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osamucide · 3 months ago

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FLAVOR PROFILE—gn+afab!reader, alternate universe - PM boss!Osamu Dazai, interrogation+torture, psychological manipulation, noncon to dubcon—not safe, sane, or fully consensual, perv+sadist!Dazai, knife play, blood play, tiny bit of choking, degradation, cutting, scratching, biting, marking, mindbreak, debatable whether Dazai kills reader at the end? all around depraved, DEAD DOVE/DARK CONTENT—PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION

ABV—3.8k

BAR OSAMUCIDE IS STRICTLY AN 18+ ESTABLISHMENT. FAILURE TO PROVIDE VALID ID/AGE IN BIO UPON INTERACTING WILL RESULT IN REMOVAL FROM THE PREMISES. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“So, here we are.”

It’s only a matter of time ‘til you start talking, was the last thing the redheaded mafioso told you as his grip on your hair loosened and you slumped forward into the chair once more. We’re gonna kill ya anyway. Just not before the boss gets his hands on you. Don’t you wanna make it easier on yourself?

You really do. You do want to make it easier on yourself. But you pledged your loyalty to your misfit faction of gifteds threatening the Port Mafia’s turf as of late—in a rather alarming way, it’s worthy to note—and as one of their highest profile members, as a leader and exemplar of the values of honesty and fairness that you promised to uphold and instill in your society as part of that pledge, you can not, in good conscience, betray what you know. What you call home.

There’s a cause at stake that is larger than your life. What kind of leader would you be if you crumbled? If you failed a cause that’s meant and hoped to outlive you anyway?

It’s your own fault you got caught to begin with.

It’s your own fault for thinking you could go out on recon in the dead of night by yourself. You’ve long known better that the Port Mafia doesn’t sleep; what you hadn’t known or expected was to run into the ruthless commander of the Black Lizard in a warehouse during the hours too late to be considered night, too early to be considered morning. The boss takes the liberty of reminding you.

“I think we’re all lucky Akutagawa’s built up some restraint over those impulses of his, hm?” he continues, his sharp dress shoes clicking cleanly against the concrete floor of wherever it is you’re being held. It just meant they already had their sights trained on you specifically before you started sneaking around—longer than you’d anticipated, and longer than you’d been prepared for. Had you brought along a few of your subordinates, you might’ve stood a chance—well, maybe against a group of low-ranked patrolmen. But that wasn't the case, and now, here you are. Caught.

You're hunched over, wrists at your back, ankles bound, the way Nakahara left you; assured fingertips—softer this time, but only marginally so—find the spot on the crown of your head that he favored earlier and you find yourself held up by your hair once more, wincing through a crusted-over bloody nose into the eyes of the boss—Osamu Dazai.

What strikes you first, aside from the sting curling across your scalp, is the utter emptiness in his stare—the first brown irises you think you've ever seen entirely devoid of warmth. He regards you with an expression you can only place through your blear as distaste—maybe a little boredom, then maybe a contradictory twinge of amusement when you sniffle. You're wholly unsure. All you know is it feels like whiplash when he lets you go and your chin snaps back down to your chest.

"Pretty thing," you almost don't hear him say; you're focused on registering the cuffs falling away from your wrists, the way your upper body is sent forward, and the fact that you can use the momentum to propel yourself up—or try, rather, but you're absolutely concussed and you forget your ankles, having lost feeling now from the restraints, are still attached to the seat. Your palms hit the concrete, the back of the chair knocks into your lower back and you yelp; suddenly you're a pathetic, twisted mess facedown on the ground.

He's chuckling. You can't imagine it reaching those eyes.

And if he's going to strip you of your dignity by laughing, well, at least you were upright before. Now, as your elbows give beneath your own weight, there's tears springing to your eyes; you're sure if they were to fall they'd streak through a layer of grime. And it's not from the pain—no, if you were going to cry from the pain, you would've a lot long ago. You can't remember how long you've been in here, and there's no window, no clock to give you any grace, but it has to have been at least a couple of days. Your body threatens to cry from the sheer humiliation of being crumpled beneath this chair, unable to scramble up—as your cheek hits the floor, a tear crawls across the bridge of your nose and you swear you can hear it echo as it splatters—while this man laughs at you.

By the grace of some god, you feel your tingling feet and ankles coming back to life as he undoes the bindings around them. And you scramble, not unlike a bug, when he lifts the chair off of you and tosses it aside, but still, your body fails you, and he's walking around you to crouch down near your face.

You see him before you feel him; the Port Mafia boss is willing you up by your arms, setting you on your ass, almost sympathetically, as you combat your sniveling. Still crouched, he speaks again only when you look to him, your eyes brimming with disgust.

He speaks softly, like he almost feels sorry for you as he does. "You're free to go, if you can get up."

But you're not stupid enough to try again. The tingling has morphed to the stage which it starts to almost hurt; you don't trust your feet, and only when you try to draw your knees up to your chin do you realize how badly all of your muscles tremble—too badly to make it up the daunting set of stairs that lead to the exit of your chamber. You wish he wouldn't watch you. You'd surely try if he left you alone. You'd look for something, anything, around you that you could use against him—there's nothing in the room other than your chair, a solid oak dresser with drawers against the wall, and your limp, abandoned bindings. You'd shoot him if your gun hadn't been confiscated first thing, and if he wasn't undoubtedly armed himself. Anyway, he gazes at you, intently, still swirling back and forth across the line that separates boredom from amusement. You won't get away with anything beneath his stare.

So you don't try. Your ass hurts, too—that damn chair wasn't forgiving at all, and your palms sting when you touch your own skin. You ache all over, in every joint, like you've got some mutant strain of the flu, and your head pounds with icepick intensity. It's a struggle just to look at him, despite the dimness, despite your desperation. So you don't. You curl in on yourself, and you don't cry. And he stares.

He hums, standing back up. His eyes on you—they feel like ice.

"Chuuya couldn't get anything out of you," he sighs, recounting it like he's briefing you on the morning news. "But you look pretty close to breaking. I'll have to thank him for getting you started."

"Kill me." You mean to spit it at him, but your voice shakes out, hoarse. "You won't get anything from me. Just kill me."

"Oh, but that wouldn't be as much fun yet." He's smiling; you could almost mistake it for a kind expression if it wasn't for those eyes. He's reaching for you again, deceivingly soft—you know it's deceit, how he gathers you up onto your feet with near-gentleness and leads you over to the dresser. He doesn't look strong, but he must be; you're mostly dead weight when he picks you up to sit you on the wooden surface, let you lean back against the wall.

You know what comes next for someone like you when you're faced with someone like him. You don't know what he's rifling around in one of the dresser drawers for, but it hardly matters; he's shuffled himself between your knees, and your closed eyes will not be enough to shut him out; you're already so exhausted. You're already dead, and you try to take comfort in that fact while he picks up your wrist, trails his fingers over it like you're as fragile as you look.

It's when you feel something cold against your forearm that your eyes snap open again, searching.

He looks sharper than the knife. It's a switchblade, glinting as it lays flat against the vains in your wrist; Osamu Dazai's lips twitch into a smile for the first time you've ever seen as you glance between him and it.

"Please don't," you whisper, but it's too late.

One horizontal slash against your arm. At this point it almost feels familiar, like a routine injection. A shot of whisky. You wince, but don't whine.

It's deep enough to pour. Your blood is warm as it circles your wrist like a bracelet, warm as it soaks through the knee of your pants when he drops it like you're a ragdoll to pick up your other one.

"You can cooperate and they won't have to match," he mumbles casually, tracing the tip of the knife across your palm like a pencil across paper as he studies your face.

You close your eyes again, tilting your head back. This isn't the worst of what you've experienced down here. It'll take more than a few slashes on the wrist to make you talk.

Before you can assert that, another one. Opposite arm. They match.

He clicks his tongue like he's disappointed in you. Like he doesn't like having to do this. But when you open your eyes again, that little smile is still there, cracked into his pale face.

You don't have to say it'll take more than that. He knows.

That's why the tip of the blade presses into the space between your collarbones, above the neckline of your shirt.

You suppose you've been lucky to keep it on this long.

So when he drags the knife down, slicing cleanly through the fabric and catching the skin of your chest, abdomen along it a couple times, you don't budge. You don't let yourself look scared. You don't twitch at the hand gripping your thigh hard while he nudges the tattered piece of cloth down your shoulders to expose your heaving chest. That's the most glaring giveaway—your breathing. And now that your shirt is gone, he can see it clear as day.

"Shame Chuuya had to go for your nose." That almost sympathetic tone is back. His thumb comes to swipe at the blood dried above your lips. You jerk your head away, but fall back into his hand when the icepick stabs again. Fuck, it hurts. Your head hurts worse than anything, probably thanks to said nose shots. Your heartbeat is in your temples. "But it's okay. You're still pretty."

You'd be flattered under other circumstances. It's true you could say the same about him, but it's all clouded, hidden beneath the malice he inflicts upon you with such ease.

That smile widens.

"I might have to mark it up, though," he remarks. That false regret—it makes you boil. "Which is too bad."

You've bargained down here, but you figure through your haze, through your bleeding arms, to try again. "You don't have to do this. We can reach an agreement."

"An agreement, you say," he zeroes in on you, hands on either side of your hips as he leans forward to meet you at eye level. "An agreement. What would that look like for you?"

"You can kill me," you concede, breathless. "Let me tell my men to stand down and then you can kill me. It can be over. We won't have to deal with each other again. Ever."

Osamu Dazai looks at you thoughtfully, like he's considering, like he hadn't thought of that as an option before.

You are, unfortunately, stupid enough to let a flicker of hope arise inside you. Even if you die—when you die, you can spare yourself from more suffering and your faction will back off. You will let yourself be the example of what will happen, and no one part of your cause will be subjected to this treatment; you're okay with that, you're okay with being a martyr, if it only means it can all be over—if it only means it won't happen ever again.

Dazai looks to you again. Cold. "You can tell your men to stand down," he begins, fanning that flicker.

You take a deep breath.

"...After I'm done with you."

You're not fully sure what that means until his fingers are popping the button on your pants.

He's got no intention of letting you die in anything less than agony, you realize, no matter what you say.

Tears well up again. You shake your head, kick at him with your weakened legs, but he dodges you easily, picks up the knife again as your trousers settle beneath your knees and you mutter no, no, no over, over. He pushes them off, with your underwear, to the ground and kicks them away, grabbing your flailing hands and holding them to the wood as he threatens you with the restraints once more.

