#is there confirmation that her last name was cross??? no.

[drabbles-mc]

The Depths

Benny Cross x Kathy Cross

Warnings: 18+, canon compliant (aka: Contains Spoilers), angst with a happy-ish ending, hints of benny/johnny if you squint

Word Count: 1k

A/N: went and saw The Bikeriders again. i hope Kathy knows that i love her

It wasn’t until he was back home and the shock wore off. Wasn’t until the sadness and the ache of it all finally started to dull around the edges. It wasn’t until he felt like he could finally take a full breath again that Benny realized how lucky he was.

He’d gone so many years thoroughly convinced that the only thing he really cared about was being able to throw his leg over his bike, to have that denim and patch on his back. He believed it, believed that nothing else really mattered to him. That’s why he never asked anyone for anything—he didn’t believe that he could ever be capable of giving anything back. A person needed a certain layer of depth to them for that, and he didn’t think that the well in his chest went down far enough.

The news that man so casually dropped on him in the middle of some dive bar in Indiana kicked clean through the floorboards in his chest and revealed miles and miles of depth he hadn’t let himself feel in far too long. He thought it all would’ve filled in by then, become overgrown, really left him shallow. That’s how he felt most days, anyhow. Especially after he left Chicago behind. What people saw was exactly what they got—that was all he had to offer.

Johnny’s death reminded him that there was an entire man living underneath all that leather and denim. A man who, underneath the patches, and the grease, and the cigarette smoke, was too stubborn to let people count on him. So stubborn, in fact, that he left his whole life behind without offering anyone a real goodbye.

He couldn’t see it in the moment, the first trace of luck in the loss. It wasn’t until some time had passed and his eyes had finally run dry. When he parked his bike on the street right in front of Kathy’s house, he didn’t feel at all like a lucky man. He felt broken. Lost. But it was the only place he could think of, the only place that had a semblance of home about it. He didn’t even think to knock on the door.

Not everyone would’ve been so lucky as to have that. Not just a place to go, but a woman who would open the door for them. Who would sit on the porch step in the chilly Chicago air after a year of silence and hold them while they cried. Who wouldn’t ask any questions. Who wouldn’t say a damn thing until it was all over with.

He’d been lucky for all of his time with Johnny. But Johnny wasn’t the one whose fingers were running through his hair and down the slope of his neck as his body gave into the wracking sobs that had been rattling the bars in Benny’s chest for the countless miles he’d been riding to get back home. It wasn’t Johnny’s lips pressing tender, comforting kisses to the crown of his head. That wasn’t his hand running up and down Benny’s back, pressure rippling over the patch that landed them all in this mess to begin with. It wasn’t Johnny. It never could’ve been.

Benny collapsed into her. Clung to her for all that he was worth, which in the moment didn’t feel like much. His blunt fingernails dug their way into the threading of her sweater, forehead pressed against her chest so that he could feel her heartbeat. Through the choked breaths he could smell the traces of cigarette smoke and laundry detergent. Everything had changed and yet nothing had. She was still there. She was still holding him. She was still getting him right again. Just like last time. Just like always.

Kathy had waited for years to see the bottom of the well, to see the depths of Benny that existed underneath all that armor. She hadn’t ever found the right thing to say. She’d never figured out how to crack the code. But when she felt the dampness of Benny’s tears soaking through her sweater, she knew that she had more of him in that moment than she’d ever had before. Maybe she had Johnny to thank for that. Maybe she had him to thank for a lot of things, not that she could tell him any of that now.

In those first few days back home, the self-destructive piece of Benny wanted to ask her why she’d let him back in. After everything that he’d done, everything he put her, through, how could she hold him and mean it? He wanted to ask but he couldn’t make himself speak—he was lucky for that too.

The first time he thought about it was when he woke up in the middle of the night. Kathy was curled into his chest the way that she always was when she slept. He felt each soft, warm exhale of her breath against the skin of his chest. He shut his eyes and soaked it in, and that’s when it hit him for the first time, but certainly not the last, that he might’ve been the luckiest one out of all of them.

He hadn’t given it a second thought, turning back up on her steps. He could’ve gone to the bar, could’ve gone to one of the guys, but he didn’t. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. When the rug got pulled out from underneath him, when his chest caved in on itself into a seemingly endless abyss, she was the only person he thought to go to. And she held him. Without hesitation and without question. All those times he threatened to leave. Taking off in the middle of the night with no goodbye. A year of silence. She’d carried all of that on her shoulders alone and was still strong enough to hold him tight when he came back around.

Now it was his turn, as he wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t wake up, hardly even stirred, but even in her sleep she allowed herself to be pulled into him without a fight. He thought about the warmth of her body pressed against his under the sheets. The same warmth he’d felt sitting out in front of the house when he came home. He pulled in a deep breath—cigarettes and laundry detergent. He let each sensation fill him up, needing all his newfound depth to be good for something.

The Bikeriders Taglist (if you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!): @garbinge

[frudoo]

A non Zombie apocalypse 141 poly

They find another survivor looking for supplies and decide to make her their wife.

I went a lil crazy on this one ngl

Warnings: Non-con/dub-con but nothing sexual. Fem!Reader.

It was that colossal motherfucker you saw first—the one you almost wasted an arrow on because of that creepy skull mask he wore. The big bastard was raiding your shelter, a little storage room in what used to be a department store. Believe it or not, the mannequins you placed outside of your hideout were enough to deter the zombies away, so you had a pretty good thing going. That was before this dumb brute decided to ruin all your hard work and steal your canned goods.

     Your plan was to shoo him away and tell him to piss off, but he wasn’t having it. No, instead, he made you carry your own supplies back to his shelter, where there were three other men to feed. Fuck, you had enough food to last yourself about three months, but now, with these giant men who no doubt have massive appetites? You’re lucky if it’ll last a week. 

     You’re sitting on a raggedy couch between the pretty man with the ball cap and another with a stupid overgrown mohawk now, arms crossed with a foul look on your face. Across from you sits the fucker with the skull mask, and beside him in an ancient recliner is a bearded man wearing a weird hat. Every now and then you let out an annoyed huff, earning yourself a pointed stare from each of them.

     “Are ye gonna eat summat, or jus’ pout like a wee baby?” Mohawk Man asks you through a mouthful of lukewarm spaghetti hoops. 

     You flip him off without even looking at him, earning a few snickers from the other men. If you weren’t so pissed off at all of them, you might have allowed yourself a little smirk. In fact, you feel the beginning of one curling at the corner of your mouth, until Ball Cap™ pulls you into his lap and traps you there with his strong arms. You yelp and try to shimmy out of his grasp to no avail. You go to bite him, but the second your mouth opens, a spoonful of beans gets plopped inside.

     “Swallow,” Skull Guy commands, covering your mouth with one wide palm in case you decide to try and spit it out.

     You glare at him the entire time, but still obey his explicit order because you truly are hungry. You give up on trying to escape the pretty man’s grasp, letting your body go limp. It’s probably wise to save your energy, anyway.

     “Good bird,” he praises mockingly. “Now, since you’re through bein’ a brat, I’ll introduce everyone. 

     “M’Simon. Tha’ there,” he points at the one with the mutton chops, “is John, or Cap’n, dependin’ on his mood. Beside you’s Johnny, but we call him Soap. The one you’re sittin’ on is Kyle. We call him Gaz when he’s bein’ a dick, though.” 

     You nod like you’re paying attention, using his distraction as an opportunity to steal the can of beans from his hand. It’s a weird group, for sure, but aside from the fact that they’re thieving bastards, it might be nice to have more humans to help protect you from the hoards of the undead. It’s a step up from mannequins, anyway. Perhaps it also helps that they’re all insanely attractive.

     “Wha’ aboot ye, hen? Go’ a name?” Mohawk Man—or, Johnny, apparently—asks with a cheeky grin. 

     Before you get the chance to tell him your name, the one with the mutton chops, John, interrupts you. 

     “No matter, is it? We’ll call her our wife soon enough.”

     You nearly drop the can of beans when you process the words that just came out of his mouth, choking on the bite you just took. Kyle pats your back until your little coughing fit ceases, and Simon wipes the sticky residue from your mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. None of them, you observe, are as baffled by John’s statement as you are. It makes a weird feeling churn in your gut.

     “A-all… all of you?” You stammer nervously, then start again with a lilt of confusion in your voice. “Wife?!”

     “Yes, dove, all of us,” Kyle confirms, confiscating the can of beans from you and setting it on the ground. 

     “Aw, don’t look so scared, sweetheart,” John stands from his place in the old recliner, stepping in front of you and lifting your head up to look at him with his pointer finger hooked beneath your chin.

     “I take good care o’my men. We’ll take good care o’you, too.”

[fuctacles]

| 😺😺 | 😺😺😺 | 😺😺😺😺 | 😺😺😺😺😺 |

| 🐈 | 🐾 | 🐈 |

Eddie was lowkey disgusted by how his uncle would talk about one of his neighbors. No, he doesn't think it's bad for old people to fall in love or have crushes. But it's weird to know these things about his own uncle. 

And it's also sad to watch, because it's been months of Stephanie this, Stephanie that, and nothing came of it, so he felt safe to assume the infatuation was one-sided. So when he tells his uncle he can't go feed her cats that week, he figures it's for the best. And not only because of Wayne's twisted ankle. To his surprise though, he doesn't seem fazed; he just waves his hand and says:

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No climbing the stairs with this thing." He pokes the cast with his crutch. "I've already volunteered you anyway."

Eddie raises his eyebrows because he surely misheard that.

"You did what now?"

"Told Stephanie I'll send you to feed her cats," Wayne says, confirming his fears.

"Why?! She has so many other neighbors!" Eddie points out, gesturing vigorously around the room, implying but meaning the flats surrounding them. 

Wayne clicks his tongue at him.

"Would you let in just any of your neighbors into your home? She already trusts me, and I'm vouching for you."

Eddie gapes at him, hating that he's making a valid point. Damned be his old man and his reasonable thinking. He crosses his arms because while it makes sense, it doesn't mean Eddie can't be angry about it. 

"When?"

"She's visiting her friend this weekend so she asked for Saturday evening and Sunday morning. And stay with them for a while if possible, so they don't go crazy. Ah, and the plant in the kitchen needs watering."

"Great," Eddie grits through his teeth. He's so delighted at the prospect of spending time with some old lady's cats. The whole place probably stinks of cat piss and he'll definitely kill the plant as soon as he touches it. (It was his only superpower, which is not what he aimed for when his five-year-old had been praying, thanks for nothing, Jesus.) He just hopes he won't have to meet her. Hearing some old hag complain about his clothes, hair, and general adolescence was the last thing he wanted on his weekend off. But, alas...

"She asked you to come over tomorrow so she can show you where everything is."

Eddie groans. 

------

It's a Friday afternoon, he's at his uncle's taking a break from college and work. He should be sharing a beer with the old man, complaining about the coursework, the professors, and other students, not picking him up from the hospital, and running errands while his foot is in a cast. And certainly not meeting up with old stinky spinsters. 

To add insult to injury, Miss Stephanie, (which, by the way, is such a typical old hag name) lives two floors higher and the elevator is perpetually broken. Not too high, but high enough for Eddie's anemic lungs to start collapsing. 

He stops around the corner to steady his breath, because regardless of his overall attitude, he didn't want to worsen the first impression. He already refused to 'dress like a decent man' and didn't want to wheeze into the lady's face on top of it. 

Once his lungs are functioning properly again, he walks into the hallway, looking for number 54 as Wayne instructed. He knocks on the door, hoping he didn't mess it up and is at the right place. What if it was 45?

It must have been because he was told Stephanie Harrington lives alone. 

"Uh, sorry, I must have—"

"Are you Eddie?" The woman who opened the door takes him in. At her feet, a tabby cat peers curiously at the new human.

"Uh, yeah? I'm looking for Miss Stephanie?" he offers awkwardly. Maybe that's the friend? Or a sister?

But the woman extends her hand and smiles brightly.

"That would be me, but please call me Steph. I wish I could drill that into Wayne's thick skull." She rolls her eyes fondly.

Her big, gorgeous eyes, framed by thick lashes. She's not an old hag, she could be in her forties at best. She's tall and curvy and her hair looks straight out of a shampoo commercial. She's gorgeous. Eddie shakes her hand in a daze.

"Hi," he croaks as he's ushered inside. 

"Come in, come in! I've heard so much about you, it's great to finally see you in person. I must say," she turns around and gives him a quick once-over. "Wayne's stories didn't do you justice."

Did she just check him out?

Eddie clears his throat, suddenly dry like his elbows during winter.

"Uh, same to you."

"Yeah?" She puts her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. "What does he say about me?"

"Good things only," Eddie assures her. 

"So you're saying I'm a bitch." She squints at him.

"No!" His eyes widen. "What?!" 

"Well, if he's saying only good things about me, and you say they don't describe me right..." 

Eddie gets the point she's making and quickly shakes his head.

"No, he just made you sound like a crazy old cat lady, and you're..." He waves his hand uselessly. "Not that."

She sighs softly, shoulders sagging a little. It would be easy to miss but Eddie's senses are heightened after his fuck up.

"I kinda am, though," she says with a shrug. 

Eddie feels the need to reassure her somehow.

"Well, you're not eighty and your place doesn't smell like cat litter, I think you're fine."

She barks a laugh, it's low and surprised and Eddie's cheeks are red because he's just digging further into the hole he's in, isn't he?

"Good to know the bar is so low."

Eddie groans, tired of doing damage control that's not controlling anything.

"I'm gonna shut up now."

"Please don't." Steph smiles wide and teasingly. "You're a funny one. Just like your uncle told me."

Eddie scoffs. He's going to have a word or two with the old man once he's back.

"Great, this is exactly the impression I was hoping to make."

At his words, the woman eyes him up and down again, and he can feel his cheeks heating up.

"Yeah? Not as the local punk satanist?" she teases, making Eddie bristle.

"Metalhead," he corrects instinctively and immediately winces.

"Ah, my bad. I'm not good at the subcultures thing." She smiles apologetically but it doesn't read well with how clearly amused she is. "Anyway, here's the plant I want you to water tomorrow evening. Just like, half a glass."

Right. Plants. Cats. He came here on a mission.

"Come on, I'll show you my cats."

There's only three of them and they come rushing from all corners of the flat at the rustle of a catnip bag. Eddie never saw high cats so he's glad to have this opportunity now. Stephanie points to the tabby he saw earlier.

"This is Dart, she's not actually mine, but my friend couldn't keep her at the dorms. This is Garfield," she points to the orange cat, making Eddie huff a laugh. She grins. "Yeah, don't tell anyone, but he's my favorite," she whispers, to which Eddie mimics zipping his mouth shut. 

Lastly, she points to the black cat rolling on the carpet. 

"And this is Arwen."

Eddie frowns.

"Like, The Lord of the Rings Arwen?"

"Yeah," Steph sighs. "Dustin named her. He's the friend I've mentioned. Dart is short for D'Artagnan and I've fought teeth and nail for Garfield not to be called Pippin."

"Pippin is a great name, though," Eddie points out.

"Maybe," she huffs, crossing her arms. "But I wanted one for myself, okay? Not everything has to be about Dustin."

"Is Dustin like, your brother or something?" 

"Kinda?" She frowns. "We're not actually related but I babysat him, and then we became friends. He just stuck around, somehow." The words sound angry but her face betrays the fondness she has for her friends. 

"That's nice," he offers. "I'm an only child, never met any cousins, and only ever had friends my age."

"Well, good for you. Maybe if I had friends my age I wouldn't be living alone with a bunch of cats."

Eddie frowns. 

"Hey, now..."

She cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

"I'll show you where the food is." 

Eddie's in a daze when he comes back downstairs, only realizing his visit ended when he's standing in his uncle's living room. He's been gone for only half an hour but it feels longer. 

"How did it go?" his uncle asks, pulling him out of his reverie. 

Edie turns to him and blinks, fighting the cotton around his brain.

"Fine?" he offers. "She's not as old as I expected," he admits bluntly. His uncle snorts.

"What, just because she lives alone with her cats you assumed she's on her deathbed?"

Eddie winces. It's exactly what he did.

"Well, the people in her life weren't kind to her, so now she relies on her pets. Nothing wrong with that." Wayne shrugs. 

"What do you mean?" Eddie frowns, curious. Concerned. He goes to the kitchen, not wanting to seem too eager to get an answer, and grabs a beer for himself and his uncle. He opens the junk drawer to find an opener and hears his uncle answer from the adjacent living room space. 

"She doesn't say much about it and I never asked, but she's always alone on the holidays. Her friends visit a few days before or after."

Eddie walks back in and hands his uncle the opened bottle. 

"Thanks, son."

He nods and settles heavily in an armchair. Focusing his gaze on the label peeling off of his beer, he hums thoughtfully.

"No family?"

"Seems so." Wayne nods solemnly. "I think it was a conflict of lifestyle choices, but I'll be honest, I'm basing it off of rumors and my own assumptions." He scratches his cheek, frowning at the wall. "It's not my place to pry, though I offered to hear her out if she ever felt like needing an ear." He sighs. "I'm just trying to be a good neighbor. Invited her for dinner over Thanksgiving, when you couldn't come. I was surprised she's into basketball," he muses. 

Eddie was seeking answers and now was even more confused.

"You invited Miss Stephanie. For a dinner?" He raised his eyebrows. 

"Yes. She was alone, I was alone, figured I could at least ask. I'm still surprised she agreed. She declined all my other offers."

