinda gal, right?”

“We’ve only got one knife.”

“One scalpel.” You correct.

“Exactly.” The car stops.

“Roll over, face the back.” He orders, taking control. “I’ll go the other way – they won’t be able to see our hands. When they lean in to haul me out…”

The dulled sound of the car doors opening leaves you with no choice but to turn away as instructed and your hand brushes up against Leon’s as you tuck them back behind your back. With the hand that’s not holding the scalpel, he grabs hold of your uninjured hand and squeezes your fingers in reassurance.

The trunk opens.

Leon is peering through his lashes, bangs over his eyes, as his captor comes into view, gun raised. He nudges Leon’s shoulder with the barrel, watching the agent’s head lull back before holstering his weapon and preparing to heave Leon out of the trunk.

And that’s when he takes his chance, scalpel in hand, straight into the jugular, his other hand nabbing the gun out of the holster as he twists himself up and out of the trunk before the man can hit the ground.

Before you can get up to join him, he slams the trunk back down. You curse, hearing back and forth gunshots before the trunk opens again a few minutes later, Leon stood there with an apologetic smile.

“Coast is clear. We’re down at the docks – I can’t believe I let myself get caught by these amateurs.”

“Well, I can’t believe you shut the trunk on me!” You shuffle forward using your good hand, relieved to be sitting upright at last, legs dangling out from the trunk.

“I’m sorry - I know most guys bring their dates flowers,” he pulls another confiscated gun out of his back pocket – must be his prize from the other guy – and offers it out to you, “but something tells me you’d accept this instead?”

You take it with a smirk and a retort too good to pass up on. “You’re really gunning for this dinner date, huh, Kennedy?”

He leans forward and pushes you back into the trunk with a kiss.

--

This is so, so silly but I had fun x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[savvyreyes4587]

Your Choice, My order.

Pm!Dazai x Fem!reader

Author's note: Chapter one came out quicker than expected so I hope you'll enjoy it and sorry if it's too short, also half edited.

Summary: Dazai is intrigued with you but there is only one problem… you're not happy about it.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Blood, death, gore and mentions of suicide.

Go to Life Waster Series.

"So are you going to tell me?" Odasaku didn't have to look at Dazai to indicate what he was talking about, they both knew what he was asking.

Dazai only stared ahead, the emptiness he felt inside out somewhat ceased but it wouldn't fully go away… ever.

But truth be told, now he at least had something to keeo him intrigued enough until it either go away or simply… die and that something happened to be you.

Someone they called Time Weaver, a being able, to not see ahead into the future like Odasaku, but to manipulate time itself, go back in it or apparently slow it down, if what Chuuya told him was true.

She was a ghost to everyone, wherever she was, death followed and not a single person had seen her face before, at least not people he knew until Chuuya jumped in one day and claimed that he knew what you looked like but the slug refused to elaborate on when or why or how.

That was how he managed to corner you when he saw you at the bar which unfortunately proved that he was right, that he knew what you looked like but the idiot didn't think his actions through or how powerful you were and if it wasn't for Dazai then at least half the port mafia would've been attending his funeral right now.

Dazai was a curious being even though the abomination he was… it was human nature to be curious and he needed to know more about you, your ability, what it could and couldn't do. 

He desperately needed a distraction from the dark shadow looming over him, fucking with his mind and pushing him to a terrifying point that hadn't came in a very long time and you were that distraction whether you wanted to be it or not.

"Dazai?" It was Ango's voice that pulled him back go reality, the music from bar Lupin returning to his hearing and he turned to look at the two men looking at him and wondered if they saw into his thoughts…

Still, keeping appearances, Dazai sighed dramatically and finally answered. "She can control time." 

Odasaku looked like he was going to jump to the conclusion that you were like him but Dazai spared him the confusion after taking a swig of his drink.

"Not see into the future but she can slow time down, rewind it, shoot ropes from her body and who knows what else, she still didn't wake up yet." He clarified nonchalantly as if he didn't give a shit about the ability user or the ability itself but only a blind man wouldn't see the intrest he had in both.

Ango scoffed, his disapproval obvious "Yeah because you thought it was a good idea to have Kouyou as your plan B." 

Dazai pouted and shook his head. "I didn't know she was going to hit her that hard." 

"What do you expect from someone with the Golden Demon?" Ango barley moved an inch when Dazai hid himself behind Odasaku as if Ango was coming for his head.

Dazai tightened his hold on Odasaku's coat as he chanted. "Be gone, Devil." 

Oda only shook his head at the weird argument before an alarm went off on all their phones, indicating an attack on the port mafia.

In a blink of an eye, the childlike behaviour disappeared as they all stood up and got inside Ango's car as he drove them to the port mafia HQ while Dazai tried to contact Chuuya, his mood ruined thanks to the sudden emergency. 

When Chuuya finally answered after the fifteenth call attempt, that was how he started the conversation. "You waste of bandages! I told you we should hold her at a warehouse and not here!" 

Dazai's eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas day, hearing that you were awake, wrecking havoc and probably ruining Chuuya's outfit and mood… this night was starting to get better.

"That's why an emergency was called?" Dazai asked as Oda eyed him curiously, especially with the creepy smile Dazai had on his face.

Chuuya let out a trail of curses and the sound of things breaking, glass shattering and guards groaning in pain painted a nice picture for Dazai of the situation. 

"Yeah she woke up and chose violence and half our men are with the boss and the other half is dead or dying so could you make it here quicker, you dickhead!" Chuuya yelled on the other line as shuffling was heard. 

Probably moving to a better hiding spot. Dazai thought to himself before ending the call and telling Ango to go faster while smiling like a madman.

This night was going waaaaay better than his expectations. 

A few minutes later 

When Dazai and Oda arrived at the higher floors of the building he expected wreckage and perhaps a few bodies here and there but what he didn't expect was the bloody massacre all over the place, blood covering every corner, bodies and body parts all around…

Oda looked at Dazai as if he was waiting for an explanation but how was he to explain when he himself didn't understand. 

Dazai's intrest in you was increasing by the second and he didn't even have to look for you, a body flying past both him and Oda told him all he needed to know and he rushed in that direction, his coat flying with every step until he reached his destination where Chuuya was fighting you.

The young executive took you in, the unhinged look in your eyes, the blood covering your face and clothes, ropes shooting out in every direction to get hold of Chuuya who was barley using quarter of his ability on you, holding back with all his might.

You were the very image of every emotion that Dazai ever felt, painted in one being and the stupid waste of bandages as Chuuya called him stepped closer to you, ignoring Odasaku's protests.

You body went rigid for a second and you were right in his face in a… mere parts of a second, a rope shooting its way out and wrapping around his bandaged throat, lifting him off the ground.

"No guns this time?" You questioned, voice steady and booming with authority granted by your ability. 

Chuuya was beginning to move your way, ready to knock you out clean off when Dazai's hand shot out, ordering him to stop as he gazed into your eyes and he shook his head to the best of his ability with your rope tight on his throat.

"No guns." He barley let out and you smirked at him, expression holding every evil in the world.

"Wrong move." You moved a new rope, ready to strike him with it.

"But a man near Keisuke has one." He used the ace up his sleeve even though he wished he wouldn’t have to use it this soon, it could have came in handy later.

"What?" You were taken a back, shocked with what he said and Dazai took the opportunity to use the rope you had around his neck.

He pulled it forward, pulling you with it and placed his hand on your cheek, nullifying your ability and you both stumbled to the ground and he could only watch in amusement as you didn't understand what happened. 

His chocolate brown eyes pierced into your lost ones and he almost felt bad for his next words… almost. "If you don't want Keisuke to have a bullet in his head in the next minute, you will listen." 

Dazai could swear that he had never seen someone dare glare at him with so much visible hatred the way you were doing, you eyes fiery unlike any he had seen and maybe you could compete with the way Chuuya's looked in corruption. 

Yet, you didn't attempt to move as you took in the damage you've done and the three men surrounding you, one of them who didn't kill unless necessary, one who pretended that he was the baddest soul to ever walk the earth but he was entirely different and one… who didn't have a soul, much less empathy, much less trouble with killing you if you tried anything funny.

At last the weight of the situation you were in dawned upon you as Dazai saw how your body language changed from hostile to wary as you spoke. "He doesn't have anything to do with it." 

Dazai chuckled, unable to content himself at little naive you… no man, would get himself into taking care of an ability user like yourself, without having anything to do with it but he wasn't surprised you didn't see it. 

It was obvious that you led with your heart and emotions more than logic which would cause trouble if he managed to do what he wanted, which itself would be a miracle for you.

You almost stumbled backwards when Dazai knelt down, on the same level as you and his eyes looked haunting as he talked with so little emotion, as if he didn't even know them.

"He has everything to do with it but if you cooperate… his involvement could decrease if I say so." 

For the second time, you made the mistake of maintaining eye contact with him and he too was making mistakes right now, the mistake of letting himself deal with you directly, he could feel the invisible web of yours, luring him in and he was letting it.

"What do you want from me?" You asked, or rather demanded as you brought yourself closer to him to the point where you were breathing the same air.

He smirked, leaning in closer. "You will join the port mafia under my command and together we will learn your ability." 

He knew that if you fell in the hands of someone else, the port mafia wouldn't last much, if you were against them even if you and chuuya fought each other, it would lead to a destruction like the arahabaki one and the death of both of you.

Your voice shook with fear or rage, who knew. "And if I refuse? I could kill myself and then neither you nor anyone else can have any use of me." 

At that, Dazai had to pause everything momentarily and observe you for a minute. 

A girl who had abilities that were probably not naturally given but forced upon you, no home, no one to call family… all these would probably be enough reason to suggest that you might actually off yourself but there was one thing that changed the whole equation… Keisuke. 

The young executive had sent people all over where you usually appeared and managed to gather information. 

Tanaka Keisuke, a man who owned a market but it was actually a front to what or who he truly was, he found you around two years ago, saved you from a certain fate at that time and ever since, you became his protector and saved him at every turn… treating him like a brother you never had.

But someone like Dazai knew better than that saviour story but you were naive and someone who could be drained emotionally which Keisuke used on you perfectly but that also was why Dazai decided his answer to you question. 

With all the confidence he asked. "And leave Tanaka Keisuke all alone for the people who are after you to kill him? You wouldn't be that cruel, right?" 

The fury returned to you features. "As if you're letting me protect him? You're blackmailing me." 

"I didn't say I was a saint, Belladonna, but it's a give and take situation. You give yourself to us, and you take our protection to Tanaka. It's a win-win, don't you think?" 

He could see it behind those eyes of yours, the gears slowly turning and thinking of every possible outcome to any answer you would give.

"So what will it be, Bella? Us or Tanaka's death?" Dazai questioned.

Your gaze drifted to Chuuya, who was watching the scene unfold with a frown upon his face, not liking Dazai's plan but he could see why you turned to Chuuya, to you he probably looked like someone who might ensure his word.

Chuuya came closer, tone soft, meant to lure you to their trap. "I will be in direct control of his protection, he will be safe if you agree." 

You fell silent as your eyes were stuck on the floor but Dazai saw it, he had already won and you would be agreeing.

Step one was complete, now to the more complicated step… convincing the boss to take you in…

.

.

Taglist: @v15aexe

If you want to be added to the taglist, leave a comment;)

[sevs-corner]

Tf 141: Mafia AU!

Chapter 3: Epilogue

{A/N: Here's the link to my masterlist } Link under for ch 3!

Ghost thought that you had to be a desperate bloke that happened strolled in to the hotspot of mafiosos.

‘A muppet!’ As Price would like to put it, but oddly enough, you looked more like a sad and pathetic one than a desperate one.

He well knows the reputation this bakery holds in this city, and you just stumbling along here- cold to the bone and hot to the head- didn’t quite add up to him.

An itch in his brain you were for some reason, even more so now when his boss had called for an immediate meeting back at HQ, even though they had a mission to go out for that night.

He digresses, nodding in agreement to Price before going back into to get Gaz— who was currently negotiating with a worried Nonna and Nonno about your sudden presence at their place.

“Hey,” all three turn their heads to his sudden entrance, “Price says we gotta head back.”

Gaz nods, his gaze hardening in understanding- he caught a snippet of it as he came back down.