"You're gonna fuckin' talk either way," he growls through his teeth, the first hint of frustration finally seeping into his demeanor, into his eyes. It's gone in a second; gone, replaced with that stale amusement, more chilling than the frustration perhaps, and you almost wish for him to be angrier, more explosive like the executive named Chuuya had been. This quiet rage that seems to be his trademark is far scarier. You can't bite back at it. Especially with your bare ass against the dresser, you can't find your own volatility. It's stuck in your chest. He disarms it, like magic, with each conspiratorial smile, each gentle caress. You can't get around it.

You get your wish when one of his hands grips the column of your throat, throttles your hammering skull back against the wall. You finally whine at the pain. Your hands flail still, clawing at him more out of instinct than anything, but the switchblade is enough to chase you away as he leans into you, pins you in place with his hips—pathetic, as you collect cuts and gashes across your knuckles, fingers, palms while he undoes his belt.

You can feel his throbbing tip against your pelvis as he scoots you closer to him by the small of your back; the blade flips in his grasp and finds a path to hover, pointed over your eye and you catch his wrist as he tells you—

"Keep squirming and this goes through your eyeball right to your brain."

What else can you do but let all your tense limbs fall to rest? You feel him poking you uncomfortably, hotly as you crane your neck away from the knife; you're caught. You're really caught, more than you have been the entire time you've been down here. Squirm one way, suffer another. You're stuck between a rock and a hard place and the hope you had, so brutally snuffed out by his cutting words, all dead now, like you will be soon, almost lets you look at him like a man you could want. You would, certainly, under normal circumstances. But you're bleeding, you're concussed, your body is giving up and he's the most powerful man in Yokohama and the way his bangs curtain over his eyes after he pushes them back has you, in your delirium, hesitantly linking your ankles around his waist and it's numbly and distantly infuriating, the relief that washes over your body when you drape onto him, but it's relieving no less, and he's almost beautiful to you if you just don't think too hard about any of it.

Don't think too hard about any of it.

Steal it back from him—look like you could like it through the dwindling coherence you have, and maybe you can steal it back from him.

You find yourself smiling, too. Annoying, he thinks—he knows what you're doing. He holds the blade over your eye which falls shut and opens again in an unconcerned blink that could almost be considered sultry—you must be demented. He knows what you must be thinking. Knows what you must've snapped to.

So he flips the knife again—holds the blade, carefully, handle out, and dips it down to your cunt.

He wants to stab you when you roll your hips against it.

It would embarass you, how quickly you get yourself wet from grinding your clit on the handle of his blade, if you weren't so close to total depletion. Maybe, you think, if you grind hard enough you can get him to cut himself with it; you've never gone down without a fight, and just because you're at your wits end doesn't mean that'll change.

In fact, you channel it into everything you can give. You grind on the handle, and he watches you, cold eyes wholly unamused but now totally focused on you. You'll be a project. You'll make it difficult.

Good thing he likes a challenge.

Dazai's smug again when he pulls the knife back up and shoves the handle between your teeth; "Suck," he instructs you, and you do, widening your drooping eyes, swirling your tongue, urging him forward with your legs around his waist.

It's what you seem to want, you think he mumbles before he's pressing himself into you remorselessy; it hurts, the stretch—he harshly bypasses the ring of taut muscle at your entrance, plunging into you deep, and you whimper around the handle of the knife and he pushes that deeper, too, into your throat, and you gag as he splits you open and the tears finally fall. Not because it hurts or because you're overwhelmed but because you know, through all of it, you're going to break him the same way he and his men have broken you—even if not to the same degree, it'll be enough. A little victory to die with.

And he starts fucking you, fast.

With what little strength you have left, you tear the buttons of his shirt open. A bandaged torso, a chest heaving just as much as yours now—you look at him, ravenously, and he twirls the knife one more time to tell you to watch it, watch your hands, and as he fucks you he's grunting in irritation at your response, and the blade is at your throat, pressing uncomfortably close just like his tip had against your tummy and your moans are open-mouthed, loud, shameless as your nails rake up his chest, throat, and land in his hair. Your blood smears across his neck, across his shoulders.

"You're—ngh—you're fucking crazy," he hisses at you as you clench, arch, press your forehead to his almost like you're lovers. You have to be fucking crazy. The worst part for him—he isn't stopping you. Not that he can't, he just isn't; you're not supposed to enjoy this, but you're lapping your own blood up from his milky skin as the threat of a slit throat is suspended between the both of you and you're kissing him, kissing him and biting his lip, clashing your teeth; he tastes both of your blood and he's pressed the knife harder into your neck in his shock because you should be screaming, begging for him to stop but you're not—you're meeting his heavy thrusts with enthusiasm, deranged in your hysteria.

He's dredged up enough of your wetness now that you're squelching around him. You dig your teeth in deep when you feel the sting from the blade on the delicate skin of your neck; he's losing himself as much as you are yourself, and you're smiling still, smiling as finally as he wraps a cruel hand beneath your thigh and pushes it up to hit you deeper and the pleasure registers through the revenge and the hot, sticky blood. He might cut you to death before you cum but not before he does because you pull back and he's ruined—the most dangerous man in Yokohama, the boss of the Port Mafia, Osamu Dazai is crumbling to ruin inside your dripping cunt; you could laugh—you will laugh, when this is over, and you hope it'll haunt him until the day he's in his grave—but for now, you can only dig your fingernails into his scalp (a little more of his own medicine) and moan, gasp, sob over the way he drags himself in and out of you deliciously. It feels like heaven compared to everything you've been through at the hands of his subordinates in the last thirty-something hours.

Since you're not begging him to stop, you should be begging him to let you cum—but you're not doing that either, and the resolve of the boss of the Port Mafia is shattering, slowly—too quickly—as he pounds into you harder, harder, harder. Bandages coming unwrapped, sweat dripping from the perfect, pointed end of his nose; you lick that up too, gently as you can through the way he jostles your body with each of his movements.

"This the only way you get pussy, huh? Capturing and forcing it? Ungh—Pathetic fucking man," you groan out, smirk playing on your face as you fight the way your eyes roll back. Impossibly harder, faster.

"Sh-shut the fuck up, slut," he spits back at you. Those cold eyes burn.

"You're fucking a dead bitch," you taunt. You think he'll break you. You think you want him to. You think he already has. You have to do it back. "Slut."

The knife presses harder into your throat. You can feel the blood flowing freely.

"Talk or I'll fucking kill you before you cum." But his voice, so smooth and suave and bored and casual earlier, is so broken now, so clipped. "Tell me where those six fucking friends of yours are. I'll find them anyway."

Six friends—your executives and subexecutives. It pulls you out of the moment that he knows how many of you there are. But you put on a good show; you're a good leader who will die with their secrets. His threats are empty to you. You clamp down on him, you clasp your teeth into his jaw, his shoulder as his thrusts slow, still bruising but slow as you feel him coming unraveled—it's enough to send you over, too, blacking out and hearing only your own voice as you sob, squirt a pitiable orgasm onto his stomach but it's one nonetheless and his seed is filling you, warm. You come back to and find his eyes one last time as they fly open, glazed over. He's gorgeous. He really is. You don't mind that he's the last thing you'll see. How unfortunate he couldn't be the death of you in some other way. Maybe in some other life.

A final long slash to send you unconscious. A smattering of sizzling red across his face.

He watches your body collapse at the foot of the dresser. You could've been the death of him too, in some other life—he saw it in your eyes.

How unfortunate it all is.

Osamu Dazai, the boss of the Port Mafia, stands and stares at you, your weakening pulse, for a long time before he gets to cleaning up your blood.

#um. sorry #dazai x reader #bsd dazai x reader #dazai smut #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs smut #dead dove do not eat #kinktober 2024 #nnnsfw.ᐟ #with love—reid

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caldella · 1 month ago

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Post Mastermind Blitzø getting more successful from IMP and renting a 2 bedroom apartment. Showing off the second bedroom and surprising them that he also got another mattress. Stolas is happy for Blitzø to get off the beanbag chair until Blitzø starts explaining, "I know it's not some fancy-ass royalty sized one, so it might be a little small for those long-ass legs of yours but--"

Stolas quickly figuring out that this is literally a bed for him specifically, and Blitzø plans to sleep on the couch again, and he is very not okay with this because he feels like a burden anyway. It turns into a minor disagreement and eventually Stolas caves because the more he refuses, the more Blitzø is convinced something's wrong with the bed that Stolas doesn't want to admit, and now he feels ungrateful. He spends a couple nights in that room but it's isolated, foreign: it's a bed but not the bed he had literally his entire life. This must be what people feel like when they're at an unfamiliar hotel. Eventually one night Blitzø crashes early, and Stolas carries him to the bed, tucks him in, and goes to sleep on the couch himself.

He wakes up at 2 am with Blitzø sitting on the arm of the couch, lizard mode/barely alert and looking like he's had a mild panic attack. Once he realizes Stolas is awake, he tries to swap sleeping spots back. Another, very groggy disagreement ensues, until Blitzø just slumps over and falls asleep against Stolas' legs. This situation occurs a few times, and half the time Blitzø falls asleep so hard he's purring and can't be woken up. The last time it happens, the reason Blitzø mumbles for not wanting the bed is, 'It smells like you.'

The next day Stolas surprises him. He finally figured out how to work the washer and dryer - he had to clean up the spilled detergent, and there might be some bubbles clinging to the ceiling, sorry. And he's pretty sure the fitted part of the bedsheet has some kind of magic that made all the sides short sides, so it's not on correctly- but he has all the sheets and pillows and even the blanket washed and dried. He fidgets. "I'm sorry, Blitzø. I didn't realize I had a ... smell... You should have told me. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Blitzø badly trying to explain that no, that wasn't what he was trying to say. The problem was he woke up in a bed that smelled like Stolas, but Stolas wasn't there, and it made him panic, and it got worse when he realized that Stolas was instead squashed onto a couch in the next room feeling like he wasn't supposed to be there.

Loona finally chiming in, "You know if you just split the stupid bed you could end all this. It doesn't mean you have to be fucking in it."

#helluva boss #helluva boss spoilers #mastermind spoilers #mastermind #helluvaverse #helluva stolas #helluva blitzo #helluva boss mastermind #helluva stolitz #domestic stolitz

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revelboo · 2 months ago

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Holy guacamole finding your account is like finding the holy grail. Thoughts on tfp shockwave??

Oh, no. I feel so bad for him. Casual TF fans can just see him and Whirl and vaguely wonder why they look so different and not know the horrible lore implications…. I miss those happy days and unfortunately I do know, so you have to suffer too for asking.

Point of Extinction

TFP Shockwave x Reader

• Routines to ground him. An exact number of swipes with a cleaning rag after disinfecting his work station after another failed experiment. Routines to keep him busy so his processor can’t dredge up those broken fragments that make no sense to him. Confusing flickers of memories that are and aren’t his. “Enter,” he says, using a servo to slide a tool back precisely where it goes. Order. This he can control.