"Wow." A teasing smile creeps on his lips against his will. "You've been inviting a lot of women since I moved out?"

"Listen," Wayne takes on his stern voice and it takes all of Eddie's willpower not to cackle. He can see his uncle's mustache twitch. "Stephanie is a lovely lady, but she's way too young for an old man like me. And this old man is too old for romance anyway. Besides—" he cuts himself off like he realized he was saying too much. Which, of course, piques Eddie's curiosity. 

"Besides?"

Wayne shrugs.

"I don't think I'd ever be ready for someone like her."

Eddie makes a confused face. 

"The fuck does that mean?" he asks, irritated. 

"Rumors and speculations, son."

[sturnioz]

♯┆fully introducing. . . shy!chris .ᐟ

shy!chris does have a big mouth, and he likes to boast about all the women that he's fucked with confidence — so why did he turn into a stuttering mess when you finally have him?

"yeah, and like, she was all over me, man — couldn't get enough of me, i swear to god... and then—"

you half-listen as chris boast about his recent hook-up to your shared group of friends, swirling your plastic straw around your drink, hearing the ice clink against the glass in a distant chime. leaning forwards, elbows resting on the table, you take a sip while glancing up at chris, watching as his hands fly through the air, punctuating his words as he tries to paint a vivid picture of his wild night.

the others around the table are completely captivated, their mouths agape, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and excitement. they gasp, laugh, and lean in closer, hanging on his every word. now and then, they playfully slap his back or shoulder, egging him on as he basks in the attention. listen in intently, mouths agape, eyes wide, gasping and laughing at his choice of words, even slapping his back and shoulder as he boasts.

honestly? you find it hard to believe him.

sure, chris is extremely attractive — his messy hair, striking smile, pearly whites, and a charm that easily draws people in. it wouldn't exactly be shocking if he was meeting girls. but the sheer number he claims to get into his bed, and the way he describes the way he fucks, it just doesn't add up.

he always blushes whenever you and the girls in your group wear revealing outfits or bikinis during beach trips, his eyes always darting away as if he's trying to hide from them. that shy, stuttering awkwardness feels worlds apart from the confident persona he projects during these apparent hook-up talks.

"who is she?" you find yourself chiming into the conversation, not missing the way chris' body seems to tense up for a moment before forcing smiling, shaking his head.

"i uh, i don't know. some girl i met at a party. i.. don't remember the names of one-night stands, y'know? doesn't.. doesn't make sense if i do, right?" chris looks around at the others for their approval, and some nod their heads with a hum. "as long as i gave her a good time, which i did, that's all the matters—"

"you went to a party?" the words slip out before you can stop yourself. you know you should ease off, especially if it risks making a complete fool out of him, but you can't stop. "when?"

"like... last weekend, yeah," chris nods, almost as if he's confirming it for himself. you hum softly, and chris fidgets in his seat, turning to face you fully, raising his eyebrow. "do you.. do you not believe me, or somethin'?"

"no, i'm just... curious," you reply with a grin, teeth biting down on the straw in your drink. chris stares at you for a moment, processing your words, before forcing out a laugh that feels a bit strained.

"curious about my sex life?" chris huffs, nudging a friend beside him with a playful elbow. "she wants proof, kid. wants to see how good this dick is—"

"actually, yeah," you cut in, your voice steady. chris freezes up, his eyes widening in surprise as the others at the table gape at you, their expressions a mix of shock and amusement.

you know you should probably stop now, but something inside you urges to push back. you want to challenge him, and playing with his little jab feels like the only way to do that.

you lean back in your seat, arms crossed, a smirk playing on your lips as you continue, "i want to know how great you claim to be in bed."

now, you didn't expect to chris to actually nod his head and go through with it — acting all smug and confident in front of your friends. it was clear he took what you said as a joke, and that irked you a little bit, so you stand up from the table, telling him to leave the diner with you right now. chris is stunned again, blinking rapidly as if he couldn't quite process your sudden demand, and a light blush creeps across his cheeks as he laughs nervously, standing up and following you out.

and what you also didn't expect was for chris to be laid out beneath you, his bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, eyebrows scrunched together in pleasure and plush lips parted with heavy gasps as you ride him, the blankets bunched loose around your waist. his cock does hit all the right places, and truthfully it feels extremely good, but you're pleased to see how much of a stuttering mess he is as his hands grip your thighs, jumbled words leaving his lips.

"oh ffuuuck.. jus' — ah... shit. l-like that, please. oh god... you're so — this feels — you feel... oh shit shit shit. m'sorry.. not gonna last. god, you're fuckin' amazing."

© STURNIOZ

[lockefanfic]

Truth

The following can be considered an alternate ending to the Business Trip series - although it can just as easily be read on its own. :)

---

The first few weeks together as an official couple were wonderful. Honeymoon phase and all that. Moving in together, domestic bliss. Fucking like rabbits, of course. But problems arose - became noticeable, and then unavoidable. Two of them, actually.

Problem 1: Your job.

Problem 2: Her job.

---

Problem 1: You’d thought business trips were a thing of the past. They weren’t.

You were happy to put the little adventure you’d had in Seoul and Tokyo behind you. Since then you’d done your best to decline any opportunities to engage in similar trips - feigning illness, sending underlings in your place, handling as many meetings as you could remotely. These days your life consisted of long, sometimes draining days at the office - a far cry from the brushes with danger and law enforcement that characterized your most recent trip overseas. Your days at work were boring and mundane now, but you were at home, and that was what mattered.

Home, after all, was where she was.

Regardless, the allure of another trip still came calling every now and then, tempting you, enticing you into spending a couple of weeks or months overseas where anything could - and sometimes did - happen. 

Sometimes that allure took physical form. Sometimes it came waltzing into your office wearing a tight blouse and a pencil skirt. Sometimes it was named Shin Ryujin. Other days it was named Hwang Yeji, or Lee Chaeryeong. Today, as with most days, it was named Shin Yuna.

“Ryujin and Yeji are on-site in Busan, and Chaeryeong is in Seoul, waiting for her flight to join them. Lia sustained injuries in our last operation and isn’t medically cleared for this one, but she’s recovering well. Ryujin has begin surveillance on our competitors’ teams - codenamed New Jeans and Le Sserafim - and she is ready to proceed with next steps once you arrive,” Yuna says, eagerness evident in the tone of her moderately Korean-accented english. “Shall I make travel arrangements for us to join them?”

For the first time since she walked into your office you look up from the reports on your laptop. You don’t miss the small bite the young woman is giving her lower lip, nor the way she has crossed her legs and begun leaning her wide hips against your desk. It takes more restraint than you were willing to admit not to steal a glance at her long pantyhose-clad legs and the tight charcoal pencil skirt they led to. You find the self-control to keep eye contact with your eager young executive assistant, even if her body language and tone of voice made her intentions clear and easy to read.

“Give me a second to finish reviewing Ryujin’s report,” you answer, returning your full attention to the screen in front of you. “I’ll confirm whether I need to be on-site by end of day, and if so you can make the necessary arrangements then.” 

Despite her best efforts, Yuna can’t hide the small twinge of disappointment that makes its way across her soft features. She’d been looking forward to the thirteen hour flight with you and the opportunities it would present.

“Oh, and…” she begins, her tone a little less upbeat now that you’d at least temporarily dampened her excitement. “You have a visitor. It’s Detective-”

“Let her in,” you interrupt. Yuna frowns, offers a short bow - a lingering habit from her Korean upbringing - and steps back toward the door to your office. She swings it open, and you catch the look of disdain on her features when she waves in your visitor.

Im Nayeon pushes past Yuna and into the office. She gives Yuna a sharp look as she passes the younger woman, and even from your chair you can sense the venom in it. The detective sits down in the chair opposite your desk, legs and arms crossed. She is dressed plainly, in a short denim skirt and a leather jacket, the glimmer of her badge on a chain around her neck the only clue as to her profession. She drops a large paper bag onto your desk.

“Please let me know if you need anything else, sir-”

“That will be all, Yuna,” you answer. 

Before your executive assistant has a chance to close the door, Nayeon turns her head and squeezes in one last shot.

“Cancel his next hour, Miss-” 

“My name is Yuna,” the young woman at the door answers, crossing her arms, scowl painted on her lips.

“Whatever,” Nayeon retorts, flatly. “Clear his schedule for the next hour. Oh, and do be a dear and lock the door.”

Out of the corner of your eye you catch two things - the barely restrained scoff on Yuna’s lips, and the satisfied sneer on Nayeon’s. With one last look of scorn directed at the back of the detective’s head, the younger Korean woman closes the door with a little more force than was necessary. The click of the lock engaging follows shortly after, as does the heavier than usual click-clack of her heels as she stomps away in obvious irritation.

“You have a thing for executive assistants with hips,” Nayeon observes. “Although this one’s much more of a brat than the last one.”

“Be nice,” you say, although you can’t keep the smirk from appearing on your lips as you continue to scroll through the report on your laptop. “She grew up in Korea, so she’s useful whenever I’m in-country. And she’s not a bad person.”

“I know,” Nayeon relents. “But the more of a cunt I am to her, the more she gets off on being a little fucktoy for you. I bet she gets off on thinking that you’re fucking her without me knowing. I bet it makes her so wet.”

Your smirk turns into a slim smile, and it becomes difficult to keep your eyes on the report in front of you.

“Am I wrong?” she contests.

“No,” you admit, finally turning to give her your full attention. “In fact, I’m about to hop on a plane with her to Korea in a couple of days. I expect it will be an… eventful flight.”

“Good,” Nayeon states, satisfied. “I bet she’ll be a good little girl for you, now that she’s received another reminder of how much you need some time away from your queen bitch of a girlfriend.”

She smiles - this one warm, soft - the smile that caught you in its clutches all those years ago and never let go. She turns momentarily to face the door.

“Oh, yeah, baby, fuck, you’re so big in me, fuck me! Fuck, this is the best dick I’ve ever had!” she exclaims in faux-pleasure, ensuring she was loud enough for the exasperated executive assistant sitting just outside your door to hear. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“We can fuck at home later. I just wanted to piss her off,” Nayeon admits, a sly smile on her lips. “Anyway, pull up House of the Dragon?”

“Already on it,” you answer, swinging your laptop screen around so you can both watch. Nayeon pulls containers of take-out sushi from the paper bag.

She swaps your salmon for her tamago.

She leans over your desk as she passes you your chopsticks. She gives you a warm kiss, and the smile she leaves on your lips stays there for the rest of the day.

---

Even after all these years, she never tired of the collar and its leash.

It was showing signs of wear, of course - the bright fire engine red had faded into a softer, paler shade, the chain was no longer as shiny, and there was more than one set of her teeth marks on it from particularly frisky sessions - but she never missed a chance to put it on when the mood struck, and you never missed a chance to put it on her.

For now you are content to let the chain dangle freely in your left hand, watching the light streaming in from the open window as it plays on its metallic links. The chain glimmers in the morning light against her pale, creamy skin, swaying and occasionally bouncing along with her movements.

The chair you are sitting on protests with the weight and movement the both of you make atop it. Her soft sighs and gasps - a far cry from the loud shouts and moans you knew she was well capable of - happily cancel out the furniture’s squeaking protests as she rides you atop it. Soft, sensual, slow. The perfect fuck for a perfect morning.

You do your best to just sit there and savour the moment, letting Nayeon do all the work as she grinded back and forth on your lap. As much as you enjoyed watching her bounce up and down atop you, taking your full length in and out of her body - taking special delight in the delicious bounce it gave her breasts and thighs - there was something to be said for the intimacy of the way she was riding you now, slowly and softly. It gave her a chance to grind her slick, swollen clit against your crotch, and while it only let a third or so of your cock slip in and out of her hot, slippery cunt with each entry and exit, each movement nonetheless caused a warm spike of pleasure to course up your spine as your cock moves around inside her.

She was so beautiful, so utterly ethereal and intensely erotic all at the same time - clothed simultaneously in perfect golden sunlight and slick sweat, saliva, and other fluids. She was ethereal beauty and dirty sex. She wore both, was utterly enrapturing in both, was equally comfortable in both.

You watch each movement of her body - a body you knew well, knew every peak and curve and valley of - and you never tired of it. You watch as her round, full thighs flex and work, as her tight core drives her lower body back and forth, as her small, perfect breasts sway and bounce. Her face is immaculate, soft features twisted and wracked by pleasure. Sweat glistens over all of it. It makes her perfect skin glisten and glimmer in the sunlight.

You take a moment to look over her shoulder at the dressing mirror behind her, relishing the sight of her back - the beautiful curve of her spine and the sweat dripping down that delicious valley; the round cheeks of her ass and the muscles beneath them as they work to fuck herself on your cock; the short glimpses of your balls as she moves back and forth, takes you in and out of her body. Even her hair, having started the morning pulled into a messy bun, has become disheveled and loose - but in a way that is enticing and alluring, glued to the back of her neck and upper shoulders by perspiration.

Your right hand, resting on her thigh, snakes a path up her body - up her chiselled abs, cupping a soft breast and delighting in the tightness of her nipple as you capture it with your thumb and index finger and give it a pull, a twist, a pinch. Her pussy pulsates in response around you. She is sighing and moaning her pleasure when your hand continues its journey, sliding up a sweaty neck until you reach the side of her face.

Her eyes, shut, drift open at your touch. 

You give the chain a jerk forward.

Her entire upper body crashes against yours at the sudden pull at her neck. Your lips find and capture hers, and for a few moments you share a passionate, heavy kiss. As your tongues duel you give her a slight thrust upward with your hips, timed to meet the apex of her grind - and she sighs into your mouth at the movement, eyes shutting again, nails digging into your shoulders.

Spurred by her reaction, you continue to thrust upward as best you can given your sitting position. Her cunt, already so wet and slick and hot, clenches around you with each thrust, welcoming you, taking you.

“Oh god,” she sighs, the first full words either of you have spoken in a while. “Oh god, I’m close-“

Her sentence breaks into a moan, a soft, wordless cry of pleasure as you continue your thrusts upwards into her body. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, burying your face against her warm, moist chest. You lick the sweat from between her dangling breasts. You savour each moan that leaves her mouth, heavy and hot, directly into your ears.

The chain drops from your left hand, its end falling with a soft clink onto the hardwood floor of your apartment. Forgotten for now, because the faux, pretend-ownership it represented was no longer needed, was perhaps never necessary.

She orgasms around you - pussy clenching, lungs emptying of breath as she cries her pleasure into your bedroom. Your hands find themselves clutching at her moist, sweaty back, hugging her to you, bringing your bodies as close together as possible.

“Your cum, inside me,” she hisses, her voice soft and almost vulnerable in your ear, still at the height of her orgasm. “Please, I want, I need it, please.”

Im Nayeon knew you - knew every part of what made you tick. She knew what you wanted to hear, knew when you wanted to hear it.

You thrust upward into her clenching, creamy cunt one last time. Every part of her body surrounds you, wraps itself around you: she buries your head into her chest, fingers interwoven into your hair, cradling you with her arms and legs as her cunt clenches and tightens around your cock. 

Your shaft spurts warm, thick cum into her. She lets a sigh leave her breathless lips with each pulse of your cock inside her, knowing each one was another rope of cum that would bind your bodies even further together.

Your fluids mix inside her, eventually sliding out between the pussy lips stretched tight around the base of your cock. It drips down your shaft, your balls, and onto the chair. You are sticky everywhere - on your sweaty chests, your slick thighs, but especially where you are joined together, your shaft still embedded hilt deep inside her. You are glued together, made one.

You sigh into her chest, and the nails that had dug furrows into your scalp now stroke it softly. The exhaustion hits you both at once, and for a few wonderful moments the only sound either of you can hear is the sound of heavy breathing.

Her hands eventually slide from your scalp. Her turn now to cradle your face in her hands. Your faces hover in front of each other, noses barely touching, half-lidded, pleasure-ridden eyes locked on one another.

For a moment her left hand moves to her neck, where she undoes and releases the clasp of the red leather collar. It slips from her body and falls to the floor.

“I belong to you,” she says, breathless, not needing some scrap of leather around her neck to convince you of it - not that she ever needed such a thing to begin with. Her hands cradle your face, palms on each cheek, like you are the most delicate thing in the world. Your arms wrap themselves even tighter around her soft, trembling torso. Your foreheads touch, your eyes close.

“I know,” you answer. “I always have.”

Later that morning, when she is snoring peacefully, you slip out of the bed. Your flight to Korea wasn’t until later that afternoon, and so you had some time to spare before you had to leave the house, and her, for god knew how long. Every part of you wanted to lie there in bed with her and savour every moment of it, not knowing when you’d next be able to do so - but you had decided the night before that something needed to be done, and there was no better time to do it.

You fire up the coffee maker - you’d both settled into specific domestic roles since moving in together, and you were almost immediately appointed Minister of Caffeinated Beverages - and take a seat at the kitchen island with your laptop.

A few minutes later, and you’d begun an email to JYP informing him of your intention to resign your position following the end of your next business trip.

Distance had taken her from you once, and it wouldn’t do it again.

---

“Is she being a good girl?”

“Yes, Nayeon,” you say, your answer somewhere between a sigh and a hiss as you press your phone close to your ear, ensuring only you could hear the voice on the other side of the call. You made sure to use her name, as she’d previously suggested, knowing what hearing it would do to the young woman you were currently sharing a hotel room with. 