“Nonno, Nonna,” he smiles to them in appreciation, “we’ll come back tomorrow for her.”

They nod in understanding.

Nonno then follows up with a- “we shouldn’t be too worried about it, right?”

Ghost quirks a brow, making eye contact with Gaz, as if to gauge that— were you really just a nobody? Or somebody they should be concerned about?

Gaz then shakes his head, “you shouldn’t,” he reassures.

Nonno smiles in appreciation, “then go on your way then boys- we know you got your jobs to do.”

Giving one last goodbye to the two, and reassuring Nonna once again that they would be okay, they finally get to leave and meet up with Price by their car, who was was just leaning on it with a lit cigarette hanging at the side of his mouth.

“That took a while,” Price comments, his eyes not leaving the paper in his hand, to which both took interest in.

“Are we gonna have that meeting before the mission?” Ghost asks, ready to nick pick the hell out of what’s going inside of Price’s head at the moment but pouts internally, seeing him shake his head.

“Mission comes first,” he says assertively, “we’re already short time— and we need to wait for Soap.”

Gaz groans, “ugh, why does he get to be left behind!”

His boss chuckles, “you’re the better driver, Garrick.”

Gaz instantly perks up and Ghost couldn’t help the chuckle as he watches the man quickly run to the driver side and lock into his seat.

“Well, hurry up then— we better get goin’, yeah?”

They both rolled their eyes, doing the same and hopping inside well- making sure to focus up for this meeting with an underground kingpin.

“Be sure to check your six down there,” Price reminds as they near the entrance to the under ground bar and casino in the west-end side of the city— where the growing red light district started to bud and grow.

It was a pain to go here, but this was a hub for information aside from the usual sleaze bags and scum that drowns themselves into greed and lust.

Ghost now knew that this became a 2-in-1 mission, take out the kingpin wanker that’s currently cheating off of 414’s good graces, and to get intel on that…paper.

Once Gaz buzzed in that he locked into the target, he knew this was going to a breeze for them, “like clockwork” as Price would put it.

As if it were a daily occurrence to them, Price and Ghost quickly dispatched the Kingpin’s men one by one, while Gaz instantly knocked out the man who was sitting and drinking with girls in his arms. Those women screamed and instantly ran away, not wanting to be the next person Gaz’ll take out.

Just like that, they had this man tied up in a chair in his office, with Price leading the interrogation.

“So Pierre,” Price starts with an inquisitive grin, “how’s the business comin’ along?”

Pierre glares, thrashing relentlessly against his binds but Price knew he wouldn’t be able to get out, Ghost’s handiwork will never room for any kind of that possibility.

“Fuck off!” Pierre growls, “I said I was gonna pay next week!”

Price tuts, “did I say we agreed on that date?”

“Seems like he’s weaselin’ and havin’ too much fun boss,” Gaz grins from behind the man, hands fidgeting with a butterfly knife.

His boss nods and Gaz takes that as signal to throw the knife right by the man’s temple, barely grazing his ear and the skin near it, then landing onto the wall across from him.

“Whoops,” Gaz giggles, “my hands slipped!”

“You bastard!” Pierre shrieks, “I’m fucking bleeding now!”

“Oh, you’ll be being doing more than bleeding, ya wanker,” Ghost snides, whipping out his own choice method of getting answers from this man.

“I suggest you start behavin’ Pierre,” Price smiles, “or else that tiny scar would be the least of your worries.”

Eventually, they got the man to talk as Price finds his secret bank book with receipts of where all his and their money went.

Though that went well, on the other hand- getting answers on the paper were proven…futile.

Pierre insisted he never saw it and even double downs- unlike before.

Though Price is a the type of man who wastes time for anyone, so he nods to Gaz, and he is all-too-happily ending him with the displayed gun in the man’s office.

“Dispose him,” Price commanded and Gaz pouts, hating the clean-up work but goes on with it anyways.

“He’s lying,” Ghost mutters, “wanker was pissin’ his pants.” He had a knack for these things and he could tell the genuine fear that grew in the man’s eyes. His legs were bouncing more relentlessly, eyes constantly glancing back and worth— all the signs were there.

“Figured,” Price lights a cig and then huffs out a response, “was too quick to reply— too antsy for my taste.”

Ghost observes his boss and brother, that itch coming back in and bugging him even more that he had no choice but to scratch it.

“Can I have a look at it, John?”

Price turned to him, silently debating whether he should let Ghost know now or later.

He pinches his brows yet hands it over to him anyways, Ghost taking this opportunity and snatching it.

He reads the direction paper side first, looking at it oddly before overturning and—

“John what the fuck?”

Price nods, “I know.”

“We have to fucking go now.”

“No,” John glares at Simon, “we don’t.”

“And why the fuck not?!” Simon roars in his face because he knows John wouldn’t fuck them over with something so important, but at the same time was frustrated that he didn’t tell them sooner.

“Told you guys earlier,” John puffs another out, “need everybody to be together.”

“You weren’t kiddin’,” Simon mutters and he thinks about you happening to meet them at the front of the bakery again.

“Was it really from ‘em?”

Simon couldn’t really wrap his head around you and this goddamn piece of paper. It was hard to believe that you would pop out of nowhere, just to send ‘em this sweet nifty reminder of their past.

“Yes,” Price nods, “nabbed it from the purse myself.”

Ghost gives him a look, opening and closing his mouth before ultimately deciding not to say anything and just nod in understanding.

“Got it.”

“All done here~,” Gaz enters back to the room, wiping the sweat of his brow but immediately stops, his easy-going attitude gone with sensing the heavy air that permeated the room.

He sighs and leans by the doorway, “its the paper isn’t it?”

“We’re prioritizing this as number one priority now on the intel team,” Ghost decides, standing and leaving through the door where Gaz was.

“That was quick,” Gaz’s eyes rows jumped to his forehead, “number one?”

He sees him nod and Gaz just hums, looking back to Price who just seemed to accept it then and there as well.

“If that’s rolling,” he claps his hands and juts his thumb out the door, “let’s skiddaddle and hop on it, then?”

They both nod to his proposal and head back to the car.

Ghost was reeling in his emotions in the car ride back up until the meeting with everyone now present. Even with Soap at his side, squeezing his shoulder in comfort— his mind was a mess.

“What the fuck…” Soap drawls, head thrown back and hands weaved through his hair.

Silence hung in the air as everyone digested the information passed on from Price and everyone stares at that simple drawing of a horn.

“It can’t be him, right?” Soap’s elbows were now on the table but his hand were on his face, voice seeped deep into denial.

“Has to be,” Ghost mutters, legs thrown on top of the desk and crossed over each other while his hands laid on top of his lap. “Can’t be anyone else.”

“Unbelievable!” Gaz denies loudly by slamming his hands on the table, “do you think they’d be his lackey?”

“A bait,” Price interjects, “an innocent or passer-by that might just be a little too unlucky.”

“Unlucky?” Ghost scoffs, “there’s no such thing as coincidence boss— you of all people should know that.”

“That’s fucked up,” Soap comments before growling to Ghost, “you saw ‘em— sick and whittled to the bone!”

“The perfect candidate.”

Soap is immediately at his brother’s collar, pulling at it and putting everyone into a panic.

“Soap, Ghost- chill-!” Gaz immediately moves to part them.

“He’s being a fuckin’ wanker!” Soap grits.

“And you’re being a dumbass.” Ghost seethes.

“Everyone down.”

Price voice booms, cold as ice with his eyes steeling hard as he takes in the mess of the room. He waits for everyone to get situated again before talking, now standing before everyone with his hands on hips.

“Ghost.” He called out and he nods in response, “go with our initial plan.”

“Yes, boss.”

Ghost nods whereas Soap protests, though he was immediately silenced by both his superiors.

Back at the bakery, Ghost gets time to thinks to himself as he replays the scene of you and Soap go at it in his mind. With Soap even acting like a gnat with his stupid grin— all because of you.

You.

With the itch finally seizing, his mind is now clearer. Fully deciding how to treat you in the face against his family—

“You’re driving cara to the market district for me.”

Ghost turns to him as if he was even offended at the thought of doing it. With a glare and Nonno giving one of his own, Ghost knew he wouldn’t back down, so he had to look at Price who gave him a smile.

“Nonno asked you to, Ghost.”

He huffs, his chair making a loud enough shriek that makes you jump once as you get to the last step of the stairs, making you almost slip, catch yourself, then breath out a sigh of relief.

“Where to?”

He hears you ask Nonno, and he couldn’t be bothered to hear the rest as he approaches the door.

“You should get going sleepyhead,” Soap advised you, “he ain’t gonna wait for someone like ya’.”

You give him the bird before quickly chasing after the weird brooding man with a mask on.

“Get the fuck in already,” Ghost commanded irritatedly while he stares you crossing your arms in indignation.

“Can’t you move your stuff so I could sit at the front?”

He deadpans at your comment.

“No.” He clips, “To the back.”

He sees you huff and slam the door shut before opening the one behind it, sliding into the seat smoothly then buckling in.

Once he hears the click, he is revving it.

And dear whatever-deity-is-out-there hope that this wouldn’t be your final moments.

He hears you let out a sigh of relief once he cools down and enters the busy streets, letting the traffic be then turning to you for questions.

“Hey,” he calls for your attention, “you know anything about gangs or mafias?”

You shook your head no then follow up with a- “why?”

Ghost stays quiet for a moment, stewing in your response.

“The city’s full of people like us,” he decides to explain, “and that’s common knowledge.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “really? Did not know that…”

He hears your mumble and nods all the same.

“But what isn’t,” you feel him break the car suddenly and you slam into the front seat, “is that bakery.”

Your eyes couldn’t tear away from the glare he gave you, it was stilled onto you and you were afraid that even breathing in this man’s capacity would end you for good this time.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, “I got lost.”

“What a laughable excuse,” he huffs, leaning back on the seat, gaze now directed again at the traffic and you feel free to move now.

‘Now that Medusa’s eyes weren’t trained on me.’

“Well,” you shrugged, “up to you to believe or not but that’s what happened.”

You hear his growl of complaint so you shot him another before he could reply.

“I know you have your issues and I got mine,” you started slowly, “but I got nothing to do with it and frankly— I don’t care.”

You yelped back to your seat when he grabs your collar, pulling you forward and come face to face with him.

You tell that— from the way his nose was flaring, the crease on his forehead growing deep, and the frown that could be seen protruding through his mask- he was pissed.

“You would care if it involved your family.”

With a click of his tongue, he tosses you back and goes back to driving, the silence less palpable than ever.

Ghost can’t believe he lost to his whims, it was supposed to be an interrogation— he fucking stepped over a line he shouldn’t and his ass would be had by Price.

He told himself that he’d treat like an enemy but that seemed to be less likely, the more he learned about you during lunch.

Now, he isn’t confident.

And that makes his stomach churn.

“Then tell me about it.” He hears you speak, and just like that— the clouds parts.

“What do you mean?” He grunts, and looks up at the rear view mirror.

He was quite surprised at the expression you wore- it wasn’t one of resentment or fright, but a compassionate one.

An unfamiliar one, he notes.

“I don’t have family.” You put it bluntly. “So I don’t know how it…feels—“ your hands wave wildly about, “—so tell me about it.”

‘Oh.’ He sucks in his teeth. ‘That’s what you meant.’

It takes him a moment to digest and reply, and frankly, you were quite used to that reaction.

“Well…” you wait patiently for him to continue, “…it makes you feel like you care.”

And you nod, letting him know that you were listening.

“Makes you feel… like they’re a treasure,” he starts tapping on the wheel, “makes you feel… like you got treasure ‘em.”

“Like a pirate and their booty?”

He chuckles at your sudden quip.

“You could put it like that.”

From then on, you both continue throwing questions back and forth- letting you ask about him and the family.

Furthering confirming that you were just a passer-by.

Furthering proving that Price is right- you were a bait.

A quite unfortunate one at that.

Once you both get to the market, you turn to wave him goodbye, Ghost- shocking you- did the same, then pulling up the window and leaving as soon as he came.

Ghost wasn’t confident— but he is sure now.

He feels his stomach settle from lunch, making him sigh in relief.

The day was long and rough, and you finally got what you wanted— a place to yourself (for now) and a job (for now).