• Antenna flicking up as the vehicon enters his lab, a box in its servos. And that snares him. Two hands like he’d had. No, that’s not right. Helm tipping down to stare at the cannon at the end of his arm, there’s a moment of disconnect before he’s back. Did he have two hands once? He can’t remember. Logical steps. That chaos isn’t his, it belongs to a stranger. “The counter.”

• Watches the vehicon set the box down and immediately retreat. Unwilling to stick around. They fear him and he understands the concept, but it’s not a thing he really understands. Illogical emotion that can control a mech, twist them into making wrong decisions. Emotional decisions.

• Lifting the lid, he stares at his newest specimen. Number 13. A human. The little creature is slumped at the bottom of the container, breathing but still. The last twelve earth creatures had been smaller, too delicate to survive long. This isn’t what he expected the vehicon to bring him, only specifying something more sturdy than the birds, cats, and lizards he’d been provided before. Something that will last long enough to get conclusive data.

• Reaching in to nudge it before he carefully picks it up in his servos and lifts it free of the box. It’s warm against his metal flesh, his antenna angling forward as the creature stirs. Makes a noise of pain as its eyes open and land on his single glowing optic and stay there. Leaning in to study it as its breathing begins to speed, its eyes widening. Reacting with some emotion. And then it screams, the sharp unexpected sound nearly enough to make him drop it, servos tightening on it until it’s clawing at him, wheezing. Antenna back, he puts it back in the box. “Silence.”

• Heart racing, you scramble to press against the wall of the box you’re trapped in as far from the pointy metal, nightmare as you can get. That one glowing red eye is still staring at you as it makes a noise. “Experiment number 13. Human.” That thing has no mouth you can see, but you can hear it just fine as you slide down to pull your knees tight to your body. Experiment? Where are you? What happened? The last thing you remember is leaving work late.

• “Wait- please I’m not supposed to be here.” It’s speaking to him and he hesitates in reaching for his data pad. The other twelve hadn’t been sentient. Unable to answer his inquiries except by going under his blades. Tapping his cannon against his thigh, he shifts to stare in at it again. Wide eyes stare up at him, the little nails of its fingers digging into its arms. “Please.” Illogical pleas to sway him to release it, voice taut with emotion he can’t identify. “I’m not supposed to be here.” Its voice breaks and that off balance disconnect flares again. A memory his and not his. Had he said those same words? In that same terrified tone? He’s not sure, but he’s frozen.

#shockwave x reader #tfp shockwave #transformers x reader

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 year ago

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Hi lovely, to celebrate the new year! I was wondering if you could please do a fluff/smut with Cirden.

Does not have to be hardcore smut only a taste!! thank you so much 4 taking the time out of your day and writing we all appreciate your work.

A/N: took it in me to get this done before January ended!! putting this man in the spicy is so bittersweet b/c it feels so wrong (but so right). And thank you for your kindness!! Lord knows I've been needing some grace. Thank you for being so sweet I'm glad people actually see my stuff <33

CW: NSFW/SMUT, public(?) doing the dirty in the woods, hunting, elf X reader, established marriage

WC:2.8k

Gender Neutral Reader X Male Elf husband

"Raagghh. I haven't caught ANYTHING..." One of your arrows lands in the dirt, it's blade skinning against the ground before it fell flat. You couldn't even manage to stab a lizard that blundered past you, it's skittering body running as your arrow slumped.

"Don't get discouraged," Cirdan mumbled with unmoving lips, focused on the prey only a few meters in front of him. "It's only your first time with a bow and arrow."

He still managed to whisk away your heart in his crouched battle stance as you curled on the forest floor, his arrow flying as it released with a snap. The harsh squeak of a cottontail broke the silence of the ancient trees, a fatal jump being it's last movement before it succumbed to the ground in a helpless flop. Your husband moved forward without you to slice it's throat. You looked away in shame; he had been hunting for your dinners ever since your joint movement into the cottage currently a mile away; he had cut the heads off deer and ducks while you sat back and covered your eyes. You couldn't even shoot down a bird, not only from your poor aim but your heart lurched everytime you saw its feathered breast beat with life, its beak release a hymn of song. Every now and again you could garner the courage to help him defeather or clean the bones of his latest catch but when seeing their heads or lifeless eyes, it made your insides churn.

It was dispiriting, knowing you couldn't provide in the way he had learned to do since he was a child. But by Gods and Goddesses, did he not look fine holding that bow and pulling back its string, showing the strength in his chest and the unwavering focus in his grey-blue eyes. You memorialized the image in your head, toes scrunching deep in your sewn leather boots (created by cirdan and his many talents) with your knees pushed together, gaze focused on the ground.

"Whats wrong?"

You looked up from your place in the dirt and dead leaves, your spouse like a pretty ice mountain that you had to strain upwards to see. He placed three dead bunnies by their ears into the sack that was once on his back; if he were alone, he would've just carried them by hand back to the cottage.

"Nothing, I was just... thinking. It's beautiful out here."

You looked up at the canopy of trees, dappled light speckling between the small empty holes that neither branch nor bushy leaves covered to block the evening sun.

Cirdan bent down, placing his sack on the ground as a warm hand came to cover the top of your head. A calloused palm pushed your hair back, patting you with deadweight.

You couldn't see the rest of him with his gigantic arm in the way, his voice like an omniscient invisible God of the forest.

"Don't worry if you can't hunt...I'll do enough for the both of us," His palm slid to your cheek in a messy fashion, attempting to be heedful of how firm his touch was, too used to handling his bow with untamed strength for the day. His hand was a pillow on your cheek as he pressed his thumb against your temple. "It's my job to take care of you."

He spoke as if mostly to himself, thin silver lashes disguising his eyes while he watches your lips with a small, almost unnoticeable quiver. But he didn't waver as you stared back, gaze running from his deep pupils to his strong nose bridge, down to his dripping jugular.

It was tension inside you and it was unbearable. It took choking yourself back to not scream "just kiss me, dammit!"

But elves weren't the hasty type,(especially your aloof husband), and you didn't know what Cirdan would think if you came forward so hungrily. Would he think you were just some lust-crazed old bat that replaced the careful spouse he once knew?

"Come, let's go back; the wind is picking up. I won't let you catch a cold."

The forest was all but blowing, a leaf tumbling every now and again but practically silent. And yet, who were you to argue with the seasoned elf who had survived in forests like this?

You took the outstretched hand cirdan put in front of you, allowing him to practically lift you to your feet as your bow held limply in your other hand with defeat. Alas, another day with no progress in conquering your woodland fear.

You let Cirdan lead you, following him past old oaks and emptied burrows, unable to keep your wide eyes off of him. It was nice, to distract your disappointed mind from your empty game sack to the hauntingly beautiful portrait of the manly elf before you.

"What is it?" Cirdan stopped, looking at you with those long locks covering his scarred eye, the other staring with a darkened brow.

"Nothing!" You'd repeat, looking away with your antsy feet bouncing, hoping he'd somehow read the growing need inside of you. And this carried on a countless too many times before you saw the clearing that led to the desire path back home.

What were you to say? That you wanted him here and now? That you wished he'd just smile and hold you and tell you to take off your hunting clothes and everything underneath as soon as you got back home? Yeah, right. As if the stoic beast that you married would be so forward, as hopeful and desiring as you.

You sneaked glances, learning better than before when aiming to witness the veins in his forearm that traveled to the hand interlocked with yours, the pants that fit his slightly toned ass just right. Gods, were you really so sinful? But, was it so wrong to want your husband, to think of him panting above you and his beautiful thighs encasing you with heartache and hunger?

Cirdan stopped again. You were about to tell him now this time you really weren't looking but he didn't face you, instead dropping his bag along with an unused set of arrows accompanying his bow.

"I think... I understand."

You tilted your head at him, maybe at a poor attempt to get him to look at your cute side.

"I'm supposed to do more than...be a a simple protector."

You would've pressed for more information, if it weren't for the oddly timed shove towards a nearby tree. Cirdan took the bag from your hands faster than you could ask "what the hell are ya doing," his sharp face only mere inches away and angled as if he was about to kiss you.

But maybe, that was just your imagination, your mind centered only on his smoothened pinkish lips.

"Is this what you wanted...?"

The elf brute inched down, nudging your nose with a deep exhale. His hands engulfed yours, holding them down at your sides as he pressed his lips snuggly to your cupids bow.

The sheer power of his face pushed your skull against the tree; along with it a warm, humid hand came from behind to press along the curve of your back. His pointer finger inched, massaging into your tailbone as the elf's thigh quickly entrapped you between he and the old oak.

That hand moved down to the waist of your hunting trousers, digging beneath them to reach more savory skin.

You almost jumped at the slight clutch of your left ass cheek, your husbands eyes shut as he rubbed his forehead against you.

Lost words were grumbled under his breath with a gentle rasp, his other hand leaving your fingers as they braced against the bark of the tree behind you.

"Cirdan-- wha," you tried to figure out what you were feeling, what the right thing to do would be. Which was, to tell him that this was not the right place, nor the right time. But that gentle nudge of his tented crotch against your leg made any thoughts of lucidity drift.

"Want you..." He spoke, barely above a hum. "Isn't this, what you needed? Looking at me, at my..."

"Don't finish that sentence," you warned, unable to meet his gaze as he softly squinted open his eyes. "Maybe so but--! Right here?? Right now? In the woods?! Even I'm not desperate enough to make us do it...here."

"No creatures come to the edge of the woods... too smart for that. We're too far away for any hunters to venture close enough." You could see even he wasn't one to normally suggest this idea; but if anyone knew this forest, it was him. "Besides, said I want to take care of you.. did you not think I'd follow through on that..?"

"But, wait, I mean-" you nearly whined, hardly able to contain yourself with the hand massaging your backside, the fat of his buldge grinding into your quadricep. He was almost as bad as the rabbits he so skillfully caught, their known libidinous currently rivaling his own.

It was still atleast a 15 minute walk back to the cottage when following the path directly back. Could you make it that long? If not, could you bare the anxiety of having him bend you over in the woods completely out in the open?

"I didn't know you were so... pent up." You choked. "I mean, you're not just doing this for me, right?"

Who were you kidding? He was practically rubbing on you like a fox in heat.

"Please don't make me beg." He looked at you directly, finding your lost-at-sea eyes that had been rapidly searching for any creature or holy figure nearby witnessing you and your husbands' immoralities. He wasn't whining nor desperate but rather asking you, to please, not make him put himself even lower at your mercy-- if that was even possible.