Between your legs, Yuna gives the tip of your cock a swirl with the end of her tongue. Those large doe eyes glance up at you, the mention of your girlfriend’s name giving the topless young woman a small spike of wicked delight. You watch with a measure of your own satisfaction as she pumps your cock with one hand, the other fondling her own small, round breast and the tight nipple atop it. After a moment her hand drifts down her body, between her legs - and soon after she begins to sigh and moan around a mouthful of your shaft as she begins to pleasure herself.

“Good,” Nayeon continues. “I told you she would be. Did you fuck her on the plane, too?”

“Yes, we’ve started the operation. And yeah, Korea’s hot this time of year,” you say, keeping up the false pretence you both agreed upon.

“Let me guess - she’s on her knees? Are you fucking that pretty little mouth of hers?”

“Not yet,” you answer, “I think I’ll let the team continue to observe before we move.” Your eyes drift closed as the pleasure begins to build. You lean your head back slightly as the young woman between your knees increases her pace. What Yuna lacked in experience and technique, she more than made up for with enthusiasm.

On the line, you hear a soft sigh. A moment later, the sigh turns into a barely audible moan.

“What about you?” you ask. “Are you busy? How’s work?”

“Fine. I’m… alone. In a squad car.”

“On a stakeout?”

“We prefer the term ‘distanced surveillance,’ but yes, a stakeout.”

“You miss me?”

“Fuck,” you hear, followed by a soft hum. “Yes, I miss you,” she admits.

A thousand miles away, you smirk. The image of Nayeon alone, in her car, in an alleyway, a hand down her pants, touching herself to the sound of her boyfriend getting head from another woman - it aroused you more than the young woman between your knees, truth be told.

“Do you… miss me?” she asks.

You reach out with your free hand, cradling the side of Yuna’s head, running your fingertips through the bright red strands. She redoubles her efforts at your touch - she quickens her pace, her hand squeezing tighter around your shaft as her head continues to bob up and down its length.

“Fuck, I want you right now, Nayeon,” you hiss, knowing what repeating her name would do to the younger woman filling her mouth with your shaft. “I wish you were here.”

Between your legs, the moan Yuna lets out around your cock sends a delicious pulse of pleasure up your spine. On the line, Nayeon lets a similar moan escape her lips. 

“Tell me what you would do to me,” Nayeon says, tone low and deep, the way it was when she was desperate, needy. “I bet she’d do it for you.”

You bite your lip for a second - listening to Nayeon’s increasingly breathless sighs and picturing her becoming a writhing, wet little mess in her car, watching Yuna try and fail to wrest your attention away - taking it all in, savouring every second of the two women, a thousand miles apart, each doing their best to pleasure you in their own way.

“I’d pull your mouth off my cock,” you say, gripping the base of Yuna’s ponytail and easing her off your shaft. She looks up with you with those large doe eyes of hers, momentarily confused, temporarily disappointed at the sudden emptiness in her mouth - until she quickly catches on to your intentions.

“Mmm, more,” Nayeon says, on the verge of a plea.

“I’d tell you to strip, and get your cunt on my cock like a good little girl.”

And just as she predicted, Yuna does exactly that - peels off ridiculously short denim shorts she wore, along with the flimsy scrap of string beneath it that passed for a thong. She climbs atop you, straddles your waist, reaches between your bodies, grasps your slick cock and spends just a second rubbing your head against her dripping, slick lips.

And then she takes you inside her. On the line, Nayeon hears that unmistakable gasp you made whenever you entered her own cunt, and it drives her crazy. Her fingers work quickly between her legs. 

A thousand miles away, you watch as Yuna bounces her young, tight little body on your cock - up and down, up and down, up and down. She is rough, fast, impatient, with little technique but plenty of need. 

Your free hand grips a thigh before snaking up her torso, gripping a soft, bouncing breast and pinching the taut nipple between two fingers and giving it a slight slap from the side that elicits a yelp of pleasure from the young woman. Your cock stretches her tight little cunt with each entry, filling her up, making her need more, want more, making her lose her control over her senses - not that she had much to begin with.

She is enthusiastic, needy - but she is clumsy in her movements, inexperienced, drunk on the idea of being used and fucked and not possessing the control to savour the moment, make it anything more memorable than a messy, quick fuck.

She sighs and moans. “Daddy,” she gasps, uncaring now of being heard on the line, forgetting that you were supposed to be fucking her on the down low, under your girlfriend’s nose. “Daddy please, I need… Daddy please, your cum, inside me, I want-”

You remind her of her place by closing your hand around her throat. Not enough to cause pain, but enough to remind her of what she was - a fucktoy. Something to warm your cock while you were apart from the woman you really wanted. A substitute for a woman a thousand miles away.

“Is she… is she good for you?” Nayeon asks, voice betraying the fact that she was bringing herself to the edge. She’s wet and squirming and sighing - but she’s alone, in her car, far away. 

Her fingers aren’t you.

Yuna continues to fuck herself on your cock, recklessly and wildly, her orgasm doing little to slow or stop her. You watch as she bites down hard on her lower lip, enough to draw blood, doing her best to keep herself from vocalizing the pleasure coursing through her body and only partially succeeding. You knew she’d be especially loud once you’d ended the call. You consider pretending to end it but leaving the line open, just to give Nayeon the satisfaction of hearing what Shin Yuna sounded like when she was being bent over the bed and having her tight little pussy pounded full of cum.

Your fingers tighten around Yuna’s neck as she bounces with an increasingly wild pace atop your cock. It forces her to slow down, forces her to submit to you and your needs. It reminds her of her place, reminds her who she was. It was necessary.

A makeshift leash. 

“She’s good, Nayeon,” you admit. “But she’s not you.”

---

“Alright, I have to admit - she’s pretty fucking perfect for you.”

“There’s something I never thought I’d hear you say,” you admit, looking up from your laptop and the report on it to give Shin Yuna a look. The young woman is lounging about on her stomach your hotel room bed, picking away at a plate of room service french fries. She’d taken a shower, but hadn’t bothered to put her clothes back on after you’d bent her over the bed and fucked a load into her.

“She’s a bitch, don’t get me wrong,” she continues, tone casual, as though she weren’t naked on her boss’ hotel room bed with his cum still warm inside her. “But she’s really fucking pretty, and she’s a cop? Man. That’s a dream girl for most guys, you have to admit.”

“I suppose,” you say, flatly. “Where are you going with this, Yuna?”

“Nowhere,” she answers, popping another fry into her mouth. “I was just curious, I guess.”

“About?”

“About why you’re not married yet. About why there aren’t little hellspawn baby versions of her running around in your life.”

The thought is finally enough to wrest your attention from the report for good. You give the young woman atop your bed a look.

“Listen, I think it’s hot as fuck to be some exec’s fucktoy,” Yuna continues. “I just want to make sure I’m not the thing that’s keeping him from marrying the love of his life or some shit.”

“You’re not stopping anything, Yuna,” you state, clearly, ensuring that she didn’t form any wrong impressions. You certainly didn’t want her to overestimate her role in your life. “Trust me,” you add.

“So then what is stopping you? You’re in love, aren’t you?” Yuna continues. “I’ve heard all about your past with her from the company grapevine, and Dahyun filled me in on the rest. College sweethearts finding each other again in a foreign land after so long apart - that’s cute as fuck. So why isn’t there a ring on her finger and a baby in her belly?”

You are struck temporarily wordless by your executive assistant’s forwardness, but the answer comes to you eventually.

“We’re not ready yet,” you state.

Yuna seems satisfied with your answer - or at least, isn’t curious enough to pursue it further. She gives you a shrug before she picks up her phone and begins to scroll on it. “Whatever you say, boss,” she says.

You return your attention to your laptop, and the resignation email to JYP that was sitting in your drafts. Sending it would mean leaving a career that, in many ways, had defined you. Yes, it had played a major role in bringing Nayeon back into your life, but were you really ready to give up the adventures in distant lands, not to mention all the romance and intrigue and excitement said adventures brought with them? 

Your cursor hovers over the send icon.

—

Problem 2: Her job.

As it turned out, JYP was more than happy to do whatever it took to keep you with the company - even if it meant giving you a tidy little promotion along with a promise to make any further business trips entirely optional. That was Problem 1 solved, then - leaving only Problem 2.

For the most part, Nayeon did a good job of keeping her work at work and not taking it home with her. Every now and then she’d vent about a particularly hard case she was on, or tell you about how something an actor did in a movie or tv show was wildly inaccurate compared to standard law enforcement procedures in the real world. By and large you could almost forget that she was a senior detective who regularly found herself in situations the average person might consider dangerous.

This was all to say that you only rarely gave Nayeon’s profession any thought, had you not noticed the breaking news report playing on the large TV screen in the JYP lobby on your way back from lunch one afternoon.

A reporter, apparently on scene, is speaking into the camera - but the TV is muted, and the captions are not turned on. Behind him civilians flee from a building under the guidance of two understandably anxious-looking uniformed police officers with their sidearms drawn. “Active hostage situation underway at downtown bank,” read the ticker. “Multiple hostages and casualties reported.” 

You were ready to give it no further thought aside from a passing sense of disappointment at the general state of crime in your country, had you not caught a fleeting glimpse of her on the screen.

In the background, behind the reporter, Nayeon steps into frame, her back to the camera - but it was unmistakably her. She flashes the badge around her neck to the two uniformed cops nervously holding the bank entrance door.

You watch as she draws her sidearm from the holster at her hip, racks the slide to chamber a round, and rushes into the building.

--

To say the next few hours were absolutely nerve wracking would be an understatement. 

Yes, you’d known that danger and the possibility of being hurt were part and parcel of being a member of active law enforcement. You were in the room when she was quite literally shot at close range in Seoul - a few layers of kevlar being the only thing that kept her from bleeding out on a dirty apartment floor.

You’d done your best to avoid having to deal with the reality that your girlfriend had a relatively dangerous profession. Maybe it was a subconscious thing - maybe your brain knew that living every day in fear of your girlfriend losing her life was not exactly conducive to a healthy relationship - or a healthy mental state.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t really hit home until that day. You’d never been so worried in your life, staying glued to the TV and your phone and news sites, pacing nervously alone in your apartment, grasping for any snippet of an update that would confirm she was okay, that she was safe. Needless to say she wasn’t picking up her phone, and a call to her precinct lieutenant went unanswered. 

You’d learn later that she was never in any actual danger - the gunfire she’d heard turned out to be warning shots fired into the ceiling to intimidate the bank staff. Nayeon, who’d been passing by the building randomly on her lunch break, had decided that civilians were in immediate danger and entered the bank on her own volition, cleared out the remaining customers from the bank lobby, and held down the hallway leading to the safety deposit boxes where the suspects were holed up until SWAT arrived. 

As the first responder to the scene, protocol demanded she remain on-site until it was resolved, explaining the length of her absence. She wasn’t actually in danger for very long, she’d later insist.

But she knew none of that when she rushed into the building, gun in hand. For all she’d known there could have easily been a suspect pointing an assault rifle down the hallway, finger on the trigger, just waiting for an eager young detective to stray into his sights. Moreover, her nine millimetre sidearm and lack of kevlar would’ve put her in a precarious position had they decided to make an escape using force.

Nonetheless, you were more relieved than you’d ever been in your life when she finally called to tell you she was on her way home - eight hours and forty-nine minutes since you’d made your first unanswered call to her cell phone (the first of thirty). 

Your heart let out the breath it had been holding for nine hours.

---

When she finally got home it was a lot, all at once. 

It was relief, mostly, and then reassurance, and comfort, followed shortly by an irresistible, intense lust. Danger never failed to get Im Nayeon going.

Within seconds of bursting through the door she was already on you, arms wrapped around your neck as yours wrapped around hers, lips searching for and quickly pulling yours into a deep, passionate kiss. Her leather jacket quickly leaves her body, her fingers immediately going to work on your button-up. While this hurried undressing was happening, when your lips parted long enough to draw in a breath, she’d tried, in broken sentences, to fill you in on what had happened.

You pieced enough together from her jumbled words to get an idea of how her day went, and how she wasn’t allowed to contact you until the incident was resolved. You wanted to ask her more, wanted to know more about what exactly happened, but she was in no mood for talking. Her lips and tongue stole the words and questions from your mouth before you could give them voice.

You are naked before long, stumbling into the bedroom and leaving behind a trail of haphazardly discarded clothing. She pushes you onto the bed with more force than you were ready for - silencing any objections by quickly climbing atop you, straddling your lap as you sit on its edge. Your mouths find each other and your tongues continue their frantic duel. Before long you slip from her lips to kiss a rough trail down her neck and to her chest.

You capture a breast in your mouth, closing your lips around her taut nipple. “Fuck,” she gasps, her hands quickly burying themselves in your hair, nails digging almost painfully into your scalp as you suckle from her tight bud.

A small part of you wants to slow down - perhaps even stop altogether - and tell her how damn worried you were for her, how the last nine hours were the longest nine hours you’d ever had in your life. But she steals your words again, this time with some of her own.

“Hard,” she hisses between gritted teeth, “I want it hard.”

She reaches between you, points your tip at her dripping entrance, and takes you inside her.

The long, hot sigh that escapes your lips finally rips them from her nipple. For the next few minutes you are powerless to do more than breathe heavily between her breasts as she rides you - those toned, full thighs of her working to throw her body up and down your shaft, taking you in and out of her tight, warm little cunt.

“Nayeon, I-” you begin, finally finding the wherewithal after a few minutes to look up at her.

She silences you with a finger to your lips. Her eyes are half-lidded, but hungry.

“Shut up,” she spits. “Just shut up.”

You were not one to argue, not when you were balls deep inside the most beautiful woman you’d ever known. And so you content yourself with watching as Nayeon took her pleasure from your body, using your cock like a toy, impaling herself with it over and over again until she became a mewling, moaning mess atop your lap.

You grasp her thighs, squeeze her bouncing breasts and tease the nipples atop them, slide your hand up her chest and up her throat and to her jaw before sliding your thumb between her lips for her to suck as you cradle the side of her pleasure-filled face - and throughout it all she rides you, pace relentless, merciless, hard.

Soon she is cumming - and she shows no sign of stopping, fucking herself through her orgasm even as her body is wracked by pleasure. She trembles, shakes, and quivers atop you - but it doesn’t stop her, doesn’t come close to fulfilling her immense need. She wants more. She needs more. 

Even as her orgasm radiates throughout her body and turns her into a wet, writhing mess, you hold her tight to you as you turn her over, putting her on her back atop the bed while you rise to your feet next to it. You wrap her legs around your waist, pull her hips onto yours, and continue to fuck her - hard, fast, rough.

She sighs and moans and cries and you are content to let her, content to let out some of the frustration and worry and fear you’d held inside you for most of the day on her tight, helpless little body. Her breasts bounce deliciously atop her heaving chest. Her fingers are claws, finding purchase wherever she can - on the bedsheets and your forearms, mostly. Eventually she reaches down and fingers her own clit, even as your cock pumps in and out between the lips of her cunt, just beyond her fingertips. Her eyes spur you on - telling you to keep fucking her, keep using her, all without saying a single word.

Your hands leave her hips, pulling on her legs until her calves are atop your shoulders. You continue to pound into her all along, this new position leaving her cunt open and exposed, rendering her helpless to do anything but take each hard, fast thrust you make into her body. It is almost callous, the way you fuck her, as though she were some whore and not the love of your life. You use her cunt. You make it yours, remind her who it belonged to. 

Her moans build, rising in volume and signalling another impending orgasm. You want to join her, and are about to give in, about to fill her-

“My ass,” she gasps. “Fuck my ass.”

She pulls her sweaty, still trembling body off you, denying you the warm slickness of her cunt. Her pussy drips onto the bedsheets as she wastes no time, getting atop the bed on her knees, upper body pressed against the bed. She reaches back with her hands, palming the cheeks of her ass, spreading them apart, showing you what she’d been keeping inside her.

And there it is, red silicone, glistening and slick with lube.

The sight of it takes your breath away. You let an unexpected sigh of pleasure leave your lips as you grasp the toy with your fingers, easing it out of her body slowly. She moans as it leaves her, perhaps in pain or pleasure or both. Soon it’s finally out. Every molecule in her body yearns to replace its absence.

Grasping your cock, slick and wet with her juices, you press the tip against her open, gaping hole - and begin to slide inside her.

You’d had her ass before, but never after she’d had a plug inside her, and it is sublime. Her ass immediately closes and tightens around you, and you think right then and there that you might cum. Your hand clutches her ass and left hip, fingers digging deep into the soft, yielding flesh, relishing the pleasure coursing through your veins but fighting it before it gets too intense, wanting to prolong this moment. She sighs and moans as she adjusts to your size. She trembles at the feeling of her ass being filled.

“Mmmm,” she hisses into the sheets, evidently having lost the ability to form words. She reaches back as far as she can with a free hand, her long fingers clutching your thigh. She pulls you toward her, and you oblige, pressing yourself as deep as you can until you are hilt deep.

“Do it,” she spits from between gritted teeth, “Fuck my ass. Hard.”

And so you begin - fucking Im Nayeon’s ass with hard, long strokes, using her tight, hot hole with the same tempo and speed as you did her cunt just moments earlier. She moans and shrieks and gasps into the sheets, the side of her face pressed against the bed, saliva dripping from a slack mouth. Her fingers are claws, digging into the sheets or your thighs or both, searching for something, anything, to ground herself amidst the constant pounding into the most vulnerable part of her body.