Once you got up to the room, you were surprised at how clean and homey it was— quite a stark contrast to the building it was held in.

From the carpet to the drapes, everything matched perfectly to what you would say a, “academia aesthetic with flora.”

Well, more like dead flora.

You digress, brushing that aside for the more important part was a good shower and some nice sleep— until the morning welcomes you again in the form of a knock at the door.

Opening it then gets you a,

“Hey shortstack! Missed me?”

Making you instantly slam the door and trudge back to bed.

A/N: A bit of in between moments during previous chapters with this one focusing on Ghost’s POV this time! Already cooking up the next one✨

Taglist! <3

@astreaaaaaa6 @accidental-obsessionist

[mikiruie]

𓈒⠀⠀⠀⠀︵︵ ⠀◟ † ◞ ⠀︵︵ㅤ⠀⠀⠀⠀𓈒 ⠀

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ♫₊ ⊹ 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓶𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝔀 : 𝓂𝑒𝓃 𝒾 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉 ﾟ。ꪆ୧. 𝓹𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓮 𓂃 ˖ ˚◞✧

── TETSURŌ KUROO ﹕ 黒尾 鉄朗 ┊͙ HAIKYUU!! ◝✩

𓋜 hq. masterlist // general masterlist.

premise. thunderstorms scare you greatly. but thanks to your cute neighbour, you know you’ll be okay after all.

content. tetsurou kuroo / f!reader. fluff — sfw. reader is a scared of storms, mainly thunder. power outage. set ambiguously post highschool / in a university au setting. some angst if you squint + comfort. neighbours -> lovers.

word count. 4k-ish.

soundtrack. show me how : men i trust.

dedicated to beloved @tetsuskei , happy birthday ! ‹𝟹

écoute chérie! ᰔ updated repost from old bloggie , i haven’t beta it fully and sorry it’s nothing that is quite new but i hope that this one’s still a worthwhile read for you ^_^

03:24

You barely manage to catch the flickering lights of your dining room's lamp glitch out repeatedly from the corner of your eye, the lights inside your dingy apartment appearing to go haywire as constant streams of raindrops pound against the glass of your windows.

With each passing second they seem to multiply tenfold of the previous, their impact upon crashing into each other sometimes merging with one another in sync to form a continuous stream of running water trickling down the brick walls of your complex instead of the constant buzz of millions of tiny water droplets.

The soft glow from your lamp dims momentarily before stalling to a staggering halt. Your hopes of it reigniting by itself are quickly dashed when you see it attempt to start back up again for a few seconds before going completely dead. And after a few seconds of the darkness swallowing your apartment whole a disgruntled sigh escapes your lips as you close your textbook.

“Ah, damn it . . .” You bemoan into the blanketing sea of black ahead of you. “Not again . . .”

Slowly you stand up from your seat at the dining table, cautiously pushing your chair back just a little as to not hit the rest of your furniture before carefully maneuvering your way through the dark of your living room.

“Where the hell did I put that flashlight . . . ?”

You really should've thought to charge your phone and powerbank ahead of time when you heard a thunderstorm was making it's way to your city on the news earlier. Now with a dead cellphone battery and an empty powerbank, you're left to fend for yourself amist the unknown layout of your apartment without a light source.

Scuffling around in the dark, you take a step forward, miscalculating how much distance there is infront of you as you find yourself accidentally ramming your shin against the side of your unusually hard bookshelf, sending you reeling in agonizing pain stomach first and flopping right onto your couch.

Ouch.

Your teeth grind against each other as you hold your shin, wincing while rocking slightly in an attempt to alleviate the pain. “God, that did not sound good . . .” You can't see through the near pitch black lowlight of your apartment, but you're almost certain a nasty bruise may have begun to form on your skin from that.

A few more minutes of stumbling finally merits you to where you had originally intended to end up in the first place— the supply closet.

Feeling around for the door's surface your hand manages to find it's grip onto the smooth metal handle, twisting it open and carefully reaching out into the darkness.

“It should be on the second shelf . . . or was it the third? Fuck, I really can't see anything right now . . .”

Your fingers brush up against the elastic wrist tie of the flashlight (it was on the third shelf after all, go figure) and you impatiently snatch it from off the pile of other assorted junk you've haphazardly thrown in there throughout the years.

All you hear is a soft click within the suffocating silence as you turn on the device before your eyes are bombarded by a bright white flash, the sudden overload causing you to stumble back a bit into the wall of your apartment, blinking repeatedly to soothe the burn in the back of your retinas.

Maybe it's not the best idea to hold a flashlight so close to your face while it's aiming (or pointed) directly into your eyes.

Using your newly gained lightsource you make your way to the fuse box in your kitchen, now being able to easily navigate your way through the dark you give yourself a moment to stop and glare at the corner of your bookshelf that you'd run into earlier.

“Asshole,” you mutter underneath your breath through gritted teeth as you pass it by, as if you’re expecting the sharp piece of oak furniture to respond to you with a mind and voice of it’s own conscience. Though you suppose that’d might be just a little bit creepy considering your current situation.

Opening the fuse box, you shine the glow from your flashlight onto the many circuits housed within, eyes trailing down and scanning each one for the labels of what light they control.

Experimentally switching the one for the living room on, you glance outside your kitchen and into the hallway to check, only to be met with shockingly apparent disappointment as you greet the nothingness of the night that stares right back at you.

Just as a confirmation (and because you're stubborn), you switch a couple more of the circuits on and off repeatedly, disappointment maring your features yet again when they yield no results. “No power at all . . .” You deduce, closing the fuse box’s lid with a begrudging huff.

A deep crackle of thunder booms from the sky outside, startling you as you nearly drop the flashlight in your hands if not for the wrist tie securing it. A few seconds of heaving and checking outside your kitchen's windows— only to see more rain than you could ever possibly need in three lifetimes —causes you to ease up a little.

You feel a chill run down your bare arms, goosebumps rising all over the backs of your legs. The short sleeves and pajama shorts combo you chose to wear tonight probably was not doing much to keep you warm with the raging rain thumping down and the strong winds howling just outside of your apartment.

The sudden sounds of gentle knocking at your door cuts through the silence of your empty apartment, the hairs on your back shooting straight up in surprise. The flashlight in your hand falls and clanks onto the ground, the beam of light switching off on impact.

Cautiously, you make your way over to the door, uneasy as your hands hesitate to lay on the knob. Who else could be up at this late hour?

Your eyes squint through the tiny peephole of your door, zoning in on a familiar head of unruly black hair, donned in a worn out old highschool volleyball hoodie, red and white and matching cat motif logo on the front and back to top it all off. With noticeable bags underneath his eyes matching your own, you can tell that whoever it is has been staying up as late as you have these days.

You can't quite see much or well for that matter through the tiny peephole's space, but he patiently waits outside with an uneasy look on his face, hands shoved into the frayed pockets of his sweater and pacing around anxiously across the small space of your apartment’s door mat.

With your heart rate spiking back down to normal levels, you pick up the dropped flashlight and place it onto your dining table hastily before slowly opening the door to him. Startled, he jumps back a little once he actually sees you in front of him, as if he wasn't expecting you to be awake at this time.

You give him a polite smile, tired eyes lifting with all the glee you can muster up for him.

"Hey, Kuroo. Nice night, isn’t it?”

He chuckles a little at that, bringing his hands out of his pockets when he does, force of habit. You notice the pearly whites of his canines poking out from his lips when he grins. It suits him well.

“Yeah, it is. And you know I told you that it's okay to call me Tetsurou.”

"Right, right. My bad.” You jest, and his smile then melts away slightly, molding itself into a more worried expression that soon dawns his handsome face. “You doing alright?” He asks you worriedly, craning his head aside to check the dark of your apartment.

His voice has a low timber to it, quiet to not disturb the neighbours you presume, but you also like to think it’s to soothe your own jittery nerves. “Heard the entire building's power just got wiped by the storm.” He informs. “Was told by the front desk that it won't be back for another few hours.”

Of course it won't be back for awhile, the electricians can't really do much while the thunderstorm rages outside. You doubt anyone in the building who was asleep by now would even notice there had been a power outage tonight, most people aren't awake at the acceptable hours of 3AM working on their overly procrastinated capstone projects anyways to even care about the torrential rain pouring just outside their windows.

“Can I come inside?” Tetsurou asks you without a second thought on his mind before stopping himself, hurriedly backtracking himself and tripping over his own words whilst making funny hand gestures to explain his intentions.

What was that sign he just made? It might've meant Apple in JSL, his skittishness makes you giggle into your fist. “I mean, if it's okay with you. I know it's late and all, and that you probably want to sleep but I—”

You cut him off with a giggle of your own. “Tetsurou,” you interrupt, his cheeks dusting a light shade of pink in the darkness when you do.

Your laughter. It sounds just like bells to him, akin to the raindrops that hit your windows with a light tinkle each time they fall from the clouds above. Wind chimes in the raging storm that falls around you two and lighting crackles behind him, illuminating your bright face for him. And despite your groggy disposition, he can still make out the tired pleasure you have in chatting with him through your features.

“I don't mind, you can come inside. You must be cold standing out here,” You offer with a lighthearted chuckle. “I know I am and l'm just in the doorway.”

You take him by the hand, his skin is cold and dry, just as you expected from the frigid air as you guide him into your barely lit apartment.

He stumbles a bit through the front door “H— hey!”trying to remove his shoes by the entrance and laying them by the door mat, bringing with him two large blankets tucked securely under his arms you hadn't noticed him carrying in the darkness.

Tetsurou's eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness, squinting and zoning in on the little stack of books piled up at your desk, the flashlight you were using placed just beside an open notebook.

“You're still trying to work on that assignment?” He asks, setting the blankets down on a chair as you slide into your own, clicking the flashlight on and shining it down on your pages.

Most of what’s written down in the beginning of the pages is legible albeit a bit messily rushed, soon devolving into unintelligible scribbles that he realized must’ve happened once the power went down.

“Yeah, it's due soon.”

“There's a storm outside.” He states matter of factly, chin folded into the crook of his hands as he leans on the backside of the chair. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the obviousness of the situation.

“And?”

“Just, come here.” You feel his hand reach out into the darkness, standing you up from the table with mild disagreement from you as he reels you into his side. “Relax with me a little, let's go sit on your couch together. I brought blankets for a reason.”

“I can use one while working at the dinner table.”

The frown that tugs at Tetsurou's lips is barely noticeable in the absence of any light, but he whines audibly to let you know his stance on that statement as he squeezes his arm around you a bit tighter. “That sounds uncomfortable, though.”

“It's fine.”

“But isn't it better to huddle together for warmth?” He suggests playfully, “Y’know, no power n’ heat.”

You think his compromise over for a moment, and he senses the hesitation brewing inside your mind because he adds onto his previous offer with a convincing. “I promise it'll be good.”

Lighting flashes outside your window for a split second, followed by the loud seismic boom of thunder that takes you out of your thoughts and causes you to flinch in his hold. Instinctively he jumps in sync, pulling you into a hug as your heavy breathing fills the silence of your apartment.

Seconds tick by on the clock hanging on your wall, as it seems like the heartbeats of both you and Tetsurou meld into one beat. Your heart thrums in your chest in an uneven marimba of beats, loud and reverberating with the near silent ringing that’s paired with it in your ear.

Tetsurou hesitates to say anything for a moment, unease wracking him before he speaks. “Are you . . .” He looks out the window, his voice drawling on low and quiet even though the only two people here are you and him, as if he's about to ask something he shouldn't. “Are you scared of thunder?”

". . . No."

He pauses with what you can only imagine to be an unconvinced look on his face. “That sounds like a yes to me.”

“I'm an adult.” You huff, trying to break out of his hold and back to your pile of due papers. “I don't get scared by thunder like a little kid.” Tetsurou barely catches the “anymore” you mutter underneath your breath over the screech of you pulling out your chair again. His hold on you not only tightens but he drags you to the couch, much to your protests and complaints.

“Y’know, you're not a very good liar,” he grins cheerfully, plopping you down beside him before reaching over you to drape a thick blanket over your shivering body. Were you always this cold?

You try to move your hands to lift the blanket off, to stand up— but it's unusually heavy.

It traps your arms underneath it, feeling like a net he prepared and used to condemn you to the couch with it’s plush softness and cozy knit material. But in a surprisingly nice and caring way.