His directness caught you off guard; sure, you had been on the edge of ripping your clothes off and throwing yourself at him but-- to have him beat you to the punch?

You couldn't help yourself when he leaned in, his soft locks brushing against your shoulder as the tip of his pink tongue swiped your lower lip, his confidence having grown since the first time you made love to him in the dark.

You opened your mouth greedily, nearly starvingly so as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. How could you say no, when he asked you so genuinely, when your groin ached to be caressed by him?

With the confession of your open mouth and the lewd noises of your labored breaths, Cirdan moved quicker than with the normal diligent pace he tended to do everything with. In a split second your leg was wrapped around his hip, his large hand rubbing gently at the front zipper of your trousers, reaching in deep between your legs to get a good cup full o' you.

You couldn't just ignore the cries of his loins as he lunged forward, desperate for your affection. You undid the two buttons holding the elf's own wood-colored slacks up. They drooped only slightly to show the clean grey of his happy trail, your palm digging in to reach for the stiff piece that craved a special touch.

It slid out so easily, his tip warm against your wrist. You couldn't help but watch him leak just a bit, slightly hard as a thin vein pulsed under your thumb.

"Gods please...I said t'not make me beg." He muffled in your ear, taken aback uncharacteristically as you stroked with the intent to milk him for all he had.

It was so cute and fat, the small grey-white hairs of the front of his cock leading down to his crowned jewels, making you appreciate the differences between humans and elves. His pointed ears twitched upward as he practically foamed at the mouth against your neck. A gentle palm came to push your shoulder against the tree with simplicity.

Without unzipping, cirdan shifted to pull your pants and undergarments down to your knees; in a matter of two seconds he managed to strip you half naked. Your hand was pulled away from the elf, interlocked instead with his fingers as your bare thigh was hoisted further up against his naked hip.

His chest pressed up against you as he slowed to get inside, looking at you with glazed over, hooded eyes. He didn't look away, he couldn't. There was something about the sweat at the corner of your brow, your slightly ajar lips that kept him going, entering inside of you with raw cock and raw determination, awaiting to see that expression of nearful ecstasy that would wash away all the neediness you had been experiencing.

You didn't know how he could do it, stare at you so intently without any break away while you sweated under his gaze. If he wasn't currently bottoming out inside of you right now, you would've felt like you were under interrogation. You both huffed simultaneously once your hole swallowed up the entirety of him, your right leg limp over his thigh as he pressed you up further against the tree.

"Feel okay?" Cirdan panted, and you could see he was barely keeping himself at bay. What a gentleman, controlling himself from fucking you blind-- not that you would've minded the latter, of course.

You responded in turn by grinding down on him, rolling your hips forward to have that needy, hungry and achingly thirsty spot become just a little farther quenched.

It was difficult to not throw your head back and scream, feeling so warm and full as you gripped the back strands of the elfs hair.

With the time you had spent with him you realized Cirdan wasn't much of a grunter, preferring unconsciously to huff and pant and wordlessly suck through his teeth when he was inside of you. If you were lucky, you'd get to see him furrow his brows in exasperation, frowning as if he was concentrating hard on something important and not just from rocking into you. The challenging part about being his first lover however, was that he was still learning not to finish in the first few seconds of plunging inside.

"Ill.. n'take care of yo..u" he muttered, lifting your hips as your bare ass scraped against the bark of the tree. "Take care so good..."

You would've laughed at his drunken fervor if you didn't find it so endearing, the urge to stick your tongue into his heated cavern of a mouth washing over you like a wave.

Cirdan accepted the kiss greatfully, placing a hand behind your head to grace your thump against the tree. You could hear the branches shake, a stray dead leaf falling on the top of your head as he rutted forward, your own pelvic floor pushing against his thrusts. The elf's nose smushed against the side of your own, lips practically consuming one another as his lashes brushed your cheek. Sweat formed on your back dripping to your legs, but you didn't care. It felt too good, your senses only focusing on where he was caressing or what would be next, the cold breeze reminding you that you were still outside.

That fear remained in the back of your mind, your eyes occasionally opening and scanning the forest that you could see beyond Cirdan. But there was nothing, nothing but the trees and dead fallen logs blocking pathways.

Your kisses drifted away as you saw a hunched over deer, somewhat 10 paces away with its head burrowed in a bush.

Cirdan slowed, the deep drilling inside of you now merely a thick discomfort of occasional thrusts. He could feel you were getting lost in your worry, your grip on his shoulders loosening.

"Ma’sal’shiral," he grabbed your chin, turning you away from the fear of the forest. "Going to make you feel love unlike any creature has known;" he kissed you with wet lips, giving you breath and teeth. "So please, don't turn from me."

The horrible ache in his eyes, the twitch inside of you-- for how torturous it was for yourself, it was just as bad for him. You would've apologized, turned the mood even further south into sourness if he hadn't begun rocking again, holding your back to keep your sensitive skin away from the tree. He huffed into your cheek, pressing hard up against you as he cherished everything he could touch. The deer that once took over your thoughts was now pushed to the edge, your eyes half-shut now that all you could feel was the depth of your husband, his precum mixing with the heat of your hole. The crude sound of skin on skin, the slight slap of elf balls hitting your ass-- it nearly sent your mind into overdrive.

And even with the pain of tree bark rubbing against your skin, the stench of petrichor and sweat in your nose, you wouldn't trade this moment for anything.

This might even be better than the bed... Okay, maybe not. But that didn't matter with Cirdan so far inside of you he huffed with inclination, tempting to keep his orgasm at bay.

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shortnotsweet · 1 year ago

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[ “SOMEBODY TOLD ME”]:

BREAKING MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME. SEVENTEEN TRACKS AND I’VE HAD IT WITH THIS GAME. A BREAKIN’ MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME—BUT HEAVEN AIN’T CLOSE IN A PLACE LIKE THIS.

— The Killers, Hot Fuss (2004)

Princess Rhaenyra’s insolence is wearing her stepmother’s patience thin. Queen Alicent is not ten years her senior, but even during her own sixteenth year, she cannot recall herself behaving so brazenly. She would never burst into courtly discussions in nothing but gilded armor and the underskirts of her riding leathers, awash in blood. (She would never be spotted in blood that was not her own, anyway. Alicent has never picked up a sword, not one that belonged to her.) Nevermind that Rhaenyra is attending to diplomatic affairs with bared teeth and scales, no—the crux of the matter is just that, her affairs. Rhaenyra is the Realm’s Delight, a beauty incomparable to any fair maiden, Alicent included. She indulges herself with appetite of a spoiled child, the confidence of man, and the pickings befitting only to her royal blood. Criston Cole. Daemon Targaryen. Harwin Strong. Laena Velaryon. She’s full of love, isn’t she? That selfish, foolish girl. What does Rhaenyra Targaryen know of love, of duty? She is a child in so many ways—she thinks killing makes her a man, thinks the throne is hers despite being a woman, thinks she can have her knight and her uncle and her protector and Laena Velaryon in one fail swoop. She’s wrong. She doesn’t know herself half as well as Alicent does. Alicent, who sees her for what she truly is, who wants to see all of her and more of her and none of her. Alicent has been stolen into the Keep by her own father—both of their fathers—but Rhaenyra is the key to this place, is the window to everything barred. Rhaenyra Targaryen has a dragon. Rhaenyra can fly.

That’s what Rhaenyra had promised her once, with her lips pulled back in a grin, exposing the white of her teeth like the violently radiant creature she was. “Perhaps when you grow tired of plotting against me, we shall ride on dragonback together,” she had said. The tease.

Alicent had yanked her into an empty corridor by the silk of her sleeve, ready to chastise her for her ill behavior. Conversing with the lords and ladies of the court at a feast was one thing, but chattering about her bloody encounters in battle over the pudding tureen were another. The lord at her elbow was going green. Alicent’s own face was likely red; her heart raced whenever Rhaenyra got like this. Alicent had never seen the battlefield—only seen battered men in dented armor and the slumps of corpses lined along dirt roads in the aftermath of war—but her own imagination terrified her like nothing else.

(Rhaenyra is better with a sword than half of the knights in Westeros, and more lovely than the lot. Her reign has not yet begun, but already the commoners flock to her—lured in by tales of her beauty and fine hair—and soldiers would follow her into battle. Alicent would not follow, but she would watch and bite her nails down to the quick.

She thinks of the figure Rhaenyra cuts in full armor, the heat in her gaze underneath the slots of her helmet. Alicent remembers the weight of her own hand in Rhaenyra’s—which was gloved—when the princess rode up to the spectators box and grasped it in her own, bringing Alicent’s knuckles to her lips. She thinks of Rhaenyra murdered in the sky, skewered with another man’s sword, plummeting to the ground, torn in half, streaking crimson across the clouds. Alicent would scream, or cry. She might laugh. She would throw herself from the window of her tower. Rhaenyra’s bloody exploits terrified Alicent for reasons she could not identify, and excited her for reasons she refused to.)

“I’d sooner be confined to the castle for the rest of my days than get on the back of that bloody lizard,” Alicent scoffed. Rhaenyra only tucked her hand over Alicent’s, where it was resting on her forearm. She flexed her fingers, moving to release her grip on the dark fabric, but Rhaenyra intertwined their fingers and held them fast.

“You’re confined already. You are already accustomed to such a thing. I know you. But—”

“But you forget yourself. You think you’re invulnerable, Rhaenyra. You don’t know who you are.” Alicent intends for it to be a sneer, but instead it comes out quietly, and too gentle for disdain. She can’t know. Rhaenyra is as trapped as she is, but they’re trapped together. They belong together. She belongs with Alicent.

“I am Rhaenyra Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne and all of Westeros. I am a dragonrider. I am—I am your daughter. In a way. Your sister, too. Your enemy. Your sword, your shield.”

“And what am I?” What else is left for me? Alicent wonders.

“My Queen. For now.” Rhaenyra cocks her head, and the gleam in her eyes burns like fire raining down. “When I am Queen, you will be my lady.”