“Fuck, Nayeon,” you say, your brain unable to form much more than a curse and her name. She is so tight, so very hot - and she’d ensured the toy was well lubed before it entered her, so she was slick enough to make every entry and exit so delicious, so utterly sublime; a perfect cocktail of pleasure and pain all mixed into one irresistible sensation.

For the first time in a while Nayeon lifts her head from the bed, sweat pasting dark strands to the side of her face. She opens her mouth to say something-

But you reach forward, grasping her by the back of her neck, and slamming her back down onto the bed. She shrieks - partially in surprise, mostly in pleasure - as you resume pounding her.

“Shut up,” you spit. “Just shut up.”

The thick cotton bedsheets can do little to hide the long, deep moan of pleasure that leaves Nayeon’s lips as you impose yourself on her. She continues, not stopping for a moment, letting a drivel of wordless pleasure leave her mouth with each thrust you make into her body. She reaches a hand down, plays with her wet, slick clit even as you pound relentlessly into her ass - pleasuring her, hurting her - either way, making her yours.

The hand at her neck doesn’t leave her - it merely moves to her upper back, still keeping her pinned to the mattress, making sure she could do nothing more than take you. She lets you. She gives herself to you, lets you do what you want to her, because this - a rough, hard fuck - was what she wanted, what she craved.

It doesn’t take her long to orgasm, with her fingers on her clit and your cock pounding hard into her asshole. She tightens even more around you. She screams her pleasure into the bedsheets.

She clenches around your cock when she cums. It sends you over the edge, and you push yourself as deep as you can into Im Nayeon’s ass before you cum, filling her depths with thick, hot semen. Her moans turn into whimpers and then sobs, and you think for a moment that she might be crying.

You want to stay there, as you often did after you came inside her. You want to relish the moment and the sight of your cock embedded inside her ass and the feeling of her body wrapped around yours. But the accumulated physical and mental exhaustion of the day hit you all at once, and you collapse atop her, your arms only barely keeping you from crashing onto her back as you land on your elbows, still hilt-deep inside her.

You find the strength to bring your mouth to her ear. Filthy sex and dirty fucking aside, she had to know.

“I belong to you,” you say.

“I know,” she answers. Beneath the sweaty, messy hair and heavy breaths, Nayeon smiles.

—

The next morning, while you are still asleep, she wakes up early to make breakfast. She rarely cooked - every food delivery driver within a ten mile radius knew how to get to your apartment by heart - but when she did it was for special occasions. Or, in this case, a form of apology for making you worry so much the day before.

She’s stumbling towards the kitchen - she was understandably more than a little sore in places that made walking difficult - when she catches a glimpse of her old criminology textbooks on the hallway bookshelf. 

She was a fairly sentimental person, and despite your efforts she wouldn’t get rid of the old, heavy texts. She insisted that they were a part of what made her who she was, and wanted to keep them as a reminder of how far she’d come in her career; privately, she kept them to remind herself of those hard months when you’d left to join JYP all those years ago, and how much she missed being away from you. Those months were difficult, and she’d turned to her career as a way of coping. Those months were instrumental in putting her on the path to becoming a detective, but they were also part of what drove her to Seoul to find you.

A thought strikes her as her eyes take in titles of the texts. She reaches out and lets her fingertips graze their worn covers, seeing in them a way to ensure her career would never worry you so much again.

---

And so the problems were solved. All it took was a few uncomfortable emails, a few months of occasionally stressful worrying and intense interviews, and two new job offers. Easy peasy.

You’d taken a job at a branch office of JYP that promised travel would be completely optional. Nayeon had quit the PD and become a professor in criminology at a local college. You’d moved out of the small downtown apartment that had been the home you’d shared for the past five years, and into a slightly more comfortable townhouse in the suburbs.

Time passed. Good days and bad days. She was there for all of them, making the good days sweeter and the bad days more bearable. She was home. Safe harbour and north star for each other.

You are both sitting in a cafe on a lazy Sunday morning - you’re reading a book and nursing a coffee while she’s grading some papers on her laptop. You loved many things about your relationship, but one of the things you appreciated the most was how comfortable you both were in silence. The years had given you both a familiarity that had often transcended the need for speaking. Most of the time, you knew what the other was thinking, even before they spoke.

Your presence was enough, and there was no need to fill the space between you with words for the sake of it.

After awhile you look up to her to find that she’d been watching you, apparently for some time.

“I think we’re ready,” she says, a warm, soft smile on her lips. 

She says no more, returning her attention to her laptop, but you know what she means.

You smile as you return to your book.

---

Im Nayeon could always surprise you.

You’d had her more times than you could count, but this night was different - it was important, special in a way none of the in-shower quickies or weekend-long marathon sessions were. Just when you’d thought sex and lovemaking could hold no more surprises, you are proven wrong.

“It’s you,” she sighs into your ear, her voice soft, still filled with pleasure, but with an undercurrent of emotion that you’d never heard in her before. One of her arms wraps itself around your back, the other buried into the hair at the back of your neck as you thrust in and out of her body. 

“Cum inside me,” she continues, breathless, words spilling from her lips in a long, drawn out hiss. “Fill me up. It has to be you. Breed me, put a baby in my belly. I want it- I want you. It has to be you. It’s only ever been you.”

“Nayeon,” you say into her ear, and when she replies with your own name you think it is the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard in your life. 

She is tight, wet, hot - she feels every bit as good as she did when you were teenagers fumbling awkwardly in an old dorm room, or when you were reunited old flames brought together by fate in Seoul, or when you moved in together and decided to build lives together. But it means more now. It means more now than it ever did.

“Give me a baby,” she says, half-moan, half-sigh. “Breed me, make me yours.”

Words you’d heard before, from the same lips, on many another night. But none like tonight, not when she meant them more than she ever did - this wasn’t pillow talk, an act meant to spice up a risqué encounter; no, this was much more. She meant every word, without pretence or facade. She meant it all.

“Nayeon,” you repeat, unable to say much else. The sound of her name on your lips draws a sigh from hers, sends a quiver up her spine that is pure pleasure and love. 

“It has to be you,” she whispers into your ear, the most intimate words she has ever spoken. “It was always you - I love you.”

“I love you too,” you say, every molecule of your body shouting the words, even if they left your lips as little more than a light gasp.

You thrust between her spread legs, and she wraps her thighs and arms around you, making the two of you into one. 

You fill her. She sighs, moans - and when your cheeks press against each other as you both lie there, breathing heavily - you can feel her cheeks pull her lips into a smile.

---

“It was always going to be you and me, wasn’t it?”

You are caught a little off-guard by her words - truth be told your mind was solely fixated on the humble sign outside your favourite sushi restaurant and the familiar but delicious culinary delights that awaited you. It’s a Friday night, and you were looking forward to a quiet dinner with her following a long, draining week of work. 

The choice of dining establishment was a foregone conclusion, and you had nothing on your mind other than settling into a simple but comforting meal with her. Grand statements of destined love weren't exactly on your mind - not this early in the evening, anyway.

But when you turn to her and find a soft, warm smile on her lips, you couldn’t help but agree. She doesn’t even turn to look at you - her gaze, like yours, is locked on the old, dingy, familiar restaurant sign.

“Yes,” you answer, the word leaving your lips quickly, almost on instinct, almost on reflex, as though your body knew the truth - knew what you felt, in your innermost core. “It was always going to be you, Nayeon.”

She doesn’t turn her head to look at you. There is a slight deepening of the smile on her lips, a slightly deeper blush on her cheeks, but that’s it. She doesn’t need to read your face to verify or discern the truth in your expression. She is confident enough -  in the years you’ve spent together, in the trials and tribulations borne at each others’ side, to know the truth in your words.

She feels it in the way you clutch her hand, the way you hold her close in your most intimate moments, the way you brush stray hairs away from her forehead when you kiss her good morning before heading out the door to work. 

She sees it in the slight swell in her belly, and the family you were building together.

She knows all this. She feels it all, deep inside herself where nothing else exists except you and her and the home you’ve built with shared memories. She knows it is all true, always will be.

When you enter the restaurant you are greeted warmly with a smile and hug by the waiter - he’s become a good friend in the years since your escapades in Tokyo and Seoul. From behind the counter, Jisoo looks up from her prep work to wave and smile widely. She leaves the counter for a moment to greet you both, revealing the full roundness of her belly. She waddles awkwardly over, exchanging hugs, confirming plans for next week’s gender reveal dinner party for their child.

With one hand, Nayeon cradles Jisoo’s full belly. Perhaps unconsciously, her free hand hovers over her own, a warm, thoughtful smile on her lips.

Eventually, Jisoo shuffles adorably back to the counter to finish her vegetable prep, promising to come back later to chat. The waiter shows you to your table, leaving you both two cups of tea. 

He doesn’t leave a menu, because he already knows your order.

You tap the chest pocket of your jacket as you take it off and drape it over the back of your seat, making sure the small box and the engagement ring within were still there.

Nayeon cups her tea in both hands before taking a small sip. She finally locks eyes with you, although she doesn’t say anything. She knows she doesn’t have to. She’s content just to smile, content to reach her hand over the table, palm up, wanting nothing more than to feel your hand in hers.

Maybe she knew what was coming. Maybe she caught a glimpse of the box in your nightstand drawer, or noticed an open tab on your browser for a local jewelry store. Maybe she read it in your face at some point today, in the way you moved or the words you chose. She was a former detective and current professor of criminology, after all. She’d made a living out of reading people, and to her, you were an open book.

But it didn’t matter whether she knew it was coming or not, whether she would be surprised at all when, at the end of your meal, you got down on one knee in this restaurant where your relationship began and asked her to spend the rest of her life with you.

Because you both already knew, on some level had always known. It was always going to be you and her. And every trial and tribulation, every painful relationship with long-gone lovers, every day apart - it had all led to tonight.

Nayeon’s hand finds yours and your fingers intertwine.

Your heart warms at her touch.

---

Author’s Note: Good to be back ^^ Excuse any writing rust that was evident in this fic :( I actually had this alternate ending to BT mostly written awhile ago, but I'd been thinking about coming back to writing again and Nayeon's comeback gave me all the inspiration I needed to finally finish it.

Shoutout to @capslocked, whose work played a part in getting me back into writing. A special shoutout to his Tzuyu fic, which is probably one of my favorite smuts of all time - and I might have borrowed the phone sex idea from it. Love ya bud. Mimosa fic next pls k thx.

Stories and posts will be few and far between, but you’re always welcome to leave an ask. Thank you all for the love and support you've shown me over the past year. <3

[marvelnatr]

Training

Warnings: Daddy!Nat, Sub!reader, humiliation, brat!tamer Nat, impact play, mocking, strap on, cock warming, breeding kink, cum filled strap, pussy spanking, spanking, bratting, oral fixation, office setting.

Summary: you continue to fail to complete your mission reports correctly. Fury has tried multiple times to get the teammates to teach you how to complete them and you cannot follow simple orders, he’s told that during your teachings you have a cocky attitude. So he places you in an office with Nat till you can get your act together.

Feel free to join my marvel discord geared to this kind of writing! Its in my pinned master list. If the link doesn’t work let me know darlings. I don’t bite <3

Your POV:

Walking into the office Natasha looked up at me, her eyebrow cocking as she stayed leaned over her desk “excuse you?” I watched her slightly confused “what? I’m supposed to be here at nine am and its nine ten” Natasha nodded “yes you’re late. But also have some manners and knock on my office door before you come in” I nodded a bit with an eye roll and started to cross the threshold, Natashas voice stopped me in my tracks “so turn around and try again”. Looking up at her I nodded and turned around, closing the door and knocking again. Natasha gently opened the door “come in”. Nodding I walked in the door and looked at Natasha, she pointed to the chair near her desk “sit” rolling my eyes again I sat down. I’m not a fucking dog. I felt Nats eyes on me, the door clicked shut and the sound of her heels getting closer to my chair till I felt her brush by me as she sat down “so you’ve been having some problems with your mission reports?” I shook my head “they’re fine. Fury is just being picky” Natasha looked up at me “his name to you is Director, I know for a fucking fact you and him are not on first name basis. Do I make myself clear?” Swallowing a little I nodded as Nat watched me “no, you’re going to give me a verbal confirmation” watching her I sat forward and spoke, allowing my attitude to lace my voice “okay”, Natasha’s eyes found mine, the second we made eye contact I had realized I may have sounded a little too bold. Natasha calmly spoke “okay what?” I watched her, backing down a little “o-okay yes ma’am”. I received a simple nod from her and sat there in silence while she finished up her work.

After fifteen minutes I looked at her “okay what the fuck am I doing here? Cause if I’m just gonna sit here I’m leaving” Natasha looked at me “you will be patient Y/N” pouting I sat back and watched her work. This went on for around another thirty minutes before she looked at me “okay, what was the last mission you did” I looked at her and sat up “fucking finally” shooting a glare at me she growled a little “watch your fucking mouth, I am here to help you, so drop the fucking attitude” ignoring her statement I pulled out my computer and pulled up the mission report. I felt her lean over my shoulder as she looked at my report and scoffed “no wonder fury wont take this, its messy” I looked at her “excuse you?” Natasha cocked her eyebrow at me “I didn’t stutter did I?” Shutting up a little I rolled my eyes and thought of a quick snarky comeback “so what’s wrong with it then if you’re so fucking smart” I guess that was it. That’s what snapped her. Within seconds I was turned and facing her, her green eyes piercing into mine

Natasha’s POV:

Wrapping my hand around her throat Y/N left out a little gasp, her eyes widening as her legs squeezed together. I laughed a little and mocked “oh, I see, you just needed to be choked out a little didn’t you?” Y/N’s knuckles turned white as she squirmed “n-no” I laughed at her, tutting “oh detka, poor little thing. How I’d love to fuck you but you need an attitude adjustment” I let go of her neck with a little push and looked at her “rewrite it. Again. Stop beating around the bush and write it” Y/N pouted “b-but I don’t know how” I grabbed her jaw and made her look at me “you’re a smart little girl, you’ll figure it out” a pout formed on her lips as she looked at her computer and started typing. Nodding I sat back down at my desk. Y/N’s legs were squeezed shut as she typed. She would look up at me on occasion, her eyes begged me to fuck her as her pupils were blown with lust. Smirking at her I shook my head “focus on your work darling”

Y/N continued with her work. I decided it was time to fuck around with her a little, my fingers made their way to my button up shirt, slowly undoing the first three buttons to reveal my cleavage. Y/N’s eyes had been trained on my chest for a solid two minutes now. I laughed a little “what’s got you distracted darling?” Y/N swallowed hard and shook her head “nothing”. I slowly got up and leaned over the desk, my chest close to her face “try again detka” Y/N looked up at me, her eyes filled with anticipation as I leaned over her. The younger woman shakily inhaled and swallowed thick, as he spoke weakly “n-nothing miss” nodding I turned her computer to me “lets see how much progress you’ve made shall we love”. Looking over her work I tutted, she really hasn’t changed a thing. She’s made advances but hasn’t done much. I looked at her “this really isn’t any better dorogoy, are you really that dumb that you can’t put together a simple report? I know you’re so much smarter then this” a whine fell from her lips “I don’t get it, this is such bullshit!” Cocking my eyebrow at her I warned her “watch your mouth” Y/N looked at me with that same bratty look “fucking make me” laughing I leaned in closer “I will”. Her eyes widened as I sat down in my chair and patted my lap “come bring your computer and sit” Y/N rolled her eyes “no, I’m not a fucking child” I chuckled “you sure are acting like one” she quickly shot me a look and stupidly defended herself “I am not!” I scoffed at her “you are, just like a spoiled fucking brat if you ask me” huffing Y/N sat back in her chair, folding her arms and turning away from me just as a pouting child would. I laughed and mumbled “my point proven”

After about fifteen minutes she grumbled “I would like to leave now” I nodded while typing “you can after you finish your report” Y/N groaned “but I don’t fucking know what to do to fix it!” Looking over at her I spoke calmly, probably pissing her off even more “I offered to help you darling, and you wouldn’t take it. But the offer is still there. When you can drop your ego and come and sit in my lap like a good girl I can help you” she shook her head and spat “in your fucking dreams” I laughed and nodded “your choice then darling”

After a few more minutes she realized I wasn’t giving in. I heard her movements to grab her computer and find her way over to me. Looking over at her I saw her eyes watching my lap. Leaning back I gave her room to sit down, Y/N shuffled over to me pouting as I took her computer from her and allowed her to sit in my lap. Tucking some hair behind her ear I whispered “this isn’t so bad is it?” Shifting to get comfy she grumbled, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration “this sucks” I laughed a little and held her waist “don’t hurt my feelings now darling. Stop pretending you don’t like it”. A red tint fell over her cheeks as she cuddled into me and I smiled “that’s a good girl. Now, look at your screen”. I adjusted Y/N so she could see her screen and her eyes widened at me, I knew it was only time before she felt my strap in my pants, I laughed a little and mocked in her ear “so distracted darling, are you okay?”. A blush tinted her cheeks red as she nodded “y-yes da- ma’am”, I smirked “oh no baby say what you were gonna say”. Y/N squirmed in my lap as she mumbled, I held her hips and stilled her movements “speak up detka”. She pushed her head into my chest “y-yes d-daddy”. I groaned a little and held her hips down “such a good girl, there we go, finally learning your place”, the girl shot a glare at me and I smacked her thigh “nuh uh little girl, knock it off”, her eyes rolled as she spat “fucking make me”.