“Is this blanket weighted?” You ask and he agrees with a hum, draping the other one he bought over himself with a relaxed sigh before shifting his body closer to yours. Heat radiates off of him, seeping into the couch and warming your chilly figure.

“Yeah, I got them on sale luckily. I've found they're really good for rainy nights.” You can't deny that now that you've gotten a taste of what it’s like to be underneath one of these usually pricy blankets and to have this as almost like a barrier from the cold rain and air outside, you're already warmer than you were just a few moments ago.

You wrap the heavy woolen blanket tighter around your body, inhaling the scent it carries with it in it’s fibres. The fabric smells like him. “Thanks, Tetsurou.”

Another crackle of lighting blasts inside your living room through the window, peeking through the gap of your curtains as thunder follows closely in suit. It's louder this time, and seemed to be a lot closer to your apartment than the other ones from before.

Your hands slam over the cups of your ears to shield them from the thunderous booms, they feel weighed down by the heavy blanket as you bury your head into the thick material, closing them as like an extra precaution from the storm outside.

You don't even realize you're shaking until you feel a hand smooth over you back. Tetsurou's.

You can barely make out his voice with your hands blocking your hearing, only the worried asks of “Are you okay?” It's muffled and quiet, and his hand rubs soothing circles into your back as you barely manage to move your head to a nod. More thunder comes and Tetsurou's eyebrows knit together as you frantically switch to shaking your head no, feeling it drop further into the blanket in shame. Your heart falling out of your ribcage in sync with it as the storm outside won’t stop taunting your shivering self.

The small raindrops that crash against your window feel like they're right up against your ears, the bright lighting that races across the sky's edge stings your eyes to look at it, even if you shut them as tight as can be. And that god awful thunder, the thunder that makes you feel like your dingy apartment might crumble underneath it's roar, crashing to the floors below as the trees outside cave in on you from above.

“This is so embarrassing . . .” Tetsurou hears you mutter as you lift your head off of your lap to face him, fear written all over your features and you look like you're about to cry in the presence of your next-door neighbour.

Your voice cracks, and you think you'd prefer if the floor underneath you did fall through after all. “I just really hate storms . . .”

A weak chuckle escapes your lips as you wipe away the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes, attempting to lighten up the situation for Tetsurou. You don't want to make him feel uncomfortable by crying in front of him when you were the one who invited him in, so you laugh off the uncomfortable twinge in your chest for his sake.

“I guess I really am like a little kid,” You joke lightly, a whine trailing off the tail end of your sentence. “Look at me, afeaid of thunder and lighting like I'm still four.”

Tetsurou doesn't laugh at your self deprecating jab, and you feel your stomach drop at the suffocating lack of a response.

Would you have preferred if he laughed? No, not really— but it felt awkward to have only silence between the two of you in the heat of the moment. His eyes seem to twinkle in the darkness when he blinks and he wraps an arm around you before pulling you into his chest, you let out an alarmed squeak involuntarily from his actions, and the heartbeat in your chest magnifies to the sound of the thunder that you're so scared of outside.

His own heartbeat is loud too, now that he has you leaning on his chest like this. The wild thumping and beating, is that from you? You feel stupid for getting excited over that possibility, but as you look up from your spot you catch his eyes, tired and still beautiful as both his arms envelope you in a deep hug.

He covers your ears with the palms of his hands, splotches of red blush and heat crawls up the skin of his neck and ears in the darkness, and he leans into the crook of your neck with a ticklish sigh.

“It's okay,” he reassures you quietly, flinching when you snuggle deeper into his chest, the scent of his home shirt being the same as the one on the blanket he brought over but much stronger.

The refreshing smell of clean linen from his laundry detergent sticks to the thin cotton material of his shirt, and you can't stop yourself from blurting out “Did you just do the laundry before coming over?” out of nowhere.

This time it's his turn to laugh nervously. “Yeah . . .” He reveals, his head resting atop yours, taking in the scent of your shampoo. It fills his senses, it's not overpowering or overwhelming at all.

Maybe because it's you.

“I didn't want to smell bad when I came over . . . Is that— is that bad?”

“. . . No,” you decide, a content smile tugging at your lips as you let your head lay on his chest. “It’s not.”

Suddenly the loud sounds of the storm that had you once afraid and cowering in fear seem to become drowned out from Tetsurou's cupped hands over your ears, but you know they're just as strong now than they were earlier— and perhaps even stronger as the night drags on. But in Tetsurou's embrace, underneath the blankets he brought from home that smell just like him, wrapped up in his arms and snuggled up against his chest; you think you'll be okay.

“Please stay with me,” you eke out without thinking, and a part of you hopes he didn't hear because you're worried you'll ruin the tranquility of whatever you have now— reminding you that this moment is only temporary.

That all will be over by tomorrow morning when the technicians come to fix the apartment's power outage at 6AM, and you'll both go back to treating each other as just kindly neighbours like before.

That you'll pretend you never snuggled together when you had no power and no heat, and you never said the words you're about to say to him now.

"Please, don't go . . .”

To your surprise, a soft kiss is pressed to the crown of your forehead as Tetsurou's wild hair tickles at your skin, the erratic beat of his heart thumping wildly in your eardrums. He looks just as nervous as you do, lips suddenly dry and throat closed up when he tries to speak.

After a disgruntled groan, the two of you laugh as once more does lightning flash across the sky, with thunder coming in it's place moments later, hand in hand as always. Just as you expected.

But this time you're not scared, not when he next whispers out the words you've longed to hear since you were a little kid during these storms, not when he cuddles you closer to his chest and brings his lips close to yours before tilting your chin up and capturing you in the sweetest of kisses, his lips perfectly molding to fit yours as he mutters in between the short breaths of air with a smile that rivals the brightness of the lighting you were so scared to gaze into from outside the windows.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you, and you believe him wholeheartedly. “Don't worry.”

Raindrops continue to fall from outside, thunder and lightning work as a terrifying duo in sync as they torment the nature. But it all seems significantly less scary now.

Underneath the onslaught of rain, with the continuous lightning and thunder you've feared since childhood, and the annoying lack of power— you found something able to strike against even the worst of thunderstorms. Something much better to indulge your night in than your assignments that lay long forgotten beside your flashlight on the dining table far away from you and Tetsurou on the couch, warm underneath the blankets together bundled up to escape the cold air.

You found Tetsurou Kuroo.

reblogs ++ comments are greatly appreciated !! ꒰ ˆ ᗜ ˆ ˶ ꒱

© property of mikiruie 2024. all rights reserved.

[crystlizabeth]

In everything

Simon Riley x Wife!shadow!blackFem

Summery: Simon would stop at nothing to find her.

Warnings: angst, death, crying, making graves a horrible person, blood, torture, her code name is Irene non canon events.

They had taken her right out of his hands, Graves had taken her from him. He spent hours waiting for her to come through the radio, nobody knew what she was to him. Nobody knew that particular shadow gave Ghost his breath, she was his reason of living for so long. She was nowhere to be seen in the prison they had searched nothing but her bloody dog tags. Picking them up made his heart stop, his breath became fast and panicked.

“You alright brother?” Soap asked his hand touching Ghost shoulder.

Simons eye never left the metal tags “Any trace of Irene..?” He spoke softly.

Soap and Alejandro looked at one another shaking their heads lightly, “No hermano..” Alejandro spoke.

His hand gripped the tags putting them in his vest pocket. He had to find her no matter what it made him sick the thought of her dead, him having to hold her cold body in his arms. Taking a breath he had to continue this get Alejandro and his men out of the prison, try and contact Lanswell maybe she knew.

Everyone knew the plan kill graves and recover the HQ, that drive was long he felt so unfocused that pit in his stomach having that feeling of something was really bad. The air in Mexico was different that London’s; warmer perhaps, the rising sun reminded him of her the peace that came in watching it. Simon let his eyes close the memories of her filling his head, that white dress she wore as they spoke their vows, her tight curls down neatly around her face. The sound of her voice always calmed him down her touch made him feel at peace.. maybe that’s why they called her Irene a woman of peace yet she found her self in such a violent occupation.

“I need Graves alive..” he spoke.

Soap looked up at him. “LT we’re to kill him-”

“I need him Alive.” Simon said his eyes meeting Soaps.

He only nodded.

So he did, Johnny left him alive was it hard yeah but he mad it happened. Johnny and Rodolfo brought him to Simon a room that held 141 and Alejandro. Simon only had one objective now find Irene, to find his wife. Graves hands still behind his back Soap put him into a chair telling him to be quiet.

“Surprised y’all haven’t killed me.” Grave chuckle a bit.

“Where is Irene.” Ghost said his voice dark.

Graves looked up a bit an amused expression on his face “Shadow 0-7?” He asked knowing who Ghost was talking about.

“I asked a fucking question.” Ghost snarled.

“She’s been— taken care of..” Graves spoke.

Ghost heart dropped, taken care of? “What do you mean taken care of.” He spoke his voice unnoticeably shaken.

“She did something stupid and well we found a few things out” graves said watching Ghosts movements noticing the grip on his gun grew tighter.

“Found what out?” Gaz asked, looking at his Lieutenant.

Graves head turned to the side waiting for Simon to answer but Ghost didn’t say a thing. “Turns out your LT here is married to a shadow, well former shadow.”

“Where is she Graves.”

“Not here..” he responded.

A stab to the thigh caused Graves to yell out in pain, “WHERE IS MY WIFE GRAVES!” He screams into his face twisting the blade in his thigh.

“Fuck! I don’t know. I didn’t transfer her!” Graves yelled.

“Imma need more than that you son of bitch.” Ghost spoke pulling out the knife and holding it to his throat.

“Is she here At the hq?” Price asked.

“Yes.” Graves whinced.

.“Is she alive.” Ghost asked applying pressure with the blade to his throat.

Graves nodded a bit. “She is last time I saw her, she was in one of the containers like Valeria was.”

“WHAT FUCKIN ONE.” Ghost yelled starting to get impatient.

“Near garage 14 where all those containers sit.”

Removing the knife he looked over at Alejandro, “there atlest 25 containers near that garage.” Alejandro told Ghosts.

“Then we’ll search everyone.” Price said his eyes meeting Simons, “we’ll find her Simon.”

So the started Rodolfo and a few LV staying with graves. With every container they looked through nothing simons heart stoped every time one of them was opened. What if he had lied to them, and she was transferred god knows where.

“What if we don’t find her LT..” Johnny asked getting a look from price.

Simon stoped in his tracks back facing them, “god wont even be able to help them—Graves, Shepherd and every shadow I hadn’t gotten ahold of yet.” Simon spoke before a voice came over the radio.

A man speaking Spanish over the radio Alejandro looked up meeting Simons eyes, “they found her.”

Not a second to spare Simon pushed past him going towards the other team there stood a few men “Move!” Ghost yelled pushing one of Alejandro’s men to the side.

There she laid curled in to a ball he dropped down to her in a panic “No, no mon’ love, common baby.” His fingers touched her pulse point.

Nothing, no pulse. Simon quickly put her on her back, “no love, no no no.. please common love wake up.” He cried starting to give her CPR. She was cover head to toe in blood and bruises, her curls messy and in her face, her lips cracked and dry the dirt on her face showing the tears she cried as the beat on her. He kept going hoping, hoping that she wasn’t gone that he could bring her back, the feeling of a hand on his shoulder he quickly slapped it away.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” He yelled his eyes never leaving her his movements not stopping.

“Simon… she’s gone.” Price spoke softly.

She couldn’t be he couldn’t allow it, her cold body shaking at his harsh movements to bring her back broke him even more. He had stopped Simon never cried infront of people but now all he could do was cry, cry. Pulling her cold body close to him he held her so close his body rocking back and forth as he cried for her “im so sorry my love, I’m so sorry-“ he sobbed.

“Please my love come back to me just come back to me..” he continued, he was nothing without her and now she was gone. She was his peace and now she was gone, her face sat in the crook of his neck as he continued to hold her.

“It’s all my fault I couldn’t protect you..” he cried softly into her hair.

…

“I often see you in things that I find while working you know that.” Simon said looking up at the woman that sat across from him.