#rhaenicent #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenyra x alicent #my art #a book show fusion where alicent is the wicked resentful older stepmother first and foremost but even so she and rhaenyra have a connection #burdened by envy and fixation and reluctant affection. in this universe rhaenyra is given more liberties and trains as a knight would #is given a sword and flies into battle frequently and wears extravagant clothes which endears her to the small folk and makes her a hot #topic amongst royalty for her strangeness and charisma. alicent is expression not only of her freedom and expression #but of the company she keeps. rhaenyra has so many lovers and so many who are willing to follow her and it’s just not fair ok. alicent #and rhaenyra understand each other and know each others misery like no other. those other flings and beloved friends are going to get #her killed w how much they indulge her and encourage her dangerous habits and alicent may be in a cage but she won’t live in it alone. with #out her stepdaughter to torment and be tormented by (she represses the urges rhaenyra inspires bc she is devout to the faith) then there is #no meaning to suffering. god she’s in love w her. she hates her so much she wants to be her she wants to be with her she needs to touch her #she need rhaenyra to stop looking at other people bc it’s killing alicent by the day

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earlysunshines · 1 year ago

Text

can we get even closer?

detective!jihyo x spiderwoman!reader (pt. 3, finale!) ; smut, fluff

synopsis: spiderwoman becomes 10x more alluring AND convincing, detective park is completely disregarding the chief at this point.

wc: 11.7k

warnings: blood ; mentions of wounds, cuts, bruises ; smut!!!

pls read for context: pt.1, pt.2

the crime scene was a messy tapestry of deception and disorder.

jihyo scanned the mess of a venue. there were flipped-over tables, pieces of chairs, and debris scattered all over the venue—even a light had fallen from the ceiling—it was a sight.

the cluttered, frenzied scene wasn't even the worst part; to tell the truth, what made it worse was seeing her colleagues all stuck together tangled up in spiderwebs against the wall.

the chief included in the mess.

the chief was tangled up alone, arms and legs restrained with only his head free. he seemed infuriated; this does not help your case. the chief will hate your guts even more, and if he catches you, he might rip them out.

jihyo has her final conclusion made up in her head after fully processing the mess in front of her: you have one functioning brain cell.

the officers and chief aren't the only ones captured, there's an apparent culprit tied together in a large, thicker layer of cobweb: the lizard.

it's green, it's ugly, and it's huge—jihyo furrows her brows at the sight—but her face lights up when she sees the familiar silhouette of the special spider-like "hero."

you stand there in front of the grotesque reptile, gazing at it with slumped shoulders and heavy breaths. you're exhausted and aching from the very physically demanding task. on the bright side: there are no broken bones or any limbs missing—that's a plus—though there are a few scratches that rip the new suit you had just gotten. you sigh at the thought of having to face your suit designer nayeon. you really don't want to hear her complaints again.

the thought of nayeon yelling in your ear distracts you from the blood that seeps out the cuts on your body and the pain from the sore areas that will surely be dark, annoying bruises—though the thought of that nayeon pulling at your ear and bickering with you doesn't distract you forever, the discomfort in your abdomen returns and you almost fall over.

screw that ugly ass lizard.

jihyo runs over to your side, looking at your weary state.

"y/n-" jihyo catches herself, immediately quieting down when uttering the last part of your name. she watches her words even if she's not in the field of vision of the officers, they still have ears afterall. "spiderwoman, are you okay?" jihyo asks, looking at the cuts in your suit.

"yeah." you respond, and you're lying your ass off because you think you might fall over soon. "just a bit beat up, could've been worse."

“you think a stab to the stomach is comparable to a paper cut. " the detective sighs, “that doesn’t make this any better.”

it’s evident in her tone that she’s worried. your heart feels heavy knowing that she feels like that for you, but you don't want to overwhelm her anymore. you put your hand on her shoulder and her eyes soften. her look almost hurts more than that stupid pain in your stomach.

"park," you say softly, "i'm fine."

“you’re not.”

"i need to change back and leave, keep an eye on the lizard?"

"y/n-"

"it's spiderwoman." you say sternly. your voice had lost any hint of playfulness, now it’s more of a croaked-out, low tone.

"sorry, i just-"

"let's talk later, yeah?" you urge. jihyo nods with disappointment.

you smile as you shoot a web up, looking at her with the same softness before pulling yourself and swinging away.

jihyo's jaw tightens up.

you don’t break into jihyo’s house or even show up at the department for four days and counting. that’s 96+ hours of jihyo not seeing you, of her having all these questions swarming in her brain with no answers and 96+ hours of missing you. detective park is running out of patience.

jihyo spins the pen in her hand while examining the papers related to the “lizard” case, i mean, there’s not much to do since the lizard-man had been captured after turning back to normal, but jihyo had to do a brief check before going back to the prison to interrogate the human form of that nightmare.

the identity of the lizard was found after it had transformed back into a slender, fragile man: dr. watanabe, lead scientist at minatozaki industries and former friend of the chief.

the chief seemed to be slowly losing it after the whole event—who wouldn’t be after having to ask your detective to cut you and the rest of your coworkers out of the spiderweb that was shot from the wrists of the person you went on a whole tangent about not trusting—exactly.

it’s been hectic.

the detective shoves the papers back into the folder before heading into the room that holds the visitation booths, which is empty and only has one guard present. she runs a hand through her hair before nodding at the guard and sitting at booth three.

her foot taps at the ground as she waits—not because she’s anxious—it’s just a habit she’s had since college.

there’s the sound of the door opening and not even five seconds later the scientist sits in front of her. he looked terrible: bags under his eyes, brows creased, and hair disordered—that’s not like him at all. jihyo takes out a paper from the folder and holds the black telephone handle close to her ear.

“you’ve finally agreed to talk.”

“against my will, where’s the chief.” watanabe spits back through the line. jihyo shoots a look that has the scientist shrinking in his seat.

“not here.” she says sternly, “now i would really appreciate if you could be competent since you’ve caused so much trouble.”

“bring me that damn chief and i’ll talk, they said he’d be here.”

“he’s not here, so quit whining. i have some questions that you need to answer, i’d advise that you respond well and with a compliant attitude.” the detective warns threateningly.

the scientist makes eye contact once with jihyo then looks back down, ready to answer with his hand clutching the telephone handle tightly.

jihyo ends up leaving the visitation booth with sluggish shoulders and a paper with rushed, messy jotted-down notes of the criminals’ answers and puts it in her bag. once she steps outside into the afternoon light, she’s quick to stretch out her arms, groaning at the relieving sensation.

“hi.”

that voice is very familiar.

the detective turns and her eyes widen at the sight of you. you’re standing there with a smile, warm and friendly.

a dark, navy sweater sits loosely on your figure, and your hair is tied up. you look beautiful, and not as beat up as jihyo figures you should look (i mean, you literally had a whole wwe match with a lizard a couple days ago, so it’s surprising to say the least). you seem content, you seem perfectly fine and jihyo hates that you haven’t bothered her. where have you been?

jihyo stares at you in awe, well, maybe with some confusion and a hint of anger too. she wants to ask where you’ve been, i mean, it’s been days and you haven’t knocked on her window, she had even waited by that stupid window of hers with the hope that you’d barge in. she wants to ask how you’ve been doing, if your injuries been bothering you maybe and if your cuts healed. jihyo wants to know everything, from how you’re doing physically to what’s going on in that smoothed-out brain of yours. (jihyo has many questions, too many, and it has her silent in her place while she gapes at you.)

you play with the neckline of your sweater. “it’s getting pretty cold, huh.”

jihyo thinks you’re unbelievable.

“where have you been?” jihyo asks, walking up to you and pushing you playfully (fighting the urge to hold your and look at you with desire like in those cliché romance movies where the leads love interest shows up after being missing—or something like that at least. [park jihyo watches too many dramas]) she furrows her brows a little, looking at you with a tad of shock in her expression.

you tilt your head and ask, “why are you looking at me like that.”

“you’ve been gone for what, four days?” jihyo says, raising her brows. a couple people passing by glance in your direction when jihyo raises her voice, but she doesn’t care, that’s the last thing she cares about. “you haven’t called, texted, or even showed up to your own uncles workplace! you haven’t even-“ and jihyo cannot believe she’s about to say this: “you haven’t broken into my apartment or anything!”

a short silence fills the air before your eyes soften the same way they did before leaving jihyo at that venue—right after finishing up your business.

you let out a brief, soft sigh. “i’m sorry, it’s a lot.”

“yeah, it is.” jihyo huffs, losing the worry in her tone as relief fills in.

a grin plays at your lips, “i did say i would explain everything,” you start, “and i did say i’d take you out, and on me too…”

jihyo crosses her arms and mumbles, “you did.”

“that’s only if the detective would let me…?”

the weight on jihyo’s shoulders is completely knocked off and she chuckles at your response, quickly losing the serious façade.

“i have to drop this off at work, maybe i’ll let you once i do.”

you grin. “great.”

you end up as passenger princess in jihyo’s white, glossy bmw.

saying the car is nice would be a huge understatement. the interior is even more fascinating compared to the exterior, and that says a lot. the seats are clean, comfy, and from the texture, you can tell it’s authentic and expensive leather. the car is pretty spotless other than the water bottle in the cup holder and that reusable tote bag that seemed to have been thrown at the backseats blindly. the car smells fresh—something woody, minty, and there’s also a hint of apple—it’s welcoming and really fits the detective.

“comfy?” jihyo asks, turning on the engine.

“yeah.” you reply, feeling a little intimidated for no reason.

jihyo chuckles at you and shifts the stick, lightly steps on the gas, then looks at the screen in the car as she backs up. there should be no reason for this to be so attractive, i mean, you’ve seen many people back up a car, nothing special, but when jihyo does it you find yourself wanting her a little more.

the two of you end up at the department less than ten minutes later. despite how unbelievably close and flirty you’ve gotten with the detective; the whole car ride was way too intimate for your liking, and your nerves were a mess.

the car was so nice it had you feeling tense, jihyo was driving with such ease and looked so damn good with those sunglasses she had on. you felt small in the passenger seat. thankfully, you’re a few turns away from the department.

“i need to tell you something.” you say, making jihyo hum.

“what is it?”

“i can’t go into the department, i’m, well… i’ll tell you later but long story short my uncle cannot see me and i’m technically kind of on house arrest.”

“you’re what?”

“long story.”

the light turns red, the detective breaks smoothly then turns to look at you, curiosity and disbelief making her brows furrow.

“why am i not surprised that the chief would do something like that.” jihyo sighs, looking back at the stoplight—it’s green now. “he’s been on edge lately ever since the incident, he’s probably just anxious.”

you chuckle and shake your head, “he’s something…”

not too long later, the two of you find your way over at a café nearby and situate yourselves in the balcony area on the second floor.

jihyo holds a mint-colored latte cup in her hand that’s filled with a simple, hot mocha. she takes a sip and a bit of the steamed milk coats the top of her lips, she licks it off subtly. you smile before taking a sip of your own drink, some type of seasonal latte that has hints of apple and cinnamon.

“i missed you.” you say, looking down at the slightly distorted latte art in your cup. jihyo looks at you then smiles, a tint of pink dusting her cheeks as she turns her head to take in the view of the farmers markets nearby.