My hand quickly wrapped around her throat as I stood her up, quickly laying her flat over my desk then landing a harsh smack to her ass “that’s it, enough of the attitude”, Y/N gasped and moaned a little. Chuckling I tutted “such a fucking slut, is this what you want? You want me to spank you?” I spanked her again and stuck my fingers in her mouth “you just want to get punished thats all, want me to make you my little bitch”. I continued to land harsh spanks to her ass, the crimson red color was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You could see the slight outlines of my rings from the impact on her sore ass. Y/N was whimpering and crying a little, drooling all over my desk. I laughed “awww my poor little girl, you can give but you cant take? But you look so pretty for me. You ass all red while you make a mess all over my desk. Those pretty little tears don’t mean shit to me princess”

I watched as she squirmed, an unmistakable wet patch forming on her panties. Kicking her legs apart I gently pushed my palm on her cunt “mmmm so wet for me babygirl” Y/N moaned and whined, her legs closing around my hands. I smacked her cunt and looked up at her “you do not close your legs when I touch you, do you understand little girl?” She nodded and moaned “y-yes daddy” pushing my hand against her cunt I spoke again “I said do you understand?”, moaning a bit louder she fixed her sentence “y-yes daddy I understand” smirking I whispered in her ear “panties off and lay on the couch”. Y/N scrambled to the couch taking off her panties. I locked the office door and headed over to her. I rubbed her thighs gently “open your legs detka”, her legs quickly fell open and I groaned “you’re fucking soaked babygirl“ a red tint formed on her cheeks as I trailed my finger along her cunt “so you can follow orders, shocking”. Y/N snapped her legs shut “oh fuck off”. I cocked my eyebrow at her lowering my voice to a growl “what did you just say to me Y/N?”, her eyes went wide as her face turned white. Fear and anticipation flooded her eyes as I tutted “what am I going to do with you huh little girl?” I watched as she swallowed thick, standing up I leaned over her and grabbed her neck “lets see…I could edge you…or I could spank your poor little cunt….and I could just completely leave you without touching you” Y/N quickly protested to my last suggestion, a pleading whine falling from her lips “no daddy please! Please don’t leave me like this!”. I laughed at her “and what makes you think you’re in any position to tell me what to do with you darling? Where on earth did you get that thought?”

Dead silence fell over the room. Y/N’s pupils blown with lust and fear as she squirmed. I chuckled at her squeezing her neck tighter and pulling her closer to my face “come on slut speak up”, the younger woman gasped and rambled out “I-I dont! y-you’re in charge daddy”. Smiling I nodded “that’s right detka, daddy is is charge. Here’s what’s gonna happen” I trailed my hand down to her cunt as I spoke, allowing my accent to lace my voice a little more “you’re going to lay here and hold yourself open while daddy spanks this pretty little cunt five times for your misconduct. Do I make myself clear?” Y/N moaned and nodded “y-yes daddy you made yourself clear”

Y/N spread herself open, I smirked at her “so wet”, leaning down I hovered my face just above her cunt, my breath falling over her cunt making her twitch as I smiled “oh this is gonna be so much fucking fun” pushing my palm onto her heated core I kissed her gently then landed a semi harsh smack. Y/N yelped and moaned as I gently rubbed “you know what to do darling”. The girl swallowed thick, her chest rising and falling as she attempted to catch her breath “o-one thank you daddy”. Smiling I nodded and spanked her pussy again. I received the same reaction as the last. Y/N jolting slightly at the impact on her already swollen cunt from being so needy. I looked in her eyes as she counted again “two t-thank you daddy”. Nodding I finished the next three. Rubbing her pussy gently I groaned “so red and puffy now darling, you look so pretty like this” a blush fell over her cheeks and I chuckled “so shy, why did I punish you baby?” Y/N whispered gently “b-because I closed my legs while you were touching me” I nodded and rubbed “and is that polite?”, blushing further she shook her head “no daddy”. I smiled and kissed her knee “good girl. Now, you need to finish your report”. Immediately she whined “I don’t wanna!” I folded my arms “tell you what, you do the report and you get to cockwarm daddy as you work” Y/N bit her lip eagerly nodding “deal!”

Laughing I walked over to the desk and sat down. Y/N watched me as she rubbed her legs together, I patted my lap “come on darling, you’re so soaked you’ll be just fine”. She turned beet red as she straddled me and sunk gently down on my strap. Her cunt swallowing every inch of the thick toy as her mouth fell open in a silent moan. It was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and I couldn’t wait to breed her. To claim her and make her mine. I rested my hands on her hips and whispered praises “come on babygirl, just a little more. You can take it. I know you can” her eyes watched mine as she whimpered “you’re so big daddy, it wont fit” I laughed a little and rubbed her waist “oh darling. It’ll fit, daddy will help you”. She nodded as I lightly fucked up into her. My entire length buried into her cervix as she moaned “f-fucking hell” rubbing her hips gently I praised “thats it, such a good girl, you’ve done so well for me baby” she smiled and I patted her cheek “now get to work”

Y/N worked on her report as I looked over a file. Every so often I would check on her to see her progress. I could feel her arousal coating my thighs. The heat radiating off her core. Sometimes she would shift and moan from the sensation of the strap moving inside her. After thirty minutes she had finally finished. I put my file down and leaned forward, moving in her again. Y/N moaned as I rubbed her thigh to calm her and read over her report. I smiled and gripped her thigh a little “thats more like it baby, you do know what to do you just wanted to cookie cut it” Y/N pouted and bratted a little “did not!”. Quickly I smacked her thigh “no ma’am, no more of that” the girl whimpered “s-sorry daddy”. My hips involuntary bucked up, causing me to fuck into her. It was a pure reaction to the honorific falling from her lips. I received a moan from her in return, groaning I whispered in her ear “I could listen to those pretty little sounds all day” Y/N whimpered “please fuck me daddy, I-I can’t wait anymore”

Quickly picking her up I brought her over to the couch, my strap staying buried in her the entire time. I rested her down on the couch, her back hitting the leather cushions. I moan fell from her lips as my cock moved inside of her “oh baby be a good girl and let daddy fuck you hm? I know you’ve been craving this from the second you looked at me”. Y/N whimpered and nodded as I started fucking into her “that’s it, good girl detka”. Quickly grabbing a hold of the leather she moaned “f-fucking hell daddy you’re so big” I laughed a little and kept fucking her “I know darling”. Y/N’s head threw back as her eyes closed, I slapped her tit “ah ah, no little girl, you look daddy in the eyes while she’s fucking you. I want to memorize exactly what you look like when you’re falling apart under me”

Y/N’s eyes shot open again as she watched me, I nodded and slipped my fingers into her mouth, lightly making her gag which in turn made her clench around my strap. She quickly got the understanding to suck and begun swirling her tongue around my fingers. My digits muffling her moans as her teary eyes watched me. I smiled and mocked her “look at you, drooling all over yourself as I fuck your tight little pussy. You look fucking pathetic darling. I’m glad you’re found a better use for that pretty mouth of yours rather than bratting”. At this point she was too busy to complain, to dumb fucked out to argue. Fucking into her harder I groaned “fuck pup you look so pretty like this”. She moaned loud and bucked her hips, I cocked my eyebrow at her “you like that one huh? You want daddy to breed this sweet little pussy? To claim you?”. A babbled yes fell from her mouth around my fingers. I smirked and fucked into her harder “fuck thats my good girl”

Y/N’s legs started to shake, I took my fingers out of her mouth “you ask for permission to cum detka” her moans grew louder “p-please daddy please can I cum?” I groaned and nodded “fuck babygirl cum for me, gonna fill you up, make my cum drip from that pretty little cunt”. I gripped her legs and spread them wider as she came. Fully bottoming out inside her I came with her. Filling her cunt as she screamed a little “h-holy fucking shit daddy!” I laughed as I kissed her cheek “such a good girl for me, now everyone in the office knows who’s screwing you”, Y/N’s face tinted red as I stroked her cheek “it’s okay darling, you’re mine now”

As her breathing slowed I gently pulled out, some of the cum dripping from her cunt as it spilled on the couch. Chuckling I rubbed her thighs “such a messy girl”. I went into my private bathroom and wet a washcloth, coming back I kissed her inner thigh “may I dove?”. Y/N nodded all floaty, I melted at her relaxed face and fucked out body. While I cleaned her up I spoke “no more of the bratty attitude okay baby?” Y/N nodded and whispered “okay daddy”. I smiled softly at her and gently put her panties back on and grabbed one of my blankets from my storage ottoman, wrapping her up in it as I picked her up and held her in my arms “that’s my good girl, you can rest now darling”

Y/N cuddled into my neck and closed her eyes. While she dozed off I rubbed some cream on her ass, admiring the indentation of my rings on her red flesh for a few seconds. Kissing her head I sat down and continued to do some of my work, doing my best not to wake the sleeping angel in my lap.

[sunrizef1]

What Happens in Vegas pt 14

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, verbal abuse

Word Count: 1.6k

Authors Note: No Charles content in this one but important nonetheless

Summary: Logan and Y/N talk, y/n finally reveals who’s been texting her

Masterlist

“Have I ever told you about my family?”

Logan doesn’t reply for a moment, annoyance still resting under his deadpan expression. You’re both sat on the floor of his drivers room, backs resting against the wall behind you, coffee from the Williams hospitality sitting in foam cups getting cold as they sit, untouched. Champagne dries on the top of your skin, casting a sticky residue onto your face and the ends of your hair.

Your win was now forgotten, the trophy having been left in your room to be picked up by a random Porsche employee who’d eventually get it back to you. Logan’s DNF was also now forgotten, although it did leave a lasting effect on his mood, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed tightly.

“No, but I know your dad.”

You tilt your head, pulling the inside of your cheek between your teeth as you respond, “Well, you know him now.”

Logan doesn’t respond, not in the mood to play into your vagueness. He’d invited you here to explain. He knew you’d clarify eventually, whether he asked you to or not.

“It’s a complicated story,” you pause, bile rising to your throat at the notion of explaining your childhood and forcing you to swallow it back down, “You don’t have to say anything.”

Logan hums, obviously not planning on speaking much anyway. Both of you stare off toward the floor in front of you, unspoken words hanging in the air around you.

“I was born in France, not sure if you knew that,” you start after a moment, hesitance laced in your words, “Everyone thinks I was born in Texas but my mom would’ve rather died than let that happen.”

“You probably know my mom, Amelie Laurent, French, vogues favorite person and I guess she’s a pretty famous model,” Logan pauses for a second, no doubt not aware of who your mom was, before he nods in recognition of the name.

“When my parents had me, they were still in love, I think,” you furrow your eyebrows as the words leave your mouth, “Um, but after they had me, I guess they got really busy with their jobs and stuff so they sent me to live with my grandparents in Texas for a while.”

“Didn’t really see them much growing up. My dad took me to the paddock a lot though, I got to hang out with everyone at McLaren, which was nice.”

“But he was busy so I usually got stuck with Kimi and then eventually Lewis, when he joined, which is where the uncle Lew thing comes from. Sometimes I felt like McLaren and Mercedes raised me more than my dad did,” the end of your statement comes out in a whisper, this being the first time you’d voiced the idea.

Logan glances over as your face sours, his hand coming out to hand you your, now cold, coffee. You grasp it from him and take a sip, sliding it back down to the ground after.

“When I was 8 my parents had my brother, which I think was the final straw. They got a divorce right after and my dad moved me to England. My brother stayed in France with our mom,” you wince.

“I started karting, my grandma moved to England to take me around to races when my dad couldn’t. Despite my own… objections, I spent my summers at my moms house with her and my brother.”

You pause, stomach turning as you let out a shaky breath, memories flooding back. Logan shows his first emotion of the night, glancing over to check you're not going to die. When he confirms you're, in fact, breathing, he looks back to the floor.

“I don't think she wanted kids. Maybe she did. At one point. But I think, after the divorce, all I did was remind her of my dad, a man she hated more than anything. She made it obvious with the way she treated me, as well. Well actually, the way she treated both me and my brother.”

“She never wanted me in karting, made it clear. Only reminded her of my dad again, made me do ballet in the summers. Thought it was more proper, or whatever. Didn't let us speak English at her house either, we were only allowed French, took Juli forever to learn English correctly, he'd only grown up with her.”

“Juli?” Logan asks, adding his first bit of input since you'd started talking.

“Brother,” you mumble into your knees as you pull them into your chest, resting your tired face against them. Logan nods.

“Um, she yelled a lot, I guess. A lot of stuff about our futures and how we'd always be failures if we went through with racing and football, she didn't like that Julian only wanted to play football, either.”

“Dad didn’t know, I didn’t tell him,” you mumble, “I didn’t think there was that much wrong with it until I left.”

“She just sucked, man,” you groan, eyes shutting tight as your head falls back against the wall, “I hated her so much! Because I was winning, I was getting these championships and getting these trophies and I thought she’d finally accept that I wanted to kart but the only thing she’d tell me was that I’d never get anywhere!”

You take a deep breath, holding back the faint tears in your eyes.

“But yeah, that's the worst of it, really. Completely cut contact at 15. Begged my grandparents to let me spend summers with them. They let me.”

“It just stuck with me for a while, you know? The shit my mom would say. A lot of crap about how I was failing myself with racing or how I would never have a future if I continued down that path. Said a lot of things about how I'd always find a way to lose and that it would never be worth it if I wasn't the best. Everytime I lost a race, she would find a way to use it against me, proof that I shouldn't be racing.”

“I did block her though, couldn’t stand the constant texts when I lost. Probably wasn’t even very easy to find those results, they weren’t exactly mainstream,” you furrow your eyebrows, confusion passing over your face momentarily, “Anyway, three years later, I’m 18. I move out and sign an f3 contract. My dad got super busy with Lewis’s championships and Mercedes. Kimi was actually the first to congratulate me.”

“I haven't spoken to my mom or my brother in, what? 8 years? I've mostly forgotten them by now, paris a thing of the past,” you trail off, the air of Logan’s room suddenly feeling a lot colder.

“All this to say, um-“ you rush out, shaking your head quickly.

You finally look over toward Logan, moving your body to face his, “She texted me, in Australia. Told me that the crash was all she'd ever expected from me, anyway. She's been calling ever since.”

Logan turns his head, concern written on his face.

“I think I'd forgotten about everything she said since it's been so long. But that text kind of brought it all back. It's been stuck in my mind for every single race. That's the reason I’ve been so unfocused lately. I don’t even know how she got my number, she was blocked on my old number and then I just got a new one, I don’t know how she could’ve got it.”

Logan, having dropped his previous spite, quirks his head, “What about yesterday?”

You swallow thickly, “Julian texted me. She kicked him out. He’s staying with a teammate. He’s sixteen, Lo. He’s still a kid.”

You fall back against the wall with a thump, your hands coming up to cover your eyes, “He’s still in France, still training with PSG. He’s asked to talk to me before Monaco.”

“Monaco?”

You nod solemnly, “My least favorite race, too close to my mom. I was so relieved when they took France off the calendar, you know? I’m pretty sure that, until recently, she didn’t know I was even in F1. She’s sworn off any media that isn’t French and I chose to race under dads last name. Makes me think someone told her I was.”

Logan hums, trying to process all the information you’d just told him. Eventually, he pats you heavily on the back, groaning as he stands up. You look up as he reaches a hand down to you, questions laying in your gaze.

Logan pushes his hand further down toward you, “Seems like a good enough reason to go out, celebrate your win. We can talk heavy solutions in the morning. For now, you are a race winner. A race winner who needs to get her mind off her fucked up family.”

You grin at his words, grasping his outstretched hand and letting him pull you up, “You reacted better than Arthur did. Think he was about to throw up with me.”

Logan pauses, his face screwing up with faux betrayal, “You told Arthur before me?”

You roll your eyes, “I was having a panic attack on the floor of the bathroom, talking about it was the only thing to get me out of it.”

Logan smiles softly at your response, slinging an arm over your shoulder as you two walk out of his room, “Let’s go, winner. Who do you think the most famous person you can get to celebrate with you tonight is?”

You take a moment to think about your response, “I think I saw Kendall Jenner, I’m sure I’ll probably see her at some point.”

Logan hums, looking out ahead of both of you, “You know I’ve seen the pictures of you two in Miami last year? You were so far gone.”

You laugh, hitting him in the ribs, “Shut up. We should leave soon, Porsche has probably already started partying without us.”

Logan laughs, patting your shoulder lightly as you both go to leave the Miami paddock.

———————————————

[mysunshinetemptress]

Nepo Baby

Leah Williamson x Beckham!Reader

Warning: I hate this sorry love the request but hate this

The locker room buzzed with nervous energy. England was facing Ireland, An important match in the intense group all looking to qualify for the Euros next year, and the tension was thicker than hairspray. But for Leah Williamson, captain and undisputed leader, there was an extra edge, it was her first game back for England since her ACL injury last year and although she was excited to finally be leading England back out she knew it wasn't what anyone would be talking about, not even her best friends had acknowledged the importance of today for her, all to caught up in the fan fair of a new England debut that was Y/n Beckham.

You were David and Victoria Beckham's third child, twin sister to Romeo and from the moment your name had been announced to the squad list the media had blown up, but Leah had been a sceptic. The media fawned over you, the "Beckham heir," a title that felt more like a burden than a birthright. Leah had clawed her way to the top, her talent undeniable. You, she suspected, had a silver spoon where your foot should be.