She laughed lightly her head sitting in the palm of her hand “oh? How’s that my love.” She said giving him a smile that alway seemed to give him butterflies.

“We’ll for starters the sunrises, the sunsets. Theyer so peaceful to watch. Listening to the wind blow in the trees, Maple trees to be exact. And lavender and peony flower”

“I love those flowers..” she sighed softly her eyes meeting his.

He only laughed.

Shadows of them still dancing in their kitchen, the rain hitting the windows as music played. To him she was in the trees in the air that he breathed. Those times of laying in bed saying the wouldn’t come back to this damned job but they always did for she wanted to fight for peace to keep people safe, and yet she got her self killed while doing it.

“Why do you still work in the military?”

She looked over at him the morning sun hitting her melanin skin, “I work in to keep pease, I love helping people I was a medic at first but Graves thought my skills could be good in the field aswell.” She spoke.

He nodded sting up looking in her eyes, “your such a beautiful soul..” he whispered.

Her hands touched his face “as you are my love.”

But he wasn’t he was a killer, he killed people. She was the only thing that saw him as beautiful. She reminder him all the time of how loved he is and that he was so beautiful her fingers tracing his face kissing up his body.

“We’ll get to go home after this..” she spoke her eyes watching the sunrise. He looked over at her, admiring her face taking ever inch of it in.

“We should settle down after this- not have kids anyway.” She mumbled.

“Do you want children?” He asked his body close to her but he stayed looking ahead.

She looked down at her hands fiddling with her ring a bit “I would..” she mumbled.

He looked down at her back to the horizon, “then let’s go home after this settle down..” he said.

Glancing down at her there was that smile, “yeah.. let’s do that.”

Simon pulled his mask up a bit pulling her to him his lips kissing hers softly, a kiss telling her how much he loved her to give a type of comfort and reassurance. Her hands held his face as they kissed “I love you Simon.” She said her forehead touching his.

“I love you too (name)..”

…

He eventually carried her back to the main hq, holding her close to him.

They we’re supposed to go home together, but now he would burry her. And god that was pain full her family there 141, her bestfriend. That November in her home town was bright and colorful but a dark cloud hung over them, the maple trees shaking from the breeze the colorful leaves falling from it.

That night he found himself just standing over her grave till the sun set, watching the orange hue collaborating with clouds. Where was he supposed to go from here? He couldn’t go home not without her.. now he was just a man the same mad that joined the military, he didn’t have his peace anymore, he didn’t have someone to love..

In his hand he held her dog tags with her wedding ring around it, maybe it was strange to take it off her he still wore the engagement ring and wedding band. But his last name laid on the stone and she had alway mentioned to never burry her with something to beautiful. So instead that necklace she wore on there wedding night that matched her ring was buried with her, in his other hand was a letter and a voice box price had given to him mailed by lanswell it was from her to him..

Soon just maybe.. maybe he would lie with her resting peacefully.

Here’s somthing sad kinda short but I hope y’all like it!!

[lostamongthestarz]

Both seeing and absolutely LOVING how you write for Miguel, I was wondering if you could write a fic where the reader is a single parent and due to whatever unknown reasons can't hire an actual babysitter, has to bring their kid to work at times or leave them in HQ. Knowing and being highly aware of Miguel's past trauma, the reader tries their damned hardest to keep their toddler away from him, but it ends up being futile as the kid loves Miguel more than life itself. It gets to the point where the sounds of a crying child were practically engraved in the reader's mind. One day, however, the reader is sent on a very hard-core mission and asks Peter B if he'd think a play date between Mayday and their child would be alright up until Miguel offers to watch them. At first, the reader would be a bit hesitant, but wanting to trust Miguel, they handed their kid to him and said goodbye before going into another dimension. The rest is up to you, such as making it an actual fic or just headcannons. I was just desperate for something like this because why the hell not

Miguel o'hara x single-parent trans!male reader

Miguel being soft has a spot in my heart 💞💞

Tws//none all fluff 💞

❗❗Female readers are on thin ice but don't fetishize my writing, I write these headcanons for my fellow trans men ❗❗

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

Anon your brain is huge

Your a single dad trying to balance being apart of the spider society while also making sure your toddler has a decent life

you do your best to keep your child out of spider business when your at HQ and definitely make sure to steer clear of miguel knowing his past

So this entails you having to keep a distance from miguel, its not that you don't like miguel it's just that every time you two are chatting your child holds their arms out towards him, miguel cocks a eyebrow and you have to apologize while trying to calm your child

So imagine the shock when your sent out on a high stakes mission- before you have to leave you stop by and talk to Peter B- asking him if a playdate with mayday and your child would be alright only for miguel to pop up and say he'll watch them like so

"I'm sorry- can you repeat that?"

Your eyes were wide- you didnt know if you had heard miguel correctly the first time he spoke

"I'll watch them for you while your gone, they'll be protected and safe I promise"

You were hesitant at first, you held your child in your arms, whispering a goodbye before you handed them to miguel- who held them with such care.

When you did leave miguel practically kept your child in his arms at all times, no one else was allowed to hold them. Peter B was allowed but only because of mayday-

When your toddler did start crying, the others were worried but they were surprised when miguel manged to calm them down with soft humming and him rocking them in his arms. Peter definitely has a picture of that he showed you when you got back

Miguel actually cracks a smile when he sees how peacefully your toddler is sleeping in his arms, would glare at anyone being too loud around them

When you return from the mission miguel gives your toddler back as if nothing happened, Hes not opposed to babysitting them for you again thought

Plus you also get to see the videos and pictures peter b took of miguel being a softie

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

Soft dad miguel is so much cheaper then therapy

My requests are open <3

My inbox is open 💌

[realcube]

HQ MEN AS YOUR BOSS ...with chemistry pt2

characters ♡ kuroo, atsumu, sakusa & ushijima

tws/tags ♡ vaginal, semi-public sex // recording, slight daddy kink // oral (receiving) // size kink — minors dni!

part one ♡ sfw version

♡ KUROO

as a chief sports promotor, of course kuroo needs a secretary, but the jva says he'll need to pay for one out of his own wage. he's apprehensive about the idea at first but figures that with the time he'll save by having one, the profit would be greater than the loss. and once he meets you, he's automatically sold.

although he may have have been wrong about the whole 'profit greater than loss' thing, he's definitely losing a bit of money by having you as a secretary. not of your performance or anything — no, you're an incredibly effective worker and are increasing engagement by tenfolds — but rather, due to the fact he's dropped thousands on gifts for you.

kuroo isn't subtle about wanting you, so instead of overtly flirting with you like a lout, waiting by your desk almost everyday is a gift with a cheeky note. without fail, it is always pricey and extravagant too: diamond necklaces, luxury perfumes, designer bags and jewellery made from real gold and silver (he knows which metal you prefer, but he buys you both because you can have it all). it's a classy way of showing he cares.

one day, a random tuesday a month after you and your ex broke up, your primal desires took over, and — after two years of knowing each other — you finally decided to submit to kuroo's advances. you could do a lot worse, anyway.

and you realise that as he has you bent over his desk, in his office contructed of mainly windows. at least you had a nice view of the city skyline while he hit it from behind. with his hands starting at your waist, then exploring under blouse, he leans forward to sensually kiss from your shoulders to your neck. slowly and gentle, in stark constrast to how roughly he was nailing into you.

he keeps going until he reaches just behind your ear, then he chuckles against your flush skin, "wearing the perfume i bought, angel? smells good on you." his finger circles your clit teasingly, "i like it. gotta let everyone know whose bitch you are."

♡ ATSUMU

he doesn't give a shit about his garden, it just happened to come with the big house he bought. there could be a family of rabies-infested racoons living back there for all he cares. atsumu just saw your personal adverisement for your gardening services online and thought you were hot. thus, he made up some lie about wanting trees planted and flowers grown to get you to come over.

but once you actually arrived at his home, you were far too focussed on taming the inhospitable environment he calls a garden to even notice the passes he was making at you. eventually he just gave up and left you to your work, but not without discreetly taking photos of you from the windows in his kitchen to send to the msby jackals groupchat with the 👀 eyes emoji.

he was expecting jealousy to befall the team but instead, the jackals take notice of how intently you are working on the garden, and atsumu receives and influx of messages mocking him for showing off a girl that clearly has no interest in him and offering their houses as a solace for you. however, he promptly replies stating that even though you may seem preoccupied right now, by the end of the day, he guarantees he will have slept with you, and if he doesn't, he owes each one of them ten thousand yen.

and unfortunately for the jackals, atsumu wins that bet.

"just like that, yeah." he grunts, holding your legs against his shoulders, "cum for daddy. c'mon." his breathing is heavy while his bare chest, glistening with a sheen of sweat, heaves. he has you laying on his coffee table while he fucks into you, big cock leaving you a wet, incoherent mess. your greedy cunt clamps down on him and he can tell by your quivering legs and heightening moans that you are close to your climax.

"thats righ— wait.." his breath hitches, steady pace faltering for only a moment as he grabs his phone off the couch and swipes, onto the camera. slowly regaining power and momentum in his thusts while holding the camera above your exposed figure. he grins and slurs, "gotta record this t' send to the team n' prove i wrecked this gorgeous body. go on. keep moaning for daddy."

♡ SAKUSA

there's no better feeling than coming home to a pristine house, that's what sakusa thought. however, being pro volleyball and always training and going to promotional events hasn't left him with much time to get the cleaning done himself. he wasn't fond of the idea of someone being in his house alone when he wasn't there, but he was even less fond of coming home after a long day of training, muscles aching, and still having to vacuum.

he researched dozens of cleaning companies, until he found one that he deemed reputable enough hire from. he arrages the trial for a day he is off so he can assess the quality and trust-worthiness of the cleaner he is sent.

so perhaps it was the halo effect, but as soon as he saw you walk through his door, he knew he wouldn't have a problem with leaving you alone in his house. in fact, the idea tickled him slightly.

having a cleaner wasn't cheap, especially considering how big his house is. despite that, after he met you, he increased the frequency of cleaning visits to five days a week, making you essentially his personal staff. and it goes on like this for around five months, racking up quite hefty total.

every single penny is worth it though, in his opinion. to come home to shining floors, spotless counters and to experience the habitual fleeting moment of tension between the two of you, before you left. that all changed though when he got his first day off in months, and he was able to hang around the house while you did your usual duties.

you were sprawled out over his linen couch, one leg hooked over the armrest and the other resting on his shoulder. lips moves vigorously against your folds, while his tongues delves in and out of your dripping hole. the sizzling coil that's been winding in the base of your stomach suddenly gone stiff, ready to snap at any moment.

his merciless fingers pinch and pull at your clit, as his tongue continues to plough in and out of you, rhythm only ever wavering to lap up the juices covering your folds. that is, until the coil breaks and you come undone right against his face. your walls convulse around him and a breathy moan is pulled from you. hot liquid surges out of your pussy in squirts with each thrust of sakusa's tongue, as he fucks you through your high.

once you settle down, he finally pulls away for air. with your fluid dripping down his chin, drenching his shirt and the wooden floor beneath. slowly standing up, sakusa looks at the floor with a grimace, "clean this up."

♡ USHIJIMA

whether ushijima can cook or not is down to personal preference, but he is independant enough to know how to cook meals that are vital to a hearty and healthy diet, such as boiled eggs, oats, beef stew etc. yes his dishes may be lacking in any flavour or delectability but it's nutritious and that's what matters.

but once he is a pro volleyball player and travelling constantly, he doesn't have the time to meal prep for himself anymore and his paycheck grants him some disposable income, so what's the harm in hiring a chef?

however, once you enter his life as his personal cook, you become a luxury he can no longer live without. until now, ushijima wasn't aware eating was supposed to be enjoyable, he always viewed it as something he just at to do in order to get all his essential vitamins and minerals. who knew food could taste this good?

it was an extra benefit that you looked so good while making it, too. neither of you would ever admit it but there was always a heavy atmosphere of sexuality when you were around each other. ushijima was undoubtably stoic so his tells were subtle, but you took notice of the lingering eye-contact; how his hand would always brush past your ass when he'd walk by you in the kitchen; the way he'd stand so close to you in coversation.

it was only a matter of time before the boiling tension between you two erupted.

you sat on the kitchen counter with your legs wrapped around his torso as his big cock drilled into you. your arms were over his shoulders, nails digging into his back with your eyes sewn shut. he's a mammoth; the biggest you've ever taken. every time he pushed into you, it was as though you were going to split in half.

he could tell you were struggling, so he slipped a hand under your ass and pulled you towards him in order to whisper in your year, but during the process he ended up forcing his dick even deeper inside you, resulting in a mewl from you. he leaned down and grunted, "take it."

something about your trembling form, so delicate and supple, hardly able to fit him inside you, it drove him mad. so eager finish himself off, he picks up you up by the ass so you are hovering a couple inches off the counter, and takes full control of your movement. pressing you against his dick per his whim and matching your movements to his brutal pace.

your only response to this is a chorus of profanities, and piercing the flesh of his back with your nails. he's delighted, though, at how your pleading pussy swallows him so nicely, despite its initial protests.