“me too.” she sighs, “i was… i haven’t been as tired lately, so i waited near my window for some spider to knock on it—she never came.”

you frown. “i wanted to. i’m always one to help people and try to not break the law, but i can’t help it when it’s you.” you respond jokingly.

jihyo smiles at your playfulness, happy to be spending time with one of the people she’s grown close with, as well as the hero she’s been secretly crushing and interacting with.

“can i ask how long you’ve been, you know…”

“couple months.” you reply, “remember how i told you about getting bit by the spider?” you ask, jihyo nods and you begin again, “i got bit a week after i moved here, and then i started sticking to things, accidentally broke my doorknob—oh! i was also watching this scary movie one time and got scared, after that i couldn’t see myself in the mirror.”

“that’s a lot.”

“yes, too much.”

“so… what happened with you and your uncle?” jihyo questions, wondering why she’s been spiderwoman-deficient for the past four days.

“oh yeah,” you respond, “well, he found out that i got hurt—not because i was y’know, doing my little hero thing—but he saw the blood and some of the injuries. he went on this tangent about me staying safe, he’s just been on edge and very protective. he doesn’t want me leaving the house. i’ve been working from home.”

“you couldn’t sneak out?”

“he had detectors, it took me a bit to mess with it. i took some engineering classes in high school and had some mischievous friends, so i ended up cheating the system.” you explain. jihyo nods, raising her brows at how capable you are; you’re quite impressive even if someone were to snatch your spider abilities away. “so, what’s been going on with you detective? fill me in.”

jihyo sighs, shaking her head softly.

“your uncle has been on edge, it’s strange.” she says, “usually these types of cases don’t phase him, but he’s shaken up.”

“maybe it was me trapping him in cobwebs—too much?”

the detective shakes her head again. “no, i don’t think so, but that was stupid on your end. he’s just been terribly paranoid; i’ve never seen him so tense.”

you furrow your brows and take another sip of your beverage before raising your brows as if you had an idea, “maybe it has something to do with the scientist?” you suggest, and you ponder before speaking again, “i remember my uncle having lunch with the scientist a couple months ago, he came back from the lunch all tense and a bit angry—even snapped at me for something. it was strange.”

jihyo’s expression lights up, “you’re on to something… that scientist did ask me to see the chief multiple times… and watanabe is clearly hiding something.”

“you think we should reunite them? maybe find out more of what’s between them?”

“it might be a good idea.” the detective mumbles, swirling remnants of her drink in the cup. you bite the inside of your lip and hum again,

“let’s try it, i can talk to the chief.”

“you’re on house arrest.”

“spiderwoman can do it then. she’s not on house arrest.”

jihyo’s eyes widen at the suggestion, and she looks at you like you’re crazy. “you’re insane.”

“maybe chief l/n will listen to me if i’m sweet with him.”

“he could body slam you to the ground.”

“maybe he could do that to y/n, but not spiderwoman.” you beam.

“no, maybe spiderwoman too.” jihyo shakes her head and simply sighs, “you’re actually the dumbest person i know.”

“you into that?”

the mask on your face is new, so is the suit (you were able to contact your suit designer via email and after seeing jihyo you got your much more durable suit—that is, after getting scolded by the fashion designer.)

you spot chief l/n in the office alone, it’s quite late anyway, a little past when you’d usually have dinner. your uncle examines a paper with furrowed brows and a pen in his large, aging hands. he looks pretty focused—you take it as your cue to invite yourself into his large office.

when the chief hears a small thud, he’s immediately on guard. he puts his hand over the gun strapped under his desk and scans the room: there’s no one, nothing, but he’s not convinced.

“i’m not fucking stupid.” he says coldly, “show yourself or you’re going to regret a lot.”

his voice is low, deep, and threatening. it’s worse than when he scolds you, much worse and you think you might be lucky that his most angry tone with you is less frightening than how he’s talking to you now.

you’re invisible, he can’t see you at all. the chief pulls out his gun from under the table and holds it with precision, aiming and scanning the room once more for any sign of someone. the gun in his hand is knocked out with a spiderweb and the chief halts, stiffening in his place.

you unveil yourself and the chief spots the familiar vigilante stuck to the ceiling, though that same vigilante who had terrorized him a couple days prior is wearing a new suit.

“hello chief.” you greet, making sure you alter your voice.

the tall, bulky man grimaces when you release yourself off of the wall and land on the floor of the room.

“spiderwoman.”

“nice to see you too.” you say, “i’m not going to hurt you or anything, i’m just uneasy around guns.”

“yeah, sure.” he scoffs, “you’re up to something.”

“god- no!” you groan, losing patience. the chief drops his stern demeanor for a second when you pinch the bridge of your nose, it almost convinces him that you’re just a simple human under that suit. “i’m trying to get more details on the lizard, and i need your help.”

“that lizard… he’s behind bars.”

“but that’s not it and you know it.”

“get out my damn office. i’m not afraid to fight you, i don’t care how many webs you trap me in.”

you sigh again, growing even more impatient. the chief glares at you when you do so.

“look—the people, the citizens, families and friends—they’re all in danger if you’re not competent,” you explain. your uncle drops his serious expression and his shoulders relax just barely.

“and i should just tell you why, huh? so you can do who knows what with this information? i’m not stupid.”

“you’re getting on my fucking nerves though and you’re being a prick that’s what you are.” you respond with irritation, and the tone of your retort reminds the chief of a certain someone he knows very well. “you think i saved that whole venue for shits and giggles? i left there with a broken rib and more bruises and cuts than i can count on one hand. i don’t know how many people i have to save or buildings i have to stop from collapsing to get you to understand that i’m not the fucking villain. look, watanabe is eery, there’s something i’m missing on this whole case because that damn scientist has been reluctant to give answers due to some tall ass man-baby of a chief that not only refuses to see the what, barely average height scientist, but the same chief who won’t fucking comply to this ‘vigilante’ because of his foggy little brain.”

the chief looks at you with surprise now, mouth slightly agape.

“i’m—i’m sorry?” he says with uncertainty. your uncle decides to swallow up his pride and prejudice, you sound like his niece and he starts to soften up. “fine. only if it helps.”

so rambling was the only thing that you needed to get him to comply? you’ve been wasting your time, too much time.

“why does watanabe want to see you.” you ask, observing the way your uncles eyes hesitantly avoid your gaze.

it’s quite strange seeing your uncle so sheepish looking, so submissive and not in the way he looks when your aunt scolds him for not eating, but he looks almost vulnerable.

“we-” he pauses and his shoulders drop just barely, “we used to work together. now that he’s behind bars i can’t compromise my position.”

“how does it compromise your position?”

“i’m a big guy, a big, bulky guy. watanabe and i used to be friends and… he asked for my dna samples and whatnot. look, i might’ve…” the chief sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “i gave him some and i don’t know what he did with it, but now that he’s behind bars i think it’s something bad. i don’t know, i’ve never been a science freak.”

“okay so he has your dna, what are you looking so scared for?” you ask,

“i’m just wary… i don’t know what he can do with it—what he has done with it.”

you ponder for a bit and look at the anxious chief in front of you, who looks less intimidating than ever in front of you. why would watanabe need his dna?

“well, he’s behind bars, so no need to worry about anything for now yeah? i’ll investigate this myself.” you assure. you expect an inquiry, a response or something—but the chief simply nods and huffs.

“yeah alright.” he sighs. you shoot a thumbs up and hide yourself in transparency, that’s when you hear small—but noticeable in the silent ambience—words of gratitude. “thanks for taking a weight off my shoulders.”

you really have to stop breaking into jihyo’s home—well, it’s more of you jump scaring her and then her letting you in—so is it really a crime if there’s implied consent to enter?

jihyo opens the window for you and sighs, “i have a door you know.”

“too much work.”

“and swinging to the tenth floor of my apartment building is less work?”

“more exciting!” you beam, “and i like your little reaction, it’s cute.”

jihyo rolls her eye at your little remark and you climb in. she watches you pull off your mask and tuck some of your messy hair away, her eyes linger a little before she turns and walks back to her stove.

“whatcha cookin’?” you ask, sitting on the counter of the little kitchen island.

“avocado toast with eggs.” jihyo responds, not turning around.

“how healthy.”

“did you need something?” she asks, sliding the spatula under the eggs before flipping it over and cutting the heat.

“do you wanna break the law?” you ask. jihyo turns around and the expression plastered on her face screams:“are you dumb or stupid?”

“you’re seriously asking me this?”

“okay technically it’s not fully breaking the law,” you start, “just… doing something that might be an invasion of privacy.”

“that might be breaking the law, stupid.” jihyo snickers, smiling at the idiot in front of her.

you’re wearing something comfy yet professional looking: a pullover with a dress shirt under and some simple dress pants. the detective wonders if people saw you swinging around like that—the only thing masking your identity being the mask you had taken off, and without the mask jihyo can see you with the nerdy-looking glasses you put on earlier, and the smile plastered on your face. you’ve got a cute grin.

“you never said no.” you shrug.

“i’ll lose my job.”

“no you wont. just let me explain?” you plead. jihyo sighs, crossing her arms while leaning against the counter next to the stove; all of the detectives’ attention is on you now.

“thanks lovely.” you say, and the little remark makes jihyo’s cheeks flush just barely. “okay so i had a little talk with the chief last night, turns out watanabe has his dna and my uncle’s on edge because of that.”

“okay…”

“i work for the same company, meaning i have a keycard. that also means we can investigate a little more and find out what the hell he wanted to do with the chiefs dna.” you explain, “it’s technically your job to do all this investigating and if you think about it: i’m just a loyal citizen helping out the hottest detective in the force.”

jihyo uncrosses her arms and puts her hands on the counter gripping the edge. you watch the way her arm tenses and wow she’s toned. the detective looks down and shakes her head, smiling.

the shorter woman turns back around and pulls out a piece of bread from the toaster, then uses the spatula that rested on the plate to put an egg on the toast. she hands you the plate and you turn your head, but take it nonetheless.

“eat up, gotta have energy to ‘kinda’ break the law.”

your eyes light up and you almost gasp, “you’re going to do it?”

“you get me to do the craziest things.”

you smirk and respond, “and if i were a crazy thing?”

jihyo looks you in the eye and smiles. “i could put you on my to-do list then.”

you had offered to swing out her window with her, but jihyo denied, and you teased her the whole way down to the parking lot.

now you’re playing passenger princess (pt. 2) and watch jihyo shift out her parking space, which is a sight. there’s something enticing with her movements, the way she carries herself, and her confidence.

when you reach the building—the large, modern-looking building with a café that keeps your coffee addiction thriving—jihyo gazes for a bit, clearly impressed.

“never been here?”