England's first training session confirmed Leah's suspicions. Your skills were undeniable – your crosses were pinpoint, your dribbling silky smooth. But there was a certain arrogance in your gaze, a sense of entitlement that grated on Leah. During a passing drill, You intercepted a ball intended for Leah, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"Easy there, Williamson," You smirked, sending the ball sailing over Leah's head. "Maybe next time, try calling for it a bit louder."

Leah bristled. "Don't patronise me, Beckham," she growled. "This isn't your playground."

You began to regret your earlier arrogance as Leah began to nitpick her way through your play, through the rest of the training sessions at St Georges Leah found something to fault you on and you began to think back to all your past coaches who had put you on a pedestal only wanting to watch you fall. All training sessions continued like this and you hoped that she might let up but Leah seemed set in her ways.

Leah sighed walking into the conference room her first one back for England, her first one back as captain, she smiled letting out a soft hello before taking her seat beside Sarina.

Leah puffed out her cheeks as another reporter asked about you, She looked up as yet another report mentioned you and your father's talent. "Her dad worked hard to gain the career he had, Y/n has waltzed into her contracts thanks to his hard work, no other reason, she's an arrogant Nepo baby on a team of hard workers, now can we please move off this topic and actually talk about the upcoming games." The room fell into an awkward silence at the normally calm captains outburst.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the nervous coughs of a few reporters. Sarina Wiegman, the England manager, cleared her throat, her eyes flitting between Leah and the press. "Leah makes a valid point," she finally chimed in, her voice calm but firm. "We're here to discuss the upcoming matches, and the entire squad deserves your attention. Y/n has earned her place here based on her talent, and we're all focused on bringing home a win."

Leah felt a sliver of guilt at the manager's words. She knew Sarina was right, the media frenzy surrounding Y/n wasn't fair to anyone, and her outburst was unprofessional. But the constant comparisons, the whispers of nepotism, they were a persistent itch under her skin. That guilty feeling however was made ten times worse when she caught your eye at the back of the conference room before you ducked your head and began to walk out.

You had avoided Leah for the rest of your time at St Georges as well as the short travelling day over to Dublin, and now you sat at your cubby head down staring at the ground the weight of the surname on your back, the weight of your very famous family sitting in the stands travelling to see your debut for England. You couldn't let them down, you couldn't let him down.

The anger towards you and your nepotism crept back into Leah as she listened to Kiera and Georgia harp on about you and your famous family completely forgetting that this was also an important moment for her, this was her first time back in the England squad in a year, her first time starting, her first time back as captain.

Lining up Leah grabbed your arm before you could walk out "You aren't talented, you're a kid using your father's hard work, you never had to fight for your spot it was given to you on a silver platter thanks to the name on your back." Leah spat the last part back at you and suddenly you couldn't move, Leah hit your shoulder before heading to the tunnel, but still you couldn't move, she was right after all.

Shame burned in your throat, acrid and bitter. Leah's words echoed in the empty hallway, bouncing off the lockers and amplifying the hollowness you felt inside. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring the already dim lighting. You weren't a child, not anymore. But in that moment, Leah's words had stripped you bare, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

A shaky breath escaped your lips. You weren't a Beckham just because of your name. You'd trained relentlessly since you could walk, mimicking your dad's moves in the living room, begging him for extra sessions after school. You had the talent, you knew you did. But proving it to someone as entrenched as Leah felt impossible.

Suddenly, the weight of expectation on your young shoulders felt insurmountable. The image of your family in the stands, their hopeful faces etched in your mind, only amplified the pressure. You couldn't let them down, couldn't let your dad down after years of his unwavering support. A surge of defiance replaced the self-doubt. No, you wouldn't let Leah break you.

Suddenly, a hand touched your shoulder. You flinched, expecting another barb, but it was Lucy, her face etched with concern. "Y/n, are you alright?" she asked gently.

You shook your head, voice cracking. "I...she thinks..." you choked on the words.

Lucy understood. She'd been there, the pressure of a debut, the weight of expectations. "Listen," she said firmly, her voice laced with veteran experience, "Leah's hurting. She wants to prove herself again, and right now, she's lashing out."

"But it's true," you whispered, tears finally spilling over. "I haven't had to fight for anything."

Lucy wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a hug. "Maybe not," she conceded, "but that doesn't mean you don't have talent. We wouldn't be here if you weren't good. Use this, Y/n. Prove them all wrong, yourself included."

Her words sparked a flicker of defiance in your chest. You weren't here just because of your name. You loved football, you'd trained relentlessly, pushing yourself as hard as anyone. Maybe you hadn't clawed your way up from the bottom, but that didn't mean you didn't belong.

Wiping your tears, you straightened your back, a newfound resolve hardening your gaze. "Thanks, Lucy," you said, your voice firm. 

The roar of the Dublin crowd washed over you as you stepped onto the pitch. You glanced at Leah across the line, her jaw clenched, eyes hard with determination. It wasn't a friendly look, but it wasn't a dismissive one either.

Every touch, every pass, fueled by the need to silence the doubts, both internal and external. You played with a tenacity that surprised even yourself, weaving through defenders, your crosses finding their targets with pinpoint accuracy.

Then, in the second half, a chance. You intercepted a pass deep in your own half, broke free, and sprinted down the wing. The Irish defense converged, but you remembered Leah's words from training, the ones buried under the avalanche of criticism. You feinted left, then right, sending two defenders sprawling.

With only the Courtney Brosnan to beat, you took a deep breath, you curled the ball towards the far post. It dipped just out of reach of the goalkeeper's fingertips, nestled perfectly into the net.

The stadium erupted. Your teammates swarmed you, a joyous tangle of limbs. Even Leah offered a hesitant smile, a flicker of pride in her eyes.

The final whistle blew, and England was victorious. As you celebrated with your teammates, a hand landed on your shoulder. You looked up to see Leah, a genuine smile on her face.

"Good goal," she said, her voice the softest you've heard.

"Thank you." you smiled back before clearing your throat, your eyes pricking with tears before let out a surprised gasp at Leah pulling you into her chest.

The unexpected warmth of Leah's embrace sent a jolt through you. It was the first genuine human contact you'd had from her all camp, and for some reason, it felt like a dam breaking.

"I just want to prove myself," you mumbled against her shoulder, your voice thick with emotion. "Everyone expects me to be this prodigy, just because of my name. But I don't want to be David Beckham's daughter, I want to be Y/n Beckham, the footballer."

Leah pulled back to meet your gaze, her voice softer than you expected. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to prove yourself. I was out of line. The whole 'nepo baby' thing...it was unprofessional and unfair. You deserve to be here, Y/n. Your talent speaks for itself."

That night, under the soft glow of the locker room lights, a tentative friendship blossomed. It was a friendship forged in shared passion, mutual respect, and the unspoken understanding of the immense pressure that came with wearing the England shirt.pen_spark

You wouldn't see Leah again until England's camp in preparation for the doubleheader against France and this time the training sessions became a battleground, not of barbs and put-downs, but of fierce competition, each of you pushing the other to be better. You learned to anticipate Leah's sharp passes, and her instinctive runs, and she, in turn, began to appreciate the subtle artistry in your footwork, the way you could unlock a defence with a single, deft touch.

Late nights turned into conversations in the locker room, sharing stories, dreams, and the anxieties that came with leading a team like England. You confided in Leah about the suffocating weight of expectation, the fear of never living up to your father's legacy. She, in turn, opened up about the loneliness of being the captain, the constant scrutiny, the burden of always having to be strong.

The evening before the team were set to travel to Newcastle, after a particularly gruelling training session, you found yourself lingering in the empty team room. Leah was still there, sat on the couch scrolling in the corner. You hesitated, then walked over.

"Fancy a game of Ping Pong." You rubbed your neck nervously as Leah met your eyes before smiling "Yeah sure." You both spent the night laughing over your terrible ping-pong skills before quietly wishing each other good night.

As weeks turned into months, your friendship deepened, blossoming into something more. Stolen glances across the training field, lingering touches during celebrations, late-night texts filled with silly jokes and words left unsaid. It was a slow burn, a gradual realization that the person you once considered your rival had become someone you craved, not just on the pitch, but off it as well.

The turning point came during the final Euro qualifier match against Swede. The pressure was immense, and the score tied with only minutes remaining. You received the ball deep in your own half, the Swedish defence swarming around you. You saw a gap, a flicker of movement, and instinctively passed the ball.

Leah, anticipating the play, met the ball perfectly, unleashing a powerful shot that rocketed into the net. The stadium erupted, your teammates mobbing you both in a joyous frenzy. In that shared moment of triumph, your eyes met, and a silent confession hung heavy in the air.

Later that night, back at the team hotel, you found Leah pacing the balcony overlooking the city lights. The nervous tension that had been simmering for weeks finally broke.

"Leah," you started, your voice barely above a whisper "Are you ok." Leah walked straight for you before gently grabbing your face before you placed a hand on her chest stopping her advances. "This...us...it's not fair to the team, is it?"

She didn't move, her eyes searching yours. "Maybe not," she admitted, a small smile playing on her lips. "But it feels pretty damn right."

You dropped your hands to her waist as she pulled you into a searing kiss before you pulled back again Leah let out a whine in frustration, "And to think you hated me only a few months ago." Leah let out a scoff "I never hated you, how could I ever hate a girl as gorgeous as you." you laughed before pulling her into another kiss

[hoshigray]

𝐓𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 | getō suguru

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: rigger! Geto x fem/afab! reader - shibari; rope bondage (boxtie, breast, crotch, elbow) - blindfolded - gagged (handkerchief) - fingering (f! receiving) - pleasure denial - oral (m! receiving) - pet names (angel, baby, little/pretty bird, sweetie, ) - mention of drool/saliva and tears.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: c'mon now, y'all KNOW geto would be into rope play. matter of fact, it's canon cuz I'm part of gege's assistant team, lol. also, tysm for 2.5k, y'all are too kind ♡

inspired by a talk b/w me and @ramonathinks (ily hon!!)

"Thank you so much for the help, Geto."

"No problem, now be good and always behave from now on."

"Oh, I will!" The spiky raven-haired offers a warm smile to the woman as two men usher her out of his room, the three dark figures seen from the sliding door disappearing with footsteps heading to the corner of the hallway. Geto then gets up from the tatami flooring and stretches. 

He then stands and looks at the door for three seconds. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

After a full minute, his purple eyes peer at the sliding door to his right, taking light steps when approaching the room next door. Geto hovers an ear next to the door, trying to hear something from the other side if it contrasts with the silence of the room he’s currently in. He gives it a few more seconds before sighing through his nostrils, a sly smile creeping up. Geto brings a hand to the handle, finally sliding it to the right and revealing what was inside.

And to his mischievous glee, his smile grows from ear to ear. Because it wasn’t a what that had him chuckling to himself — it was a who. 

And who laid on the tatami floor before him was you. You were nude, your body covered in red rope, your mouth gagged by a red handkerchief, and your eyes covered in a black blindfold. 

There, you lay on your side on the floor. The red rope around your body restrains your arms and hands behind your back in a boxtie position, and your bare chest prompts up for exposure. The cord separates your breasts to each side, leaving a unique and alluring design that crosses throughout your abdomen and down south. No undergarments in sight; therefore, your chasm was out in the room’s air, the red cable slithering down between your folds, leaving a wet residue on the strict texture. 

And, good Lord. The whimpers you use to comfort yourself in this situation. All naked and isolated to the confines of this dark room, away from light and hospitality. Your meek voice is the only thing that holds familiarity to you. That is until you hear Geto close the door behind himself, the sounds of his light footsteps dancing around the room.

“Well, hello there, little bird.” The warm tone in his voice sent shivers down your spine, for you could hear the words parade condescendingly. Geto walks around the room, lighting up the candles. The smell of smoke and the rosy scent enter your nostrils. “Sorry for leaving you in the dark like this. Were you lonely?”

 He can only hear the mumbles confined from the handkerchief, which he can only assume was confirmation. “I apologize, baby. I had to leave our little session to tend to some business with some monkeys.” He said the last word with such slight vexation; you were bright to listen hard enough to catch it. Geto comes to you and sits next to your restricted body. “But now, you have my full attention, sweetie.” 

Cold, slender fingers touch your cheek, causing you to jerk at the sensation. It makes him snicker. “You know why I have you like this, yeah?” His palm cups your cheek, thumb swiping off drool at the corner of your mouth. “I saw you, my pretty bird, in the garden yesterday. You looked so beautiful and pure with the world — my world.” They snake down to your neck and brush your collarbone. His fingertips now become warm from the friction of your enchanting skin. “Then, I saw some parasite — a man worth for sore eyes — come and talk to you. He even had the gall to touch your hands with his filthy palms.” The hand now comes to your breast, a small gasp when they brush your nipples. “And you, such an amiable and accepting person, let him touch you like that. Unbeknownst to my vision.” Those same digits tweeze the bud or your mound, resulting in a sharp pant covered by the cloth in your mouth. “Who? Who told you to let that happen? Hmm?” 

Of course, he doesn’t wait for your response; what response? Your muffled moans and puffs of air? How silly. Geto brings his mouth to your other nipple, taking it in and sucking on it. The lapping motions of his tongue and the grazes of his teeth distract you from his hand snaking down with the red rope to your cunt. His digits now intrude on your southern lips, playing with your wetness in a teasing manner. And when you feel his forefinger about to enter your slit, you can’t help but sway your hips to invite him in. And it’s detected by the raven-haired man.

“Oh? You want me to put them inside, baby?” He already knows the answer; it’s no surprise when you nod helplessly. However, he clicks his tongue. “I don’t know, angel. Or should I even call you that anymore — how can an angel of mine be stained by the stench of such a foul monkey, huh.” His fingers move away from your cunt, now toying with the flesh of your inner thigh. Oh, the way your brows trench and how you whine for him. It always awakens something in him — something carnal. And how can he subject himself to the cries of his little bird? “Alright, alright. But if you really want me so badly, prove it to me. You can do that, right?” 

Geto removes his hand and mouth from your body, your chasm and nipples feeling outcasted from his warm touch. You jolt when the handkerchief in your mouth loosens and soon meets the tatami floor. Yet, your vision is still shielded by the black cloth. “Su–Suguru,” you chant his name in trembles. “Please forgive me, I—“

“I will forgive you,” the sound of clothing rustling fills the space, indicating that he’s now removing his monk attire. The black yukata comes undone, revealing his upper body while he pulls his pants down to his thighs. Something touches the plump of your lips, the tip seeking entry to your oral cavity. “Just suck me off like you always do, and all will be forgiven. You’re still my angel, right?” And with that, you accept the head of his cock with patient yearning, hallowing your cheeks while your tongue welcomes the underside of his limb. And it takes everything in Geto’s power not to rut your face with relentless vigor. He wants to take this slow first. He needs to see if you deserve his kindness. “Mmmm, good. Just like that…”

A few bobs to the base of his length is enough to put you in a trance, especially with the blindfold hindering your sense of vision, forcing you to rely on others. His smell is so intoxicating, the taste of his precum overcoming your tastebuds and the slap of his balls on your chin. Unhurried thrusts slowly but surely dial up to speed by the seconds. Your euphoric hums become frequent as his dick hits the back of your throat, every inch of him sinking deep into your mouth and throat that strains of saliva streak down to the dent of your chin. Your toes curl when he grinds his pelvis down to your lips, nose pressed to the pubes that fill your nostrils with his raw scent. Good God, it feels so good, the throbbing sensation in your chasm between your legs flourishing within.

And it goes the same for Geto, too. Both his hands find purchase on your head, keeping you in position for him to rut your face. Your tight throat grips him so nicely, the gummy walls holding onto him so deliciously that he can’t fight the wanton need anymore. Erratic hits to your face become apparent, making your mouth soaped with saliva that drips down to the room flooring. And you take the jabs to the back of your throat with ease, mewling on his cock with pleasure while being used like a toy as the head of his shaft bullies your insides. 

He pulls his head back, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as his body jerks to the electric shocks climbing up. He’s close/ So, so close. “…Haaahh—Mmmph!! Damn, you feel so good for me…I’m cumming, angel. Gonna—Ahhhh! Christ…Hmmph!!” With gritted teeth, Geto drills his dick deep within your throat, the warm fluid excreting out his glans greeting its velvety walls. Blissful hums from you vibrate your throat, sending shivers to Geto while he experiences his crescendo. 

When he’s finally done with his high and his load is inside you, he gradually removes his length from you. The tip of his cock resting on your tongue, which licks off any excess come. He then moves to free your shut eyelids from the black blindfold, your eyes fluttering at the scene of the warmly dimmed room, and Geto is now inches away from your face. Your watery eyes sparkle from the candlelight, and tears strike down and slide down your breast until the red rope captures it. “Forgive me, Suguru. I will always be yours. Only yours…”

He gives you a playful sneer, using a finger to wipe a tear from your cheek. He'd be a fool if he let you off the hook, especially now when you look at him as if he's your entire world. That's all he wants from the person he loves more than anything.

“You’re forgiven. And now, my pretty bird,” you can see the slight devious glint that harbors in his dark, violet eyes. 