[mrshigurumasshop]

Overstimulated | HQ Men ~ the one where you just needed littleeee bit of space

─➭ hq men x fem!reader: atsumu miya, bokuto kotaro

─➭ mentions of: overestimation (not nsfw), reader is just irritated and tired, no hard feelings, fluff, comfort (?)

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

Atsumu Miya

You had a longer day than you anticipated, thus sparked a little irritation. You were called into work 30 minutes earlier than usual because some higher up decided they wanted to see your presentation earlier than planned so you rushed to get ready for work and didn't look as professional than usual.

Then you forgot your lunch and your boyfriend was already at work and couldn't bring it to you. So you were hangry all day and small things just kept building up. When you came home you were ready to finally be away from people and decompress, your boyfriend (who shows his feelings physically) thought that's what you needed.

"Atsumu, please," you said firmly as you turned around to face him. You had such a irritated look on your face that Atsumu almost cried on the spot. "Give me some freaking space."

Poor baby was just trying to hold you from behind since he hadn't seen you all day. And he’s well aware that he can be annoying but he's never seen you look at him like that. He'd think you'd look cute with your nostrils flared up but you kinda scared him a bit. So he gave you what you asked for with a little pout on his face and stepped aside to let you walk out of the kitchen into your shared bedroom.

You let out a frustrating huff as you close the door to take a much needed bath. Had you just realized that you snapped at ‘tsumu? Yes. Are you gonna apologize? Of course…but after the bath. You need to calm down for a bit after all that.

Atsumu heard you turn on the faucet in the bathtub so he knew you were going to take a while but he has matured enough to understand that you needed the space. And he remembered the texts you sent venting to him about what’s happening.

He orders for pickup from your favorite spot just around the corner from your building and set some pj’s for you since he noticed you forgot to grab some and left it on the bed before leaving to get the food.

About 20 or so minutes later, you felt so much better. With how overwhelming you felt all day, you never got the chance to just slow down for a second. You grabbed your towel resting on the toilet cover as you get up from the tub. You wrap it around yourself then drained the water. You do your regular skincare routine and left the bathroom to see a pair of sleep shorts and atsumu’s t-shirt.

You let out an appreciative smile before drying off and putting the clothes on. Once you finished you walked out of the room to go find ‘tsumu and apologize but he wasn’t there. You pout a bit thinking you really hurt his feelings so you were going to call him but you heard the front door unlock.

You take a couple of steps over to the door to see him walk in with two plastic bags in hand. One had two to-go boxes and the other held a small and clear container with what looks like cake.

As ‘tsumu takes his shoes off he looks up to see you standing there looking cute as shit in his t-shirt. “Hey baby, you okay?” he asks with a smile as he walks over to you.

You smile back and it makes his chest warm. “Yeah honey,” you say softly as you cup his cheek, “I’m sorry for being snappy earlier. I didn’t mean it.”

‘Tsumu gives you a wider smile as he leans into your touch and moves his head to press a kiss on your palm. “I know baby, it’s okay,” he says as he sets the bags on the kitchen counter before opening them. He pulls the to-go boxes out and opens one up to you, “Your favorite from the shop around the corner, m’lady. And a mini bundt cake.”

You giggle and lean up to press a kiss on his cheek with a loud smooch, “Thank you, ‘tsumu.”

“You’re welcome, baby,” he smiles as he looks at you then your lips, “Can I hold you? I missed you.”

You didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck and stood on your tippy-toes to press a loving kiss against his lips. Atsumu sighed into the kiss as he slides his hands over your hips towards your lower back.

Both of you pull away with smiles on your faces. You look up at him with sparkling eyes and a smile. “Love you, baby,” Atsumu whispers against your lips.

“Love you too, ‘tsumu.”

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

Bokuto Kotaro

Working from home had its pros but the cons? Staring at two different screens all day in the same chair can be the most irritating con. Yes, you can get up and stretch while working in your pj’s by today was not the case.

You’ve been back and forth with the same damn project you and your team have been working on for weeks. Everything and anything regarding the said project has been making negative impacts and affecting communication with your team. As much as you love them, your patients was running thin.

You were in a middle of a phone call when Kou came home from practice. He stayed longer than usual for practice for a game coming up so he came home wanting to see you right away since he missed you so damn much.

But he was caught in your wrath when he barged into your little home office in the guest bedroom of your shared home to gain your attention.

“Baby!” he called out loudly as he opened the door and walked towards you with his bright smile.

Now he usually does this when he comes home but with what was going on with work you just couldn’t take it. Feeling him wrap his beefy arms around your shoulders it felt like the weight of your project was pulling you down. And the pressure you felt in your chest made you antsy and uncomfortable right away.

“Kou, get off I’m in a meeting,” you scolded as you lightly pushed him away and turned back towards the computer screens.

Oh our sweet owl’s hair deflated had the sound of your mean mom voice, he likes to call it. A deep pout settles on his face as he stares at the back of your head. “Meanie…,” he mumbled then his eyes move behind your head to the two screens. He recognized the slides you were looking at.

“The same project?” he thinks…

He remembers you venting about your frustrations with the project a couple days ago and he thought things have settled down now. So he steps out of the room while closing the door softly. Yes, he’s a little hurt but you’re stressed so it’s not something he’ll take to heart.

You’re a patient woman. One of the many reasons why he loves you. When he has his downs, you’re there for him the entire way and he’ll do the exact same for you. When you’re frustrated you do tend to want to be alone for a minute or two than wanting any physical interaction like Kou does.

So, since you still have 15 more minutes left till you clock out for the day, Kou gets the idea to hopefully lift your spirits. He had called you during his break to let you know he’ll be picking food up for dinner so it was all ready for you once you were.

Exactly 15 minutes later, you let out the longest sigh as you get up from your chair to stretch. You also let out a quiet ‘jesus christ’ in frustration too when you remembered how you greeted Kou back earlier. You hate acting out like that because it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. So you move your stiff legs out the bedroom door.

“Hey, sweets!” kou smiled with his hair standing a bit.

Your eyes widen as you slip an ‘oh’ in surprise seeing a little fort in the living room and take-out boxes ready to open. It looks like Kou was laying the pillows from the bed down on the floor with blankets galore piled together.

You giggle as you take in the scene. The warm fairy lights were on and so was the tv. The smell of food made you stomach growl. Kou sits on one side of the fort with a huff. “Come here, baby,” he pouts with open arms, “I know you had a hard day.”

You move hastily towards him to sit on his lap and arms wrapped around his neck. Your face nuzzled into his neck. Kou takes you in a warm embrace with his arms around your waist. “M’sorry, Kou,” you mumbled as he held you tighter against him, “Stupid project is kicking my ass.”

Kou laughs softly as he presses kisses on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, baby,” he says before pulling away from you, “I got your favorite from that restaurant down the street.”

You smile and cup his face before smooshing his cheeks together. “You’re the best, you know?” you say as a fact before giving him a fat kiss like you usually do when he comes home.

“You are though,” you mumble against your kiss as he squeezes your waist and pulls away with a happy smile, “The best and the prettiest baby…”

You laugh wholeheartedly as he began to smother you in kisses and raspberries. “Kou!” you laugh, “Come onnn, I’m hungry!”

“Nope!” he laughed and continued to kiss and tickle your sides, “This is what you get for being mean!”

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

[campingwiththecharmings]

Invisible String

AN: This is another one I started back in July of 2022 and am just now finishing! I had intended for it to be cute and kinda funny but it ended up being a little...I don't think angsty is the right word, but it has a little more feels than I'd anticipated lol. I dunno, I like how it turned out. Hope you all do too! ❤️

(Un-beta’d)

You're a new medic in the Resistance and you keep running into a certain pilot in the medbay.

Rated: T Words: 6,019 Pairing: Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Warnings: feelings of loneliness, mutual pining, a little awkwardness (but like the sweet kind not the cringey kind) (i hope lol), references to violence, injuries of varying degrees AO3

——————

The Resistance base on D’Qar was bigger than you’d expected. Then again, most things were bigger than the little outpost you’d called home for the last few years. When you’d heard HQ needed medics, you’d jumped at the chance to leave the backwater moon you’d been stationed on. Now that you’re here, though, you’re wondering if you’d made the right decision. Every day here is somehow more chaotic than the last and, while you feel like you’re adapting pretty well, you’re a little lonely. Sure, you’re friendly with people, especially the other medics, but making friends isn’t exactly at the top of most people’s to-do lists these days. Everyone’s too busy. Too busy to show you around the base, too busy to get a drink with you, too busy to get to know you….

Needless to say, it’s been a rough couple of months.

“Hey,” someone calls, dragging you from your thoughts, “Can I get some help over here, please?”

Two men enter the bustling medbay, one of which seems to be supporting the other. Without a second thought, you rush over, pulling on a pair of gloves as you go.

“What happened?” you ask the man who appears to be uninjured, gesturing him over to a free bed in your section.

“He hit his head,” the man says, nodding toward his friend as he helps him sit on the bed.

"I swear to the Maker that ladder came out of nowhere," the other man mutters, grimacing a little as the gash on his forehead oozes slightly.

You nod, grabbing a clean towel and gently pressing it against the wound. The man hisses, flinching at the pressure.

“Sorry,” you mutter, chewing on your lip as you search your pockets for your work light with your free hand. When you find it, you turn your attention back to the uninjured man. 

“Hold this,” you instruct, indicating the towel on the injured man’s forehead. He does as asked, watching as you tilt his friend’s chin up and briefly shine your light in his eyes.

“What’s that do?” the injured man asks, squinting into the light.

You move it a couple more times before clicking it off and putting it away. “I'm checking you for a head injury.”

“And?” the other man asks, looking a little concerned.

You glance at him, smiling softly as you search the cart beside the bed for a bacta patch. “He’ll be fine.”

“See, Finn? I told you,” the injured man grumbles before pushing himself up from the bed. 

“Whoa,” you say, bracing your hands on his shoulders when he wobbles a little, “Take it easy.”

Your touch pulls his attention to you and he stops, gaze locking with yours. Something in his eyes makes you feel seen, exposed, and your face warms a little.

“Yeah, Poe, take it easy,” Finn scolds as he helps his friend sit back down.

You look away, mentally shaking yourself as you prepare the bacta patch for his head.

“He wasn’t gonna come, you know,” Finn tells you, pointing at his friend. “I had to practically drag him here.”

You briefly glance at the two men and see Poe rolls his eyes. “That’s because I’m fine. Right, Doc?”

“You are fine, yes,” you agree, ignoring the (incorrect) honorific as you gingerly place the patch over the gash in his forehead, “But it doesn’t hurt to make sure.”

Finn makes a noise of agreement and you bite back a smile as you finish applying the bandage.

“Well, you’re all set,” you say, meeting Poe’s eyes with a teasing brow. “Try not to walk into any more ladders.”

Finn snorts, clapping his friend on the back. Poe chuckles, looking sheepish as he briefly glances away from your amused gaze. “I’ll do my best.”

—

You’re bored.

It’s the middle of the night, you’re the only medic on shift, and you’re bored.

You sigh, shifting on your stool then wincing when the muscles in your lower back protest. The metal wheels squeak as you stand and stretch with a groan. It’s been slow tonight, which you guess is a good thing, but it certainly isn’t making your shift go by any quicker.

Just as you’re wondering how you’re going to spend the next few hours, the medbay door slides open. You turn, gazing at a coughing, soot-covered man and a white and orange droid.