“no, i have, just never had time to fully take in everything.” she says, “it’s very nice.”

you smile and open the door for her, she rolls her eyes and walks in—you follow behind.

there are a few familiar faces in the building, some people rushing around and others conversing—it could be mistaken as a lobby at some college, jihyo looks around and is taken aback by the lively atmosphere.

“there you are, where have you been?” a recognizable voice scoffs. you turn to your left and see nayeon, smiling cheekily as she walks towards you and jihyo. you roll your eyes playfully and scoff playfully,

“been avoiding you.” you respond jokingly, and nayeon just laughs.

“who’s this? your girlfriend? been skipping work to be with her or what?” nayeon asks. her inquiry takes both you and jihyo by surprise, making both of you blush.

words stick to the tip of your tongue for a moment and jihyo puts out her hand for nayeon while you compose yourself. “detective park.” she introduces.

nayeon raises her brows and shakes her hand, then looks at you with a quirked brow and the look in her eyes seem to convey an “ooh~” before she responds to jihyo. “im nayeon.”

you clear your throat after they shake hands, “it’s nice to see you again i guess.” you say to nayeon, “but i have to go up and grab something, i’ll see you.”

“yeah yeah, see you. i was on my way out anyway—don’t blow up anything.” she sighs, and you scoff playfully. the two of you smile at each other mischievously before nayeon heads out the doors.

jihyo laughs and you raise a brow, watching her as she shakes her head.

“got all flustered from her asking if i was your girlfriend? what happened to the confidence from before?”

“shut up.” you respond, “let’s just go.”

jihyo laughs as you walk towards the elevators—she can’t see you, but she knows you’re blushing like an idiot.

the two of you reach the 7th floor and jihyo follows you out the elevator.

as you and jihyo make your way down the dimly lit corridor, a sense of anticipation fills the air. the tension is palpable as you approach the lab room. fumbling in your pocket, you retrieve a keycard, silently emphasizing the need for caution as you unlock the door. "stay by my side and stay quiet. we're not supposed to be here," you mumble, voice low and careful.

entering the room, you both are immediately struck by its sheer size. you’ve been here once with another scientist from the company, though only for a brief moment to retrieve information for your article. it's not just a regular room; it's an enormous space dedicated to housing the scientists' most precious possessions—their files, research, and invaluable data.

as your gaze scans the shelves, your heart skips a beat before settling on the section that holds the coveted information you seek. the lights are dim, making it difficult to distinguish one folder from another, but thankfully you’re spiderwoman; your senses are already much more advanced than any person.

with each folder you come across, you murmur the words written on their labels. jihyo watches you intently, captivated by your unwavering focus. there's a certain charm in the way you immerse yourself in the task at hand, it's adorable and there's an undeniable allure to your commitment that draws her in.

“they’re all in alphabetical order… t… u… v… hmmm—ah! w!” you beam. you snatch the folder that reads “watanabe.” a contagious smile dances across your lips, your elation mirrored by jihyo.

“is that what we need?” jihyo asks, turning her head.

“yeah, this is one of the more important files, it has a lot of his research and experiments. i’m also going to look for-“

before you can finish your sentence, an unwelcome intrusion slices through the air, mingling with the palpable fear creeping into your senses when you hear the low tap of footsteps outside the room.

the threat of being caught floods your mind, driving you into spontaneous action. quickly, you take jihyo’s wrist, urgency pulsating through your grip, and scan the room frantically. from the corner of your eye, a small closet appears. you bolt toward it and drag jihyo with you, then close yourselves inside.

you’re in your head trying to listen to the sound coming from the corridor that you don’t realize the compromising position you’re in.

silent seconds stretch while you two stay cautious and awareness dawns upon you, and your breath halts. one hand is unintendedly situated on the curve of jihyo’s slender waist and the other still grips her wrist. her back is pressed against the closet door, and your senses collide with her proximity, faces and bodies inches apart.

(with how quiet it is in the room, you wonder if whoever was lurking would catch you just from the pounding of your heart.)

you loosen your grip on her wrist and whisper, “sorry.”

“you’ve got a good grip.” jihyo mumbles, “and it’s okay.”

the air hangs heavy, thick with tension. you glance downwards and you’re captivated by the intensity in jihyo's eyes—intimidating and enticing even in the darkened room—and an irrepressible impulse surges within you.

jihyo lets out a shallow breath and peeks at your lips, you take a quick glance at hers before you two gape into each other’s eyes again.

now it’s jihyo’s turn to hold your wrist, and without conscious thought, your heart pounding an adrenaline-fueled rhythm, you lean forward, closing the remaining distance until your lips press against hers.

it’s soft and tender at first, then warm and thrilling. you pull away for a brief moment to utter and apology, which is muffled after jihyo crashes her lips back to you with a doubled intensity. you hum in response and she pulls you closer, making you lean down to match her height.

in the muffled silence of the closet, time becomes a mere afterthought, eclipsed by the pulsating intensity that engulfs you both. the world outside fades into oblivion as your lips meet again and again after parting to tilt your heads in the other direction after a few kisses, and after a couple more you’re changing kissing angles again.

jihyo’s hands trace over your chest, then to your shoulders and at last: your neck. she grips at your hair, tugs and pulls while simultaneously leading the kiss—she’s naturally one to take control. she swipes her tongue against your lip and you let her tongue explore your mouth, earning various hums and small groans.

you pull away to catch your breath and jihyo stops you before you can kiss her again, placing her hand on your chest and adding pressure to it to restrain your eagerness.

“sorry,” you say, cheeks flushed and breath heavy. “too much?”

jihyo laughs softly and shakes her head before responding, “not at all, y/n. it’s just, we should be careful… don’t want you to be too loud—yet. let’s continue later.” your cheeks flush from her remark and jihyo laughs lowly after hearing your breath quiver. “do you think whoever was walking is gone?”

“i- um, i’ll have to listen closer.” you mutter.

jihyo’s hand still rests on your chest, right above your heart—which is beating at an unhealthy pace—and jihyo doesn’t comment on the noticeable pounding against her palm. you pause for a moment and really concentrate your sense of hearing, listening on anything going on outside. jihyo lets you work your magic and smiles when you hum.

“no one outside, it’s clear. i’ll turn invisible and you know, check it out. i’ll let you know if you can come out; when i knock three times then that’s your cue to leave the closet, yeah?” you explain.

jihyo nods and says, “sounds good spiderwoman.” which earns a small chuckle from you. some light seeps in when you open the door, letting jihyo have a glimpse of your face: cheeks tinted pink, your ears are a darker shade, and the smirk on your face is smug.

you plant a kiss on her incredibly soft lips before disappearing from her sight, and jihyo hears a small “cute,” before the door closes. she’s left in the dark closet alone with a warm feeling in her chest—though it’s soon replaced with the realization:

oh my god… i just made out with my boss’s niece.

when you and jihyo reach the floor of the lobby, you two act like you haven’t just violated the privacy of a (now criminal) scientist.

there are two folders, a binder, and some samples from who knows what that were hastily placed inside your bag when you first got into the elevator. the two of you head towards jihyo's car, acting as if nothing has happened, despite having committed something slightly very illegal.

the detective closes her doors and you mirror her action once you sit down, and as you both put on your seatbelts jihyo scoffs, “i can’t believe you got me to do this.”

“it’s for my uncle, and you know, just in case.” you assure, looking at her as she grips the steering wheel a little tight. “in the end i think he’ll be grateful, and it’ll help with the case.”

“i know.” jihyo says, “he can be scary.”

“i’ll take care of him, okay?”

“okay.” she responds before shooting you a small smile, which makes you smile back in return.

when you reach jihyo’s apartment, you take off your jacket and hang it on the hooks on the wall. jihyo does the same with her own jacket and you meet at her kitchen island.

you take out the stolen goods from your back and drop them on the marble counter, jihyo turns on the lamp above to make it easier to read and see. jihyo stands across from you as you take out each file and skim through them, watching your eyebrows crinkle from concentration.

four pieces of paper are taken out of one of the binders—three of them being stapled together—and you quickly read through them. then, you place them on the counter, and your eyes scan the title of a sample before laying it next to the papers.

“this is it.” you sigh, looking down at the messy tapestry of notes and diagrams.

jihyo tilts her head and questions, “what?”

“my uncle’s dna. there’s notes on it and everything, it’s all scribbled here—look.” you respond, flipping the paper over and pushing it towards the detective. jihyo’s eyebrows reflect yours and furrow as she reads the text. her shoulders relax and she turns the paper over to read more, eye’s widening a little as she reads.

you pick up the sample and examine it a bit more as jihyo reads through. she looks back at you and says in disbelief, “watanabe tried to make human lizards?”

“pretty much.” you reply, “my uncle’s a big, bulky guy… watanabe probably tried to fuck with the lizard dna and his genes to make something relatively close—but thankfully, it didn’t work. here, this paper shows the trials and whatnot.” you add, handing jihyo the non-stapled paper.

jihyo sets the small packet down and reads through the one handed to her, examining the various angrily crossed-out sentences, numbers, and notes. she hums at the sight.

“so there’s nothing to worry about?” the detective asks. you nod and respond,

“no, thankfully. i’ll probably show up as spiderwoman and leave a little note to the chief, i should probably get to that soon—tonight.” you admit, leaning against the counter. “i’ll leave you alone for now, sorry for making you do all of this.”

you don’t want to leave, that’s the last thing you want to do. the small silence after you utter your last sentence urges you to pack up and leave, even if the thought of continuing whatever happened in your closet flooded your mind.

“wait,” jihyo says as you start to trudge away towards the window, and you pause in your place as soon as you take a step on the carpet on the floor.

you raise a brow in confusion (hoping jihyo read your mind). “yes?”

“just stay, the sun is already setting.” she says boldly.

“my uncle would kill me, i’m on house arrest.” you sigh, ��getting these to him as spiderwoman would get me off house arrest.”

jihyo frowns and you mirror her expression. “you really can’t stay?” she asks, brows creasing just barely.

“i would if i could.”

“well,” jihyo starts, walking over to you. “before you jump out the window,” she mumbles, now one step away from you. she places her hand on your chest and looks at you with a warm softness in her eyes. she tilts her head, then leans up to press her lips against yours, less aggressive than in the closet, but just as nerve-racking—making your heart beat quicken just from the simple contact.

you practically melt when she kisses you, and your hands instinctively reach for her cheek, cupping it gently. time seems to hesitate when she puts her arms around your neck, and you make sure to savor the taste and feel of her lips on yours.

jihyo pulls away first, but only a little so your lips still brush against each other.

“jihyo…” you mutter, and you can feel her smiling against you—her grin spreads to your own lips.

“if you’re off house arrest tomorrow… we should—”

“yes, please.” you say, “anything you want.”