“I shall reward you.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – transparent edit made by me + dividers from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[eddiethebrave]

reinforcements

eddie pressing his forehead against steve's to check if he has a fever

prompt from @snowdepths

744 words

eddie’s smiling when steve opens the door, which doesn’t bode well for him.

steve blinks groggily as he takes in the metalhead, offering a tentative smile in return. “hey, eds.” he opens the door and gestures for eddie to come in.

eddie tries to kick his shoes off, without hands seeing as they’re full - and he’s successful. he mutters a small yay to himself in celebration of not falling over onto his loot.

steve closes and locks the door behind him and eddie turns to him again with a soft look “sweetheart, you don’t look so good,” he coos.

steve huffs. “gee, thanks.”

eddie rolls his eyes even as his lips lift into a smile. “that’s not what i meant and you know it, pretty boy”

steve’s grateful for the perpetual flush to his skin today so eddie doesn’t see the way his face flames from the pet names.

before steve sees it coming, eddie’s leaning forward. steve doesn’t pull away - just waits for whatever it is eddie is up to. you never know with this one.

the boy presses his forehead against steve’s and peers at him with his huge eyes. steve’s not sure if the way his stomach is flipping is in because of all that is eddie, or his fever.

“what’re you doing?” steve whispers.

eddie’s brow furrows. “checking your temperature. what’s it look like i’m doin’?”

steve can’t look away no matter how much eddie being this close and gazing into his eyes the way he is makes him wanna squirm.

“you’re gonna get sick.”

eddie scoffs and finally pulls away. “don’t care, stevie. c’mon.” eddie heads towards the kitchen, knowing steve will follow (and he does).

it’s only when eddie sets the paper bags on the island that steve’s sick slow brain catches up.

he crosses his arms. “eddie, no.”

even though his back is to him, steve can practically see the other man’s smirk. “eddie, yes.”

steve rolls his eyes and winces at the dull ache the action brings. “how did you even know?”

eddie snorted as he continued unloading the bags. “how do you think?”

steve sighs. “robin.”

eddie chuckles lightly. “robin,” he confirms.

steve had called out of work that morning, which also means that he had to call robin and let her know that he couldn’t pick her up, apologizing profusely until she told him to shut it, dingus. she hadn’t asked him if he needed anything, knowing that the answer would be no, thank you no matter what. seems like she called in reinforcements in the form of one of the only people steve couldn’t say no to.

once everything is laid out on the counter, eddie turns back around to face steve. with his now free hands, he reaches forward and smoothes steve’s hair back out of his face the way he would style it himself if only he had the energy. once he’s satisfied, he laces his fingers through the hairs at the back of steve’s neck and just keeps them there.

steve leans into the touch and eddie bites his lip to hide his pleased smile.

“why don’t you go lay down and i’ll bring this to you when it’s finished, hmm?” he asks softly, nodding his head towards the ingredients he’d brought.

steve will never admit it, but being sick only amplifies his clinginess.

he pouts. “i wanna stay in here.”

eddie trails his hands to steve’s cheeks and strokes his thumbs across the flushed skin.

“alright, baby,” eddie agrees easily. “but you’re not sitting in these hard ass chairs, i’ll be right back.”

it’s a bit of a struggle, but eddie manages to bring in the fancy ass armchair from the goddamn foyer all by himself.

once he gets steve situated in his seat - or, as eddie had presented it to the man, a throne for his majesty - eddie gets to work making the soup.

steve knows his face is far too fond as he watches eddie cook, but he can’t help it.

steve can’t remember the last time someone had cooked for him. he can’t remember the last time someone took care of him, especially when he wasn’t feeling all too well. and he knows he’s partially at fault for the latter - seeing as he never lets anyone know he’s sick unless necessary (like with robin today) - but, still.

steve knows that the fever isn’t the cause of how gooey he feels inside.

eddie takes care of him.

[elliesgaythoughts]

bbf!ellie x reader

a/n: don’t read this if you don’t like being edged bc brooo this is a random ass draft that i didn’t finish😔 (I might make a part two if y’all are interested tho idk lmk x)

Warnings: suggestive nsfw-ness idk.

the grin on Ellie’s face was evident as her socked foot ran up and down the side of your calf under the table as you dipped your blushed face, watching the way your spoon stirred mindlessly around the colourful bowl of cereal, just doing anything to avoid her teasing gaze, the nervousness of your brother realising what you both did last night was eating you up.

your brothers eyes land on you “you’re quiet” you just fake a smile and hum, removing your leg from her reach, her presence grew annoying as she teased you all morning, somehow to have forgotten how you had that cocky redhead lastnight, just the thought of how the plush of her lips would seperate, releasing an angelic whine of your name had you crossing your legs and of course ellie noticed, shamelessly slumping in her chair and stretching her foot out repeatedly tapping at your shin “Ellie!” you yell, standing up and leaving in a huff.

ellie raises to her feet the same second, shooting your brother a shrug as he rolled his eyes and waved her in your direction, sending her to fix whatever she’s done to wind you up this time.

“heyy, heyyy” she coos, following you like a lost puppy down the hall as she tries to calm you down as you ingnore her, trying to hide out in your room “what, Ellie?” you roll your eyes as she guides you into your room and closes the door softly behind her “what’s wrong mama?” her hand reaches out and holds yours as you sigh, holding her close.

“I don’t want him knowing yet” you didn’t want his disapproval to taint your relationship this early on and she noticed how serious you were “he doesn’t have to know baby” she holds your waist and presses her forehead against yours, a kiss to your cheek and a swipe of her tongue against your pulse point erupting a low groan from you, her lips soothing you as she made out with the side of your throat “we just have to be quiet” she teases, pressing her body flush against yours.

“hmm?” she nuzzles her face into your neck as she awaits your confirmation “yeah, I can be quiet” you say as you feel your clit throb against your panties, both of you knew that was a lie but she didn’t care, her arms wrapping around your waist and picking you up, your legs closing around her waist and your back meeting your door harshly as you pant into her kiss, your hand coming down and fiddling with the lock for the room as she sucks onto your throat, bruising your skin and making goosebumps appear on your flesh, your eyes fluttering close…

[msfantasy-anime]

My Little Brothers Wife

Monkey D. Luffy x Wife!Reader x Platonic!Sabo

Summary: a requested short story on Koala delivering the news of Y/n’s bounty to Sabo.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV

Koala’s head leans back, letting the cool breeze blow out the strands of hair from her face. A moment of peace shattered when a rolled up news paper drops from a sky delivery, right into Koala’s lap, spraying the pages everywhere.

“Freakin birds I swear-“ Koala’s quite cursing halts seeing a wanted poster Monkey. Y/n, 100,000,000 berries, your full photo on display for all its glory. “WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT?!” She screams to her self, haphazardly strewing the news articles until she locates the bounty explanation.

Monkey. Y/n, wanted dead or alive for a 100,000,000 berries after brutally assaulting a Marine Officer for implying husband, Monkey D. Luffy, of negative behaviour. Y/n’s unprovoked attack and straw hat pirate association has earned her a large bounty for a new comer. It is yet to be confirmed if Y/n is part of the straw hat crew or acts independently.

Koala bolted throughout the hideout with the wanted poster in hand to the only man with an explanation. “SABO!” Koala yells, shoving the wanted poster so close to Sabo’s face, all he could manage to see was a big ‘W’. “Look at this! Can you believe this? I thought we were friends and she didn’t even bother inviting me to the wedding! Did you know she got married?! Why wouldn’t she tell me?!” Koala pouted.

“Calm down a second would’ya. I can’t even see what you’re talking about.” Pulling the poster from Koala’s hand, she retreats with her arms crossed over her chest, a grumpy expression holding stead.

Monkey. Y/n.

A small smirk breaks across his lips. It’s good to see your still alive and well, and wrecking havoc like you swear you wouldn’t when you last met.

Figures.

“Well Koala, what do you want me to say? I even officiated their marriage.” He says with a taunting smile, making Koala gasp in betrayal. “Relax, those two have been married for 12 years now.”

“12 years?! But they’re only-wait… 12 minus… hey, that doesn’t make any sense! You’re saying they got ‘married’ when they were only kids? So it’s not real.”

“No. It’s real.” Sabo says smiling softly once again as he looks at the wanted bounty. “That’s my little brothers wife.”

“So, you’ve got a bounty now.” Sabo says into the transponder snail.

“I got a what?!” You yell back into the snail, the volume of your exclamation causes the sound waves to crackle.

“It reads Monkey. Y/n wanted dead or alive for 100 million berries.” Sabo says which only makes you scoff.

“I didn’t even do anything! How did I get that large of a bounty?!”

“It says you assaulted a marine officer.”

“……he had it coming! No one talks trash about Luffy. Man, this is so embarrassing, now the world thinks I’m married to that loveable doofus.”

“At least you finally have a family name right?“ The transponder line turns silent. Sabo knows you well enough that your smiling. But what he wasn’t expecting to hear what you admitted next.

“Yeah … it is actually. Monkey is a cool last name…and now it’s mine.”

“Seems like Luffy finally worn you down huh? So, will you join his crew?”

“I decided that-“ a loud explosion sounds off in the background. “THE SHIP IS UNDER ATTACK! Ugh! I gotta go Sabo, I’ll talk to you later.”

[midnight-els]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the West Wing would have been even better if they'd had a White House cat. Some headcanons bc I was thinking about it today:

Jed gave the cat a very grand, biblical name. Everyone else has shortened it to something very stupid.

Obviously all of the press and the public adore the cat. There's a minor upset in a polling themed episode when Joey confirms that once again the cat has higher approval ratings than the president. Josh is cross that they are polling on this at all.

There is one chair in the Oval Office that is The Cat's Chair. The staff know not to sit there as you'll get a. covered in fur and b. screamed at by an irate cat trying to force you off. They never warn any of their least favourite congresspeople about this.

The cat wanders around in the background of episodes, often being chased or petted by the extras.

The cat is not allowed in the situation room. The cat is always in the situation room. They had to come up with a special bug detecting protocol for the cat in case anyone tried to take advantage of this.

Ripped from the headlines plot about a congressional investigation into something related to the cat, based on the incident about Clinton's cat's postage.

The cat LOVES Air Force One. The Secret Service do not love having to get him on board or captured to get back off.

Leo and the cat are best friends. They're basically this meme. Leo's the grandma. Jed is the mom.

Aside from Leo, the cat loves the secretaries best. They always have lots of treats for him in their desks. Debbie is the only one he doesn't get on with; she has resorted to using a plant mister to spray him when he tries to get on her desk.

Josh thinks he and the cat are archenemies. The cat hasn't paid more than 2 seconds notice to Josh in his life.

CJ and the cat are archenemies. CJ was very pro-cat until she caught it fishing in Gail's bowl one day. Now she's at war to keep it out of her office. She's still trying to convince Danny to write a piece exposing the cat's dark side to its adoring public. Carol is very tired.

Sam wants so badly to be best friends with the cat. The cat thinks he's trying too hard. Will ends up exactly the same way.

Toby and the cat have never properly interacted and both are very happy to leave it that way.

The cat is supposed to stay in the residence during big events. Abbey stopped enforcing that after he got out and scratched Lord John Marbury when he picked him up against his will.

The cat has a secret service code name. One time, the code names are changed and an overenthusiatic reporter tries to break a story on the first lady's 'unusual activity' by following what he thinks is her code name. It's the cat's. CJ dines out on this for weeks.

The cat occasionally goes missing. The secretaries and Charlie have a recurring B-plot where they have to go and recover him. Somehow, the cat has always ended up somewhere relevant to the A-plot.

The cat properly goes missing after the incidents with the Thanksgiving turkeys and the goat in CJ's office (aka prime cat territory). Each time she claims she'll be nicer to the cat when it returns. Each time it lasts about two days.

Margaret thinks the cat has psychic powers and frequently provides warnings based on her interpretations of 'the signs'. Usually she's right.

The cat somehow makes off with the final edits for the state of the union one time (of course they were only handwritten on one piece of paper). Chaos ensues.

Jed tries to send the cat to Manchester partway through the series. After large-scale outcry from the staff, press and public he is returned to the White House. Unfortunately, after a couple of months as a barn cat he is even more badly behaved than before.

The cat is in both Jed and Abbey's official portraits.

[dudethatsmyundeaduncle]

DP X DC AU Danny & The Little Dead Girl

(title pending lol, Danny and Curare adventures pt 2!) Pt 1 here My AU art

__________________________________________

Monday comes, as it is won't to do, and Danny has to go to school which means the baby halfa has to come to school too.

" ok, so, one rule for today, big rule, you gotta be quiet in class. Uh-"

Danny pulls his phone out of his pocket as their bus hits a pot hole. Sitting right at the front means they catch the momentum first and he has to hold Curaré against his side lest she go flying into the aisle.

A couple voices grumble behind them at the jostling as Danny gets his text to speech open.

" Necessitas ser quieto en clase. ¿Entiendes?" The Google robot lady voice translates for him.

Curaré blinks at him from behind her little paper face mask and looks from the phone to him curiously.

This is the game they've been playing since last night, Danny says something in English robo lady repeats it in Spanish.

Danny doesn't know if Curaré understands how the phone speaks or even that it does but she's giving him her favorite little blank expression so he assumes she gets it. At least, she hasn't really disagreed or disobeyed anything he's asked of her yet so...not gonna look that gift horse in the mouth Danny boy!

..

School goes well, mostly.

They get through the metal detectors and bag checks at the front entrance just fine. The security guards barely glance at Curaré once they confirm she isn't hiding a Glock or something under her shirt. Which it's kinda sad to know gun control is a cross-dimensional American problem but it's on brand if nothing else Danny thinks.

They get to first period without stopping at Danny's locker and settle down in two desks by the back door. This is Danny's usual spot, well usual as of a month ago, it's mostly empty back here now but Danny used to have a seat partner.

(A seat partner who had a kind of shady tweaker vibe that Danny would have been worried about but that kid went home early one day and never came back so....it's Curaré's seat now.)

The little dead girl looks even littler sat in the desk-chair combo, she can barely see over the top. Danny stacks three dictionaries under her for a boost then he gets her set up with some pencils and paper and the single highlighter he found on the floor his first day here.

Curaré seems vaguely interested in his offerings ,after Danny shows her how to use them to mark the page, and starts creating cautious marks of her own.

She keeps glancing back up at Danny as if to confirm that this is still fine? And he nods his head every time trying to be encouraging as it becomes obvious that nobody taught this kid to write inside Fosters Home for Real life Assassins. Which Danny thinks is poor planning on there part because really? If your Assassin can't write how the fuck were they supposed to leave ominous threatening warnings? Or fake suicide notes? Or any number of written props to flesh out a cover story.

Whatever, obviously the assassins raising Curaré sucked ass all around so he can't say he's surprised but he is majorly disappointed.

As the bell rings for first period a whole slew of teens rush in ahead of the teacher Mr. Berk. Simple guy, grey beard, coke bottle glasses, smells like Vics vapor rub, the works.

He's like the most chilled out version of Mr. Lancer ever so he's alright in Danny's books. Plus he only has one "rule", as long as your butt is in your seat by the time he calls your name for attendance he won't mark you late. In Gotham, where everyone and their brother has enough late marks from shitty public transportion to get detention, it's a pretty sweet rule.

So Mr. Berk takes attendance like usual and only pauses on Danny and Curaré in the back for a brief moment.

Curaré stops drawing and stares down Mr. Berk like he's the T rex from Jurassic park. Frozen in place and without breaking eye contact. He stares back at her completely unphased.

" A small visitor then?" He says.

Danny nods. " My sister"

" Mhm" Mr. Berk says already moving on to the next student on his roster.

Danny breathes out huge sigh of relief, that was so much easier then he expected.

They more or less repeat this exchange the whole day. Mondays suck ass because it's one of the only days Danny actually has all 6 periods, but they make it through 1st, 2nd, and nutrition unscathed.

By lunch time Danny thinks they might actually be home free, if no one is gonna bring up the whole freaking child tagging along with him then he can probably just bring her with him everyday.

Maybe he can find her some work books and she can learn the alphabet? And addition? That's like on track for 4 year olds right? Danny can't remember being 4 but that feels right to him. He will educate the child in his care like the responsible almost adult he is. She will go to college!

At lunch Danny sits them at the back of the school right next to the teachers lounge because it's mostly deserted.

In Danny's exprience the best place to hide is in plain sight. He's been sitting here everyday since he enrolled himself and the teachers have never noticed him. Their way too busy trying to get any kind of break from teaching high schoolers to be concerned.Which Danny is greatful for because he has broken the rule about using his cell phone at lunch 50 times at this point.

Listen he has to do universe research when he has access to wifi! Which he only does at school. The administration should be glad he's using his lunch period to educate himself really.

So they eat by the lounge. Danny has Curaré face away from the door so she can take off her face mask and eat unencumbered.The cut on her face is still gnarly, it looks an almost enflamed purple as it tries it's best to heal.

Danny had given Curaré a little immuno-boost with his own ecto the night before to try to speed up her healing factor. But like any Halfa, basically just Danny's personal experience, you have to nourish the ghost half and the human half in equal parts to heal all the way.

It's not until home room, period 6/7, that the metaphorical straw breaks the metaphorical camels back. or the real straw to the metaphorical camel? Did camels even carry straw? where would it go? Between there humps? Not important Fenton!

Home room was a grade A disaster.

Mr. Perez, Danny's kind of ancient home room teacher, who was for almost all intents and purposes blind, had a freaking nose for trouble. It's like he could sniff out vapes and cell phones as soon as they hit the stale class air. Danny thought this would be the easiest class by far, Mr. Perez wouldn't even see Curaré let alone smell her.

And at first it seems like he doesnt, Mr. Perez takes attendance and skips right over Danny and Curaré with no fanfare.