“Maker, what happened?” you ask, ushering him over to the closest bed.

“Engine fire,” he explains between coughing fits.

You nod, quickly grabbing a breath mask from the cabinet and racing back over to him.

“Here,” you say, helping him fit the mask over his mouth and nose.

He nods in thanks as another coughing fit causes his dark curls to fall into his eyes.

“Deep, slow breaths, okay?” you instruct softly, a soothing hand on his shoulder.

He nods again, coughs subsiding a little as his breathing steadies. You study him in silence for a moment when you realize you’ve met before.

“Poe, right?” you guess, smiling slightly when he meets your eyes and nods a third time. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

“Don’t think so,” he croaks, his voice slightly muffled by the breath mask. “Didn’t burn my eyebrows off, did I?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “No, it appears they’ve been spared.”

“Well, thank the Maker,” he jokes as another cough wracks his body.

The droid beside him beeps angrily and Poe sighs wearily. You bite back a smile, fighting the urge to chuckle at the interaction. “What’s he saying?”

He waves a hand at you as if to say it doesn’t matter, and this results in even more beeps from the droid.

“Seems like he’s a little upset with you,” you deduce, shooting him a knowing look.

He scoffs, his breathing almost normal now. “That’s an understatement,” he mutters, briefly glancing at the little droid. 

“Why? What’d you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

Silent, you raise a teasing brow at him.

He huffs a laugh after a moment, the action sending him into another, albeit less intense, coughing fit.

“Easy,” you say softly, adjusting the seal of the mask on his face. 

He nods, his eyes briefly locking with yours before his attention is pulled away once more by his droid. It beeps at him again, this time sounding more morose than angry. Poe sighs, his shoulders sagging a little as he reaches down to lay a hand on the little droid’s head. “I know, buddy. I’m glad you’re okay too.”

Your heart swells at the exchange and you briefly turn away to give them a little privacy. After a minute or two, you turn to check the gauge on the breath mask. His oxygen levels are now above normal, despite the occasional coughing fit, so you remove it and set it aside.

“Small sips,” you instruct, handing him a cup of water.

Poe mumbles a thanks and takes it from you, his fingers brushing against yours. You ignore the jolt that zips through you at his touch, turning away again to busy yourself with your next task. 

When you return a moment later with a damp cloth, he furrows his brow in confusion. “What’s that for?”

“I just want to make sure there are no other injuries before I discharge you,” you say, smiling as you gesture to his soot-covered face.

“Right,” he laughs, shifting a little on the bed. 

You angle his chin up and begin gently wiping the grime off his face. You work in silence, feeling Poe’s eyes on you as you turn his head this way and that. When the cloth you’re using is no longer clean, you stop, turning away with the intention of getting another. As a result, you almost trip over Poe’s droid.

“Oh,” you exclaim in surprise as the droid rolls back a bit, cocking its head to look up at you. “Hello.”

He beeps at you happily and you chuckle.

“Sorry. This is BB-8,” Poe says from behind you, fondness in his voice.

“It’s nice to meet you, BB-8,” you say, introducing yourself as you crouch down to the droid’s level. “Is it safe to assume you’re the reason Poe still has his eyebrows?”

Poe snorts and you can’t help the warmth that unfurls in your chest at the sound. BB-8 beeps excitedly at you again in response and you find yourself wishing that you understood Binary.

“How long have you two been together?” you ask, turning your head to direct the question to Poe.

He shrugs. “At this point, I can’t really remember a time when we weren’t.”

Your smile is a little sad as you stand to your feet, his brown eyes warm when you meet them. “Sounds nice. Always having someone, I mean.” 

There’s a pause as you turn, walking to the cabinet and rifling through it in search of another cloth. When you find one, you move toward the sink in the corner to wet it, squeezing out the excess liquid so it doesn’t drip all over the floor. You lower yourself back onto your stool upon your return, rolling it in front of him. When you meet his eyes again, that something is there, the something you’d seen when you’d first met, and you know that he sees you.

You smile numbly, averting your gaze as you begin to clean the soot from his face again. 

“You just transferred here, right?” he asks, his voice soft.

Your eyes flick back to his briefly before refocusing on your task. “Yeah, a few months ago.”

He makes a contemplative noise as you finish cleaning the soot from his skin. “How are you liking it?”

You sniff a laugh, turning slightly to prepare bacta patches for the minor scrapes and singes on his face. “We’re at war. Is anyone liking it?”

“Fair point,” he chuckles, absently drumming his fingers on his thighs. “There are still things to enjoy though, even in the midst of war.”

“Such as?” 

“Family, friends…flying.”

“Sounds like a personal motto,” you tease, applying the last bacta patch.

He chuckles again, the sound filling you with a giddiness you haven’t felt in what feels like years. “I guess it kinda is.”

You smile, smoothing the edges of the patches over his skin one more time before allowing your eyes to meet his again. There’s a warmth and kindness there that makes you want to curl up in his lap like a loth cat. There’s something else too, something you can’t quite name, something that makes your stomach flip and your palms sweat. You’re staring, you know you are, but you can’t make yourself look away. He’s close, so close, you hadn’t realized how much, your body unconsciously leaning toward him, toward his comforting warmth—

“Also the smoked lizard.”

You blink, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

He snorts, briefly flicking his eyes away as a flush climbs up his neck. “It’s another reason to like it here. The smoked lizard.”

You laugh, chewing on your bottom lip. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

A slightly awkward silence falls between you and you will yourself to be professional, to be normal for two kriffing seconds.

“Well, um, you’re good to go, I think,” you say, rising from your stool and picking up the tray beside the bed. “I trust BB-8’ll stop you from getting into any more trouble. Tonight, at least.”

The droid beeps cheekily and Poe smiles, nodding as he stands to his feet. “Thanks, Doc.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, fingers clenching on the tray as you meet his eyes again. “Take care of yourself this time, will you?”

“I’ll try,” he chuckles, rubbing that back of his neck. “Come on, buddy.”

The little droid whistles and beeps, swiveling his head toward you as if saying it’s own thanks, before rolling out the medbay door on Poe’s heels.

—

“Hey, someone’s asking for you.”

You look up from your data pad, head still running through the details of the medical chart you’d just been reading. “What?”

The medic speaking to you is new and you’re still having trouble remembering her name. Taia, maybe?

“Someone’s asking for you. In the front,” she repeats, gesturing back toward the medbay.

Your brow furrows in confusion. “For me?”

She blinks at you. “Yeah.”

“Who is it?” you ask, oblivious to her agitation.

She sighs, gesturing again to the medbay. “Will you just…come out here, please? Maker.”

You watch as she walks away, moderately amused by her impatience. As you follow her out onto the floor, you look in the direction of your assigned section that day and see—

“Poe?”

His head shoots up at the sound of his name, brown eyes warming with recognition as they lock with yours. A smile curls on his lips as you head over to him, one that makes something tingle beneath your skin.

“Hey,” he says, raising his hand awkwardly in a wave.

You do a quick once over and don’t notice any obvious injuries. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He nods, smile shifting into something closer to a cringe. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just uh–”

Instead of finishing, he gestures to his hand, which you now see he’s holding somewhat awkwardly in his lap.

“Oh, what happened?” you ask, pulling on your gloves.

He shrugs, averting his gaze like he’s embarrassed about something. “It’s nothing really. I was fixing something on my ship and got a little cut. I just don’t want it to get infected, you know?”

You nod, reaching out to gently take his hand. “Of course, I understand.”

He nods, swallowing thickly as you peel back his fingers to assess the damage. You bring his hand closer to your face to get a closer look, gently turning it this way and that.

“Right,” you begin, meeting his gaze again. “It’s not bad, like you said, but it is a little deep so I think we should put in a few stitches just to be on the safe side.”

He nods again, licking his lips. “Whatever you say, Doc, you’re the expert.”

You smile, gaze flicking briefly to his mouth. You avert your eyes immediately, skin warming with embarrassment as you turn away to retrieve the items you need from your tray.

“Alright, just, don’t move okay? This might sting a bit,” you instruct, guiding his hand to rest on the bed beside him.

“Okay,” he mumbles, watching as you push his fingers away from his palm.

You work on cleaning the cut first, making sure there’s nothing there that could cause an infection. Once that’s finished, you carefully weave in a few stitches and finish up with a bacta patch.

“There you go,” you say, before looking up at him with a smile. 

He smiles back, butterflies erupting in your belly at the sight. “Thanks.”

You nod, maintaining eye contact for Maker knows how long (you certainly don’t), before the clatter of a tray overturning brings you back to reality. Your eyelashes flutter as you quickly stand with the intention of gaining some distance, only to end up even closer than you had been.

“I, um–,” you begin, finally tearing your gaze from his, “I’m going to give you a salve to put on your hand once the stitches dissolve. It’ll help with scarring.”

“Great.”

You smile awkwardly as you turn to head toward the supply cabinet in the corner. On the way over, you berate yourself for behaving so unprofessionally, staring at Poe like some lovesick kid with a crush. You pull the cabinet door open when you reach it, staring blankly at the shelves for a moment. You're not sure what it is about him that has you acting this way, but you really need to nip it in the bud; he’s here for medical attention, not you.

Resolved, you take a breath, grabbing the salve and heading back over your patient.

“Here you go,” you say, annoyed at yourself by how breathless you sound as you hold the salve out to him.

As he takes the small container from you, his fingers brush yours, causing your gaze to automatically return to his. His eyes are as warm as his smile, glowing with something you can’t quite place, something you want to drown in.

“Right,” he rasps after a moment, clearing his throat as he stands to his feet. “Well, I don’t wanna take up anymore of your time. Thanks again, Doc.”

“Any time,” you respond, far more nonchalant than you’re actually feeling.

He turns to wave as he walks out the door, almost running into one of the other medics. You bite back a laugh as he apologizes, the tips of his ears reddening a little in embarrassment. He catches your eye one more time before leaving, an almost shy smile on his lips, and you allow yourself to consider, just for a moment, that maybe you were wrong, maybe he was here to see you. You smile at the thought, however unlikely it might be.

—

Most of the pilots are off world training today, so the base is pretty empty. As a result, Dr. Kalonia had given most of you the morning off. You greet your fellow medics as you make your way to the back to stash your things, smiling amiably as you make eye contact with a few of them. They mumble their “good mornings” back, already tired from their late night or early morning shifts. When you return to the front, you check the clipboard to find that day’s assignment. As you hurry over to your station, you mentally run through the list of things you need to check your medical cart for. So lost in your thoughts are you, you don’t even realize there’s already a patient at your station until you reach it. 

“Hey,” you say, a little surprised. 

“Hey,” Poe responds, grimacing slightly.

“Back already, huh?” you say, a teasing eyebrow raised. “Are you really this accident prone or did you just need an excuse to come see me again?” 

He chuckles, averting his gaze as a flush creeps its way up his neck. 

“I, uh, I think my foot might be broken actually,” he responds, shooting a mildly dirty look in the direction of BB-8. “BB ran over it.”

The droid beeps indignantly at the accusation, drawing your attention as you pull on a pair of gloves. Whatever BB says makes Poe scoff.

“Hey buddy, you’re a lot heavier than you realize.”

The droid beeps again, head wobbling back and forth indignantly and you have to bite back a laugh when Poe shoots you a mildly exasperated look..

“How ‘bout I just take a look,” you say, sitting on your stool and rolling it in front of him. 

He nods, hissing a little when you remove his boot and sock, setting them on the stretcher beside him.

“Does it hurt anywhere specifically or just all over?” you ask, examining his foot for any signs of bruising.

“My toes. They’re definitely broken.”

BB-8 beeps again, almost sarcastically, you think, and Poe sends another glare in the droid’s direction. “I am not being dramatic.”

You bite back a smile as they continue to bicker back and forth, your attention fixed on the appendages in question. Poe has no adverse reaction to your prodding and wiggling, and you’re beginning to think that BB might actually be right, until you get to his pinky toe. 

He halts midargument, sucking in a breath and grabbing at his leg. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly grabbing some medical tape from your cart and slowly wrapping it around both his injured toe and the one beside it.

He muffles a groan of pain as you complete your task, gently lowering his foot off of your lap. 

“Okay?” you ask with a slight grimace.