Danny thinks that's the end of it and starts to breathe easy until 15 minutes before the final bell when Mr. Perez' TA asks him to step into the hallway with her for a second.

Danny generally liked Mr. Perez's TA, her name was Sabrina Kahn and she was the kind of girl Jazz would have hung out with.Straight laced, wore argyle cardigans, read books, the smart sort. She looked Jazz's age too, maybe 21ish and she always rolled her eyes when people gave dumb answers in class.

She looks a little embarrassed to be speaking to Danny which immediately sets him on edge.

" It's okay that you brought your little sister today but, I'm sorry, you won't be able to do that again. A bunch of your teachers made complaints with the front office and Mr. Perez got a call about it ..."

Sabrina had always been nice to him and now she was about to ruin his whole week.

" But Ms. Kahn-" Danny started.

She gave him a sympathetic look " Lemme guess, your parents can't take her to work so this was the next best option?"

Danny closed his mouth and nodded, that was actually a much better lie then he was gonna tell, thank you Ms. Kahn. ( But also Boooooo curse you Ms. Kahn!)

" Here, I know it can be hard to find childcare for metas, especially ones as ah-vibrant as your sister. My brother had the same trouble with my nephew."

Sabrina hands Danny a flyer, it's still warm from the printer, it looks like it's just a screenshot of an email.

"Thanks?"

The TA rolls her eyes, wow a lot like Jazz then.

" It's the address to that daycare and a referral. They only take kids by word of mouth, they're kind of... off the books. But their good people! I hope they can help you Danny."

The paper is on off yellow, as Ms.Kahn heads back into homeroom Danny feels all his hope go with her. Shit, what was he gonna do now? He looks through the little glass window in the door to the back where Curaré sits, she's already watching him. He tries to smile at her, be reassuring, he's not sure it works.

......

When the bell finally rings Danny picks Curaré up and puts her on his hip to avoid her being crushed by the rush of high schoolers who stampede out the door in front of them.

The flyer from Ms. Kahn feels like it's burning a hole through his pocket as they ride the bus towards the Narrows.

Danny cased the house from the flyer with maps street view as well as he could. It showed a skinny sublet house across from a small strip mall and laundrymat.

Inconspicuous sure, maybe even innocent looking but well...you could never tell in Gotham, all the buildings looked sort of evil by default. It was probably because of the gargoyles and the general low level stink fog that seemed to always be out.

The big city™ really made Danny miss the suburbs of Amity Park more then just the regular gut wrenching home sickness. Oh what'd he'd give to take a deep breath of air and not inhale the smell of piss when he walked down the street.

They get off the bus at the corner a block from the daycare.

Danny holds Curaré's hand which makes for slow going but seems like the right thing to do. She's never wandered off but Danny didn't want to give her the opportunity to either.

As he helped her climb the three short stairs up to the house Danny was suddenly hit with a wave of panic.

What the fuck am I doing? Am I really gonna take care of this freaking Halfa ghost baby for the next 18 years? Im not even an adult! I work weekends at BatBurger for minimum wage WTF?

Danny's hands began to sweat and his stomach cramped. Oh fuck, here was the existential crisis he'd been waiting for since he first decided to take Curaré from the leagues super secret baby basement.

Oh shit he couldn't breathe, what was he gonna do! OH fuck think!

What would jazz do? Call child services and offer psychological support. Not Uber helpful in this case Danny didn't know the first thing about psychology and Gotham CPS was actual prison.

What would Sam do? Assassin babies are hella counter culture but maybe find a cool rich eccentric family to adopt them? Nope, not gonna work Danny only knew one eccentric rich girl and she was a whole dimension away. FUCK THINK FENTON!

What would Tucker do? In this situation ask Google, homeschooling is big these days so maybe if you leave her in the apartment while your gone with an iPad-

" Hey you alright there dude, can I help you?"

Danny choked on the end of his anxiety panic badbadbad spiral and looked up.

The front door to the house was open and just inside the threshold stood a younger teen, maybe 16? With the kind of fade haircut Tucker always whined he couldn't pull off and a bright yellow hoodie.

Danny held his breathe for a moment making sure he felt it burn up his lungs and throat before letting out a big sigh.

" Yeah, yeah sorry kinda zoned out there I'm just uh kinda nervous I was told to come here for Daycare help for my little sister?"

Curaré looked at the stranger in the doorway with the same wide eyed blankness she stared at everything with. Funnily enough she was still holding Danny's hand, had held on through Danny's entire mental meltdown too despite the ecto sweat. Danny felt oddly touched by the gesture, even if it was more likely that the little girl wasn't bothered by his crisis then her being sympathetic.

The teen in the Yellow Hoodie raised an eyebrow at Danny as he fumbled the paper from Ms. Kahn out of his pocket to hand over.

Yellow Hoodie took it and looked between it, him, and Curaré.

" You're not a cop right? You have to tell us if you're a cop"

Danny made a face, " no, I'm not a cop! I would never be a cop, cops suck."

" Right." Yellow Hoodie said still suspicious " So you wouldn't mind if I called your referral up?"

" Be my guest dude."

The teen pulled out his phone and made sure to keep steady eye contact with Danny. Who could do nothing except not look away during this, the world's most impromptu staring contest, until Yellow Hoodie put his phone away.

" Just wanted to see if you were bluffing. Sabrina called earlier said she'd sent someone our way but you can never be too careful. Come on in. "

Danny felt the wind go out of his sails for the second time that day, what was with people and making him anticipate the worst.

.....

The inside of the house was old, homey, but old. It had very obviously been well lived in by a few generations of children, easy to see from the scuffed floors, chipped crown molding, and the sheer number of framed photos that hung on the walls.

There were signs of new life about too, some toys scattered on the floor, walls that were covered in butcher paper and crayon as high as little hands could reach, and oddly enough some scorch marks. Although, Danny's supposed that an unlicensed daycare for meta kids worth it's salt ought to have a least a few burn marks. For posterity if nothing else.

" I'm Duke, I volunteer here when I can but the place is run by the Mariscos, Mrs. Marisco specifically. She's been in the game for a long time" Duke nee yellow hoodie said as he stopped them in front of a closed door.

The hand made sign on the door said Office in nice scribbly lettering and it was hung on with a peg and twine. Real kitschy.

Danny could just make out the sounds of kids playing in another part of the house and was a little impressed that Duke had managed to keep Danny from seeing even one tiny tot during the impromptu house tour.

" I gotta go help Izzy with the kids, this is Mrs.Mariscos' office just knock before you go in, she might be on the phone."

Duke nodded to Danny, smiled down at Curaré and disappeared down the hallway.

Leaving Danny and Curaré alone in front of a closed door once again.

Danny looked down at Curaré and she looked up at him, she was characteristically silent.

" This feels like a job interview, did you bring your resume? "

Curaré blinked.

" Yeah, me neither. But I think if we both give her puppy eyes maybe our combined under aged-ness will activate her maternal instincts and she'll be forced to accept us?"

The nerves were back, they had never really left but now they had settled like a rock at the pit of Danny's stomach.

He couldn't bring himself to knock on that office door just yet so he fussed over Curaré instead. Kneeling down he straightened the collar of Curaré's hooded jacket and moveed her little backpack strap back up her shoulder where it had slipped.

" We got this. It's you and me now remember, even if this blows and you have to come to school with me for the rest of year it's you and me." Danny rested his hands on little shoulders and hung his head. " Jeez, I sound like my mom"

"No need to be so nervous Mijo! My Chiqis never met a kid she could turn away."

Danny's neck had never snapped up so fast in his life.

Curaré hadn't been looking up at him at all. No, Curaré was staring up towards the elderly woman floating near the ceiling.

Which was not great, because Danny for all the time had spent in Gotham had never seen another ghost. Not a single one.

Which was unsettling on its own but not bad per se, he'd thought maybe this dimension was just different, not enough spectral energy to manifest a ghostly body.

But no, again nope, this was so much worse.

No ghosts was easy enough to reationalize but one ghost? One ghost meant there was enough spectral energy, one ghost meant something was really really wrong with Gotham.

Because if there was only one ghost in a crime ridden pissed off city like this where the shit were all the others?

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

Yo! Just wanted to say thank u for all the support on part 1, did not expect people to like or care about it lol. Anyway back on bullshit, I've had this written for a while but didn't have the insp to post it until now.

Might write more, might not, you get one bat cameo for reading this time ur welcome.

Forgot to add this to the first post, it's in the reblogs, but TLDR Curaré is an assassin from batman beyond.

Note: if you wanna see cool art for this AU check the Danny and the little dead girl tag on my blog!

[augustinewrites]

artem.wing requested to follow you!

when you pull out your phone, you have to check the notification twice to make sure you’ve read it correctly. you even go so far as to tap it, watching curiously as your phone opens pax’s newest social media app.

this couldn’t possibly be your artem wing. your fellow senior partner at themis artem wing, who once called social media positively mind-numbing. 

but it is artem, a cursory glance at the profile picture confirms. not only is the picture he uses the exact same as his identification badge, but his account is already verified — no doubt due to his association with marius von hagen. 

you purse your lips in an attempt to stifle your laughter as you stalk study the rest of his profile. 

Artem Wing Senior Attorney at Themis Law Firm artemwing@themismail.co (serious inquiries only)

it’s professional and clean, with all the aspects of an account made for business purposes. was this the firm’s latest marketing strategy? you really must have zoned out during the last staff meeting. 

smiling, you accept his follow request and send one back just as celestine returns from the restroom.

“who has you smiling at your phone like that?” she asks, taking a sip of her iced tea. “is it your secret boyfriend again? when are you going to let me meet him?”

you take a bite of your salad, shrugging. “i told you, he’s shy.” 

she sets her glass down, resting her elbows on the table. “yeah, but you’re always gushing about how sweet he is! you said he was a lawyer, right? is it howard syter? from baldr?”

last week, you’d let it slip that your secret boyfriend was also a lawyer. since then celestine and kiki had been hurtling name after name at you, trying to guess his identity. 

it’s not like you wanted to keep his identity a secret forever. it was just that the two of you were happy in this little bubble of yours. the gentle, intimate mornings spent swaying in each other’s embrace to his morning coffee playlist. the private date nights at his apartment that are spent cooking dinner together. 

“ah,” celestine giggles. “you’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

you try and fail to fight the heat crawling up your neck, thankful when your phone chimes with a notification in your bag. 

“it might be about my civil suit,” you tell her, eager for the distraction. 

you dig your phone out of your bag, checking the notification. 

artem.wing tagged you in a post

your heart skips a beat, and you hesitate before tapping the notification.

_____

artem looks up when his office door is thrown open. he’s glad to see that it’s you, even if you’re wearing that look on your face, the one you put on when you’re crossing a witness in court.

“mr. wing,” you greet tersely. “do you have a moment?”

he rises from his seat and buttons his suit jacket, smiling. “for you, always.”

“oh, stop being cute,” you mutter. “why did you tag me in your thirst trap?”

“thirst trap?” he echoes, genuinely confused.

“artem,” you whisper harshly. “you posted a shirtless picture of yourself at the gym and tagged me in it! now everyone will know that we’re dating!”

“but my account is on private,” he frowns. “and i only tagged you…”

“everyone you let follow your account can see that picture!” you explain. “that includes celestine, jeremy, kiki, rosa, luke, dr. richter, marius—”

this is the last time he’ll ever let marius von hagen peer pressure him into anything. 

“so…you didn’t like the photo?” he asks, rounding his desk to stand in front of you. he seems entirely unfazed by this ideal, despite the fact that everyone on his follow list has now seen his abs.

you seem taken aback by his question, avoiding his gaze. “i didn’t say that…”

you both startle when celestine pounds on the glass wall of his office, holding up her phone. 

“i knew it!” she shouts through the glass. her shouting draws the attention of kiki, rosa, and just about every other employee in the firm. 

you’re absolutely mortified, but artem simply takes your hand, pressing a kiss to the backs of your fingers before pulling you in to wrap his arms around you. 

you don’t fight him, simply sighing deeply and hiding your face in his chest as celestine cheers loudly. 

“i’m sorry, love,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “next time i’ll send my ‘thirst traps’ directly to you via text.”

“you owe me,” you mutter, but you’re smiling as he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. 

“i suppose now we have to take that very romantic walk down to hr.”

_____

themariusvonhagen: ARTEM???? 

themariusvonhagen: DAMNNNNNN 🔥🔥🔥🔥

celestinetaylor: @ themislawfirm please please please repost this on our story for the free advertisement

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

You and Eddie get into an argument about the girl he's giving guitar lessons too. Angst, misunderstandings and bad communication ensues.

Warnings. Mdni. 18+ only, angst. Miscommunication and misunderstandings. Idiots in love. Jealousy.

💞

You and Eddie had been together for a few months and up until this point you had never had a cross word.

He had been giving some girl guitar lessons, her name was Britney and she was gorgeous, amazingly cool and hilarious.

Tonight you had walked in on them laughing together and looking all cosy. Something in you kinda broke inside, it was ridiculous because you knew Eddie would never cheat, but you still felt your stomach bottom out.

Hearing Eddie gush about Britney and how metal she was and was like a rockstar on the guitar didn't help either.

You weren't proud of it but you were quiet and a little less warmer than you'd usually be and when Britney made excuses to leave, you were left wracked with guilt.

Eddie had rounded on you asking ''Why were you being such a bitch?" and that had made you even more pissed and the argument ensued.

"I'm sorry that walking in on my boyfriend looking so fucking cosy with someone else put me in a bad mood" you bite back at him and Eddie's big brown eyes darken in rage.

"You're being fucking ridiculous right now you know that?" it hurt hearing Eddie say that and you lashed out without thinking about what you were saying.

"Oh so I'm ridiculous because I hate seeing some girl make gooey eyes at my boyfriend, I'm such a bad girlfriend for being a little bit wary" Eddie shakes his head and the temperature in the room turns colder.

"Or it's obvious that you don't fucking trust me. So if you don't trust me then what's the fucking point?" your breath hitches and there's a deep pit of gloom and dread, in your stomach.

"Are you breaking up with me?" you whimper and want to take back everything you said, tell him that of course you trust him but you're so stunned, your heart is breaking.

Without another word you storm out before Eddie can confirm your worst fears.

❤️

Instead of going home you go straight to Nancy's who immediately digs out some ice cream and let's you cry out all the heartache, you both stay up most of the night but end up crashing around 5am.

Nancy is ready up and getting ready for school, you have the worst headache and just want to sleep a little longer so she leaves you to sleep, brings you up some pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice that Mrs Wheeler kindly made up for you.

In return you help her around the house, trying anything to take your mind of your heartache about Eddie.

When Nancy comes back home she gently explains that Eddie has been calling you and is worried that you haven't answered.

"I think you need to listen to what he has to say honey, he looks a wreck, I think he's driving Mike and the rest of the kids here after Hellfire so if you want to wait"

Nervously you nod and try to calm your anxious mind that Eddie is going to break up with you for good.

By the time that you hear Eddie's van and he's parked outside, you're on tenterhooks. Eddie looks like he's barely slept, his hair is messier than usual and he has the saddest look in his beautiful brown eyes.

That look makes you want to burst into tears there and then. You hate that you're the cause.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, his voice is rougher than normal, his hands are shaking and you reach out to steady them.

"I'm sorry too Eddie. I was a bitch and rude and of course I trust you, I trust you with my life and I hate that I made you think otherwise" his eyes fill with pain and he swallows.

"I shouldn't have called you a bitch. I've been a mess since you left and I was worried as shit when you weren't answering your phone, Mike told me you stayed here last night with Nance so I knew I would come here as soon as I could"

The tension slowly begins to leave your body and you feel soothed as Eddie pulls you in his arms

"Also Britney has just started dating Gareth, she was learning guitar to impress him and I was teaching her how to play his favourite song."

Fuck. "I'm so sorry Eddie" he softens and kisses your forehead.

"Even if she was interested I don't care. I'm not interested in her. How could you think I'd want her or anyone when I already have the most amazing, beautiful princess"

A warm fluttery feeling pools in your belly and you cuddle into Eddie and peer at him sadly.

"I just got insecure when you talked about how badass Britney was on the guitar and how metal she was" Eddie strokes your cheek and you melt into his touch.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I didn't realise that was bothering you. Honestly yeah she's metal and pretty badass at the guitar but she's not you. She's not the one I'm head over heels in love with. You are"

"Oh" well shit, you'd definitely fucked up and misread everything. This is the first time Eddie has said I love you. It's a big deal for him, you know that and it is for you too.

"I'd never cheat on you or hurt you princess, I'm so in love with you" Tears roll down your cheeks and you kiss him fiercely.

"I love you too Eddie, I should have tried better at communicating with you" You sigh and cuddle into him, feeling calmer than you have in days.

"We both should learn to communicate better" he corrects you and you nod. It feels like a weight has been lifted of you.

"I really should apologise to Britney too" he hums in agreement.

"She thinks your really cool by the way and she put up with me constantly gushing about you"

Shit. Yeah you definitely have to apologise. In fact you make that your next mission first thing on Monday morning.

For now you were just going to bask in Eddie's love for a little while.

Britney as it turns out is a total sweetheart about the whole thing when you speak to her first thing on Monday and excitedly tells you about her dates with Gareth and how she played him the song Eddie taught her.

Not only do you gain the start of a friendship with Britney but you and Eddie are more in love than ever.

🫶