He takes a steadying breath and nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good,” you say, offering him a small smile. “It’s hard to know for sure if it’s broken given our lack of equipment but I taped it up just in case. Just stay off of it as much as you can and redo the tape every few days until your pain subsides.”

He nods again as you finish, meeting your gaze as you hand him a roll of medical tape. “Got it. Thanks.”

His hair is a little unkempt, stray curls falling across his forehead and into his eyes. You try not to stare, you really do, but Maker he’s just so pretty and you’re only human.

It’s then that you notice that he’s staring at you too, brown eyes slowly roaming your face as if taking in every detail, his brows furrowed a little in concentration. Your heart skips in your chest at the realization, warmth flaring beneath your skin—

Does Poe Dameron like you?

Sure, you’d joked about it earlier, but the thought had never seriously crossed your mind before; why would he like you, anyway? You’ve only met a few times before this and none of them were outside of the medbay. No, he’s just accident prone, you think, your stomach sinking with disappointment. 

You break away first, shaking your head slightly, as if to shake off your thoughts. Your movement brings him back to reality too, you assume, because he looks away almost immediately after you do, eyes falling to study his hands. 

Before either one of you can say anything else, BB-8 beeps at Poe, whose head snaps so quickly in the droid’s direction, you’re surprised he didn’t pull something. 

“What?”

The droid beeps again and whatever he says makes Poe immediately lean over and whisper furiously at him. BB beeps again, sounding impatient. 

Before you can even think to intervene, someone on the other side of the room calls your name.

“Oh sorry, I’ve gotta—” you begin, pointing toward the commotion starting to unfold.

Poe nods, looking a little pained. “Yeah, of course. Thanks again, Doc.”

You shoot them both a smile before turning away, grabbing your data pad off of your tray before jogging across the room.

—

It’s been a few weeks since you last saw Poe. Apparently, the General had sent him out on some super top secret mission with no word on when he might return (not that you’d asked or anything…).

Is it weird to admit that you miss him? Can you miss someone you don’t even really know that well?

And yet, you do. Miss him, that is. You miss his kind eyes, his smile, his back and forth with BB-8, his (apparent) penchant for clumsiness, him calling you ‘Doc’ even though you’re not a doctor—

Kriff. 

You sigh, dragging your hand over your face as you walk down the hall you know will lead you back to the medbay. They’re short staffed today—a bout of flu had run through the medics on the night shift and everyone else had had to work doubles for the last week as a result. It’s bustling when you return and you immediately throw yourself back into the fray; it’s only the middle of your shift, you’re exhausted. 

Once there’s a bit of a lull, Dr. Kalonia sends you and a few other medics who look dead on their feet to the back to grab a little sleep. Normally, you’d try to protest, but you honestly don’t have the energy to fight her on it right now. You pass out the second your head hits the pillow.

The blaring of sirens rips you from sleep, the sound making your blood run cold.

The base is under attack.

You scramble to your feet, almost running into one of the other medics as you head to the front, struggling to remember your training. It’s a bit chaotic, but most of the medics manage to keep their heads cool, doing whatever they need to do for the good of the Resistance. It bolsters you, gives you the courage you need to do the same. That’s why you’re here after all.

After about fifteen minutes, the sirens abruptly stop, the sudden silence almost deafening to your ears after the loud blaring of the alarm. Everyone’s confused, including the doctor, who immediately grabs her comm to try and get some answers. The tension in the room is palpable as you wait, unsure of what’s happening; are you still under attack? Were you ever? Was this some kind of drill the General ordered just to see how everyone would respond?

You don’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, a group bursts into the medbay with someone on a stretcher. One of them calls for the doctor and she immediately jumps into action, calling on a few of the medics nearby for assistance. You hang back, watching with nervous bewilderment, still wondering what’s going on. Someone shifts, creating an opening in the crowd huddled around the patient, and you catch a flash of bright orange—a pilot.

Your mind immediately thinks of Poe, panic tightening your chest…until you remember he’s out on a mission. He’s fine, you think, turning away from the commotion in an effort to distance yourself from your thoughts. And even if he wasn’t, he’s not yours to worry about anyway, right?

Yours. The word makes your chest ache.

As you check on the patients in your section, making sure their vitals are all still stable, you hear a shout from across the room. You turn your attention toward them just to make sure they don’t need help, before returning your attention to your tasks. There’s another shout, but this time you don’t bother giving it your attention; there are closer medics than you. A few moments later, Dr. Kalonia herself calls your name.

When you turn around, several medics wave you over.

“He’s asking for you,” the doctor says when you reach them, gesturing toward the patient on the stretcher. “Just keeps saying your name over and over.”

“Me?” you question, baffled as you step a little closer, anxiety settling in your gut.

She nods somewhat impatiently. “Just let him know you’re here so we can continue.”

“O-of course,” you mutter, scrambling into the opening they create for you.

You pause when you see the pilot, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s bloody and bruised, eyes closed tight as he writhes in pain, orange flight suit pretty much torn to shreds—

Poe.

The doctor calls your name again, shaking you from your surprise. Immediately, you lean in close so he can hear you. You tell him that you’re there, that he’s safe, that you’re going to help him, your voice low and soft. He doesn’t respond, just keeps mumbling your name over and over again, clearly in distress, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. You try again, voice calm as you clasp his hand in yours, your free hand pushing back his blood and sweat-soaked curls. One of his eyes opens slightly at your touch and, while you’re not sure he can actually see you, you smile. He squeezes your hand then, and your smile widens, relief flooding through you. Your name continues to fall from his lips, but it’s less anxious now, more content.

Once Dr. Kalonia and her team stabilize him, they move him to the quietest corner of the room in the hopes that he can get some rest. His care is transferred to you, your other patients redistributed among the other medics. He’d stopped murmuring your name a while ago, the meds the doctor had given him finally kicking in and easing his pain. He doesn’t let go of your hand though. You could probably slip out of his hold easily enough, especially in his current state, but you find that you don’t really want to.

You find out later that Poe’s mission had (apparently) gone awry and he’d been forced to commandeer a First Order ship in order to make his escape; that explained the base alarms and the sudden cessation of them, at least. As for what had been the cause of his many injuries, you weren’t told (classified information, apparently). Doesn’t really matter though, you suppose, so long as he’s alright.

You’d cleaned him up the best you could given the circumstances (sponge baths only helped so much, after all), gently washing his hair, his face. The doctor had come by a few times to check on him (and one other time to try and convince you to return to your quarters to get some sleep). You can tell that she wants to know why he’d asked for you, why your mere presence had calmed him, why you now refused to leave his side. The truth is, you don’t really know. You know you feel a connection to him, one that you don’t have with anyone else, but you’re not really sure what it means. Do you love him? No, it’s too soon for that, you think, you barely even know him. Still, something in your soul calls to him, yearns for him. You wonder if he feels that something too.

It’s later in the evening now, the chaos from earlier having passed. The medbay is quiet, most of the day’s patients either having been discharged or are already asleep for the night. You’re still at Poe’s bedside, eyelids drooping as you fight to stay awake. You know you should leave, should get some rest, but he might wake up while you’re gone and you don’t want him to wake up alone. His hand is still clasped loosely in yours, his skin warm and dry. You stare at it, at the dried blood still beneath his fingernails, wondering idly if it’s his own or someone else’s; what had he gone through to get back here? What he had lost?

At some point, you must doze off because one moment you’re staring at Poe’s hand and the next you’re waking with a start. You groan as your neck twinges, the angle at which you’d been laying with your head half on his bed making it ache.

“I know what you mean,” a familiar voice rasps softly.

Your eyes immediately shoot up to meet theirs—warm brown, tinged with mild amusement and fondness.

“You’re awake,” you say, cringing a little at yourself for stating the obvious. “How are you feeling?”

Poe smiles, then immediately winces as he shifts, his hand pressing into his side. “Spectacular.”

You grimace, eyes sweeping over him in assessment. “Can I get you anything? Water? More pain meds?”

He chuckles, then immediately winces again. “I’m good. Thanks.”

You nod, unsure of what to do or say next; you’ve gotten so used to taking care of him, it feels odd to just sit here now.

“Where’s BB-8?” you ask, only just now realizing the little droid hadn’t accompanied the pilot to the medbay.

Poe frowns, averting his gaze. “He got hit pretty bad before we got on the ship. They said the mechanics are working on him, but no one’ll tell me any more than that.”

“I can find out for you,” you offer, moving to stand to your feet. 

He stops you, grasping your hand, wincing as the movement aggravates his injuries. “No, it’s fine. I–he’s in good hands. I’m just…worried is all.”

You nod, reclaiming your seat beside him. Silence falls between you, and while he seems perfectly comfortable, you can’t help but feel a little anxious.

“Thank you, by the way,” he says softly after a moment, his gaze falling to your clasped hands. “I…don’t remember much, but I remember hearing your voice. Not sure I’d be sitting here if it wasn't for you.”

You clear your throat, skin heating with embarrassment as you shift awkwardly in your seat. “Of course. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He meets your eyes again, that ever-present something in his gaze making your stomach flip. “Me too.”

You keep him company for a little bit, the two of you swapping stories and telling jokes. He tells you about growing up on Yavin IV, about his parents and, in turn, you tell him about your homeworld, about your past. Dr. Kalonia stops by at the shift change, again trying to convince you to return to your quarters for some proper rest. You try to decline, but Poe insists, and it’s the care and concern in his eyes that ends up persuading you. 

Weariness settles into your limbs as you shuffle down the hall, the events of the past couple of days catching up to you as the last dregs of adrenaline finally wear off. As you walk, you think about the time you’d spent with Poe and you smile, realizing he’d given you exactly what you’ve been longing for since you arrived here on D’Qar—a chance to connect, to be seen. When you finally make it to your quarters, you fall onto your bed, your brain going fuzzy as sleep rushes in quickly to claim you. 

—

When you return to the medbay the next day, you spot Poe standing beside his bed with his back to you—he’s been discharged, you realize, disappointment sinking in your belly as you watch him pack up his things. It’s not that you aren’t glad he’s well enough to leave, you are of course, you’ll just…miss keeping him company. 

You sigh, forcing yourself to look happy as you make your way over to him. If nothing else, you should at least tell him goodbye.

“Hey,” you greet, leaning against the side of the bed. 

He turns at the sound of your voice, eyes brightening when they meet yours. “Hey.”

“You’ve been liberated, I see,” you say, gesturing toward the bag on the chair beside the bed.

He chuckles, wincing slightly at the action. “That’s one way to put it.”

You nod, momentarily averting your gaze. “Heading to a briefing?”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Gonna go pick up BB actually.”

The knowledge that the little droid is alright makes your heart lighten and your smile softens. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

“I’ll be glad to see him too,” Poe agrees, smiling fondly as he slings the strap of the bag over his shoulder. 

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say, something that’ll keep him there just a little longer.

“Thanks again…for everything,” he says finally, his gaze soft and open as it holds yours.

You nod, swallowing thickly as your heart stutters a little at the intensity there; you’re not sure anyone has ever looked at you like this, has made you feel like this, and you’re beginning to think it’s not just you. Should you do something? Say something? Who knows when you’ll see him again. You open your mouth, the words sticking in your throat as you try to force them out—

In the end, you can’t, your courage waning at the last second as you force your eyes from his. You sigh, frustrated with yourself.

“Please at least try to take care of yourself this time, okay?” you croak, wetting your suddenly dry lips.

He chuckles again, and you have to bite back a smile at the sound.

“But if I did that, I wouldn’t have an excuse to see you,” he quips; his tone is teasing but the words make your heart skip nonetheless.

You scoff, waving a hand as you meet his eyes again. “Please, you don’t need an excuse.”

“No?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay. How about later then?”

Your eyes widen a little with surprise; he’s not…is he? 

“Later?” you ask, trying not to get your hopes up.

He shrugs, his smile almost shy as he scratches the back of his neck. “You said I didn’t need an excuse.”

That something is in his eyes again; that something you can’t exactly give a name to but feel in your soul, that something that seems to connect you both somehow.

“Okay,” you say, chewing on your bottom lip. “One condition.”

“Name it,” he says, brown eyes shining.

“It has to be outside of the medbay.”

He laughs, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Deal.”

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Addendum - First "Date"