“didn’t know a kiss was enough to have you so eager.” jihyo snickers gently.

you smirk and press a quick peck. “oh i can be eager—if that’s what you want?”

jihyo rolls her eyes at your stupid (yet tempting) response and pulls away so she can see your face clearly. she gazes at you for a bit, simple appreciating your presence and the faint dimple that appears on your cheek as you smile at her. jihyo fixes your hair, pushing away strands that fall over your face.

“you’re an idiot.”

“you love that though.”

“a lot.” jihyo responds, then presses a kiss to your cheek and smiles. “now go get yourself off house arrest.”

you grin. “yes detective.”

the chief stands at his desk and puts on his coat, then gathers all the papers he had already gone through in his bag. on his desk, a folder suddenly drops down with a smack and the chief jumps, letting out a small yelp.

“hi chief.” a voice says. the chief looks up and he watches the familiar vigilante become translucent, then fully visible after unveiling herself. spiderwoman releases herself from the ceiling and lands on the ground with ease. “gotcha’ some things you’d probably love to look through.”

“what the hell spidergirl—”

“please, i know i’m supposed to mask my identity, but spiderwoman is better. c’mon man, i’m in my twenties.” you groan. the chief looks at you and shakes his head, then picks up the folder that had scared him half to death earlier.

your uncle furrows his brows slightly as he reads the papers (same as jihyo did, you note. at this point everything is reminding you of her—even the bulky man in front of you).

“where— where did you get this? how—”

“told you i’d check it out. nothing to worry about chief, just wanted to ease your worries.” you shrug, “i told you i’m not the bad guy.”

the chief examines you for a moment, looking you up and down before his shoulders drop. he puts the papers back in the folder and stares at it for a couple seconds, exhaling in relief.

“thank you.” he says, “i was… really on edge.”

“anytime.” you say, smiling from under the mask. the chief walks up to you, looking down and narrowing his eyes before softening his gaze. he puts his hand out and you look at it in surprise—as well as confusion.

“let’s keep contact, spiderwoman.” the chief says, “maybe you’re not so bad.” he adds. you hesitate for a moment and stare at his hand for a moment longer before shaking it. the chief doesn’t break your hand, doesn’t pull you in and throw you to the ground—he shakes it professionally and nods. “you’ve earned my trust.”

you want to lift your mask up and show him your proud smile, and a part of you wants to reveal yourself.

“i’m glad. i’m just your friendly neighborhood spiderwoman after all, harmless!” you beam.

“that’s debatable. i saw what you did to that monster.” he responds. you catch the faint twitch of his lips: an almost smile.

“how else could i save everyone?”

“i guess you’re right, get going kid, sun is setting.”

“i told you i’m in my twenties!”

“you really remind me of someone i know spiderwoman.” he says with a breath of amusement, “have a good night, thank you again.” he finally adds before grabbing his bag. the chief walks past spiderwoman without body-slamming her or anything like that; the tall, hefty man simply walks out and leaves spiderwoman speechless.

that’s all it took to get on his good side?

jihyo walks into the building and the routine is the same as always: she greets the front desk lady—rachel was her name, she’s sweet and always has a smile on for anyone talking to her. after her usual friendly greeting, jihyo walks over to her desk and greets the rest of the team.

as jihyo sets her bag down, a familiar face appears and greets the detective.

“hello park, morning.” francis beams, smiling softly at jihyo. francis was one of the newer cops, he was pretty young for one—but great at his job. jihyo was quite fond of him, he was nice and competent.

“morning, how are you?”

“good, good.” he says before yawning, “glad it’s friday.”

“me too.” jihyo responds with a laugh, taking out a few reports from her bag and turning on the computer in front of her.

the detective turns back to the monitor in front of her and gets to typing, looking down at the paper and back up to the screen as she types various letters, numbers, and who knows what at this point.

her mind is completely foggy, she tries to get some work done, tries to copy down the reports and examine them. the only thing she can really focus on is the memory of your lips on hers, and whether you’re off house arrest because she really needs a continuation of what happened in that damn closet.

jihyo flinches at the sudden sound of the voice she’s been missing most and looks down at her desk to see a 16oz paper coffee cup on her desk.

“morning detective.”

“jesus!” jihyo yelps, “don’t do that!”

“i thought you’d get used to it by now.” you snicker. jihyo smiles as you pull a chair up next to her and sit down, sipping on your own beverage. “i’m off house arrest.”

“i can see that.” jihyo sighs, though the tone of her voice doesn’t match the way her heart warms upon your arrival. “shouldn’t you be at work?”

“technically it’s an internship,” you respond, “but i guess it’s my job now, seeing they pay me more than some of the actual employees.”

“well whatever it is you should probably be at the building, no?”

“i have work in less than forty minutes. do you hate my presence that much?” you question, a pout forming. “didn’t hate it that much yesterday—"

the detective punches your shoulder and you wince playfully before jihyo rolls her eyes and takes a sip of the coffee you brought her. “you’re loud, too loud for someone who’s my boss’s blood relative.” she scolds you lowly and sets down the beverage before redirecting her attention back to the screen. “and no, i don’t hate your presence, just don’t want you slacking or getting scolded.” she admits, a smile threatening to form on her lips.

you laugh and gaze at her for a moment, taking in the slope of her nose and catching a glimpse of the small mole on the tip of it. your eyes trace the sharp curve of her jaw, and then your look sets on her lips—the taste and feel lingers in your mind. jihyo pretends to ignore your blatant stare.

“i’ll stop bothering you for a bit, should probably get going anyway and let my favorite detective get to work.” you mumble. jihyo turns as you begin to stand up and furrows her brows. she looks to around quickly and grabs your wrist, making you turn and hum in confusion.

“wait,” she starts, trying to keep you close to her for just a while more, “i just printed something, you should come with me before you go.” you smile at her suggestion and set your coffee down on her desk, then nod.

the walk to the printing room is quite silent, nothing is said or heard other than the click of jihyo’s boots reverberating. when you get to the small room, a man walks out and smiles at jihyo before holding the door for the two of you. the detective smiles back before going in, with you trailing behind.

jihyo goes to the screen of the printer and taps at a few buttons, then sighs, “out of paper, come with me to get some.”

“yes ma’am.”

the paper and supplies room are two rooms down from the printing area, and so the two of you walk down the hall then into the room.

jihyo opens the door and you enter first—what catches you completely off guard is the way your senses are quickly overwhelmed.

without warning, your back is pushed against the closed door and you’re immobilized by jihyo’s body pressing against you. before you can comprehend what’s happening, her warm, soft lips press against yours with a slight aggression and it makes you groan immediately.

your hands find their way to her waist, the other on her upper rib to push her closer into you—craving the warmth and feeling it gives you.

something about making out in a dimmed, small room feels right to the two of you; you’ve made out twice so far and both times have been in relatively similar spaces. this won’t be the last time you make out in a small space.

jihyo pulls away and your brain is hazy, you immediately move yourself closer to capture her lips again.

“fuck,” you sigh in between kisses, “what’s with the sudden—” you get cut off with another harsh kiss, making you groan louder into her mouth. jihyo’s tongue finds its way into your mouth and your hands find their way to her skin, and it makes her shiver from the contact.

every nerve in jihyo’s body wakes as soon as your lips come into contact with her neck, and she stifles a groan when you start to nip at it.

“no marks, not now.” she says dissapointingly.

“later?”

“maybe.” she says, and immediately, a sharp breath leaves her lips when you add a bit of pressure on her waist, squeezing it gently.

a sudden shift in the atmosphere tingles your senses, making your lips detach and actions halt. you shiver at the feeling, instantly pulling away from jihyo and trying to compose yourself.

“someone’s coming, act busy.” you mutter quickly before turning on the light and pretending to busy yourself by reaching for papers on the shelf.

the door opens and you almost flinch at the familiar voice that greets the two of you.

“y/n? jihyo? what are you two doing here?” the chief asks. both you and jihyo stiffen at the sound of who had almost walked in on you. jihyo clears her throat abruptly.

“ah, l/n. i was printing something out and y/n decided to help me out.”

the chief chuckles, “y/n, when do you have to clock in?”

“thirty minutes, figured i’d waste a bit of time with park.” you shrug, “i always make it on time.”

the chief laughs and jihyo tenses her jaw slightly as she smiles at him, fixing her hair and jacket she has on. “well,” the chief starts, “grab me some sticky notes while you’re over there, i’ll let you two converse.” he adds. you nod and grab a stack of pink sticky notes—his favorite color—and toss them at him.

“there you go old man.” you tease.

“watch it,” he says playfully, “and are you sick? your cheeks are so pink.”

again, you and jihyo tense up—you clear your throat before responding, “there’s dust here, i sneezed and rubbed my face too hard.” you lie, almost stumbling over your words when you glance at jihyo.

the chief nods and sighs, “well, don’t get my detective sick.” and with that he exits the room, shutting the door harshly (he’s oblivious to his strength at times), which lets you and jihyo sigh out in relief.

“we need to get a room.” you groan,

“yeah.” jihyo laughs, “are you free tonight?” she asks, and it makes you look at her in surprise, cheeks warming up once again.

“only if you are—and if no one tries to rob a bank.”

jihyo laughs and responds, “i am, and i might just have a room.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” jihyo says, smirking. “if it means anything, my window will be unlocked if someone wants to swing by.”

“hmmm, i’ll keep that in mind.”

jihyo’s jaw tenses and she looks at you in a way that fills your nerves with temptation. “good. now let’s print these out, i need to hand them to the forensics.”

jihyo hums along to a tune playing from her phone as she wipes down the counter next to the stove—it’s a slow melody, something fitting for the dimmed room and quiet night.

she hasn’t seen you in a few hours—though it seems like decades—so she’s cleaning up and wandering around to pass the time.

when she finishes cleaning her countertops she walks over to the sink to wash her hands, still humming along to the melody that fills the room with a soft ambiance. jihyo turns off the sink and the unexpected feeling of two large hands on her waist makes her shriek and turn around quickly.

she calms down when she’s met with your grin, but her irritation quickly replaces the relief and she punches your rib lightly; you wince at the feeling dramatically, clutching your side and pouting.

“hey! what was that for?” you groan, and it makes detective park smile.

jihyo crosses her arms and leans against the counter. “you’re going to kill me one day y/n.”

“aw, am i making your heart beat that fast?”

she punches your shoulder again and says, “oh shut up.” you grin at her cheekily.

jihyo takes a moment to examine you and somehow you’re cuter everytime she sees you. you’re wearing some comfy looking navy sweatshirt paired with black sweatpants, how adorable.

the mood in the air shifts when you run your eyes up and down jihyo, and she seems to have gained some of her own powers from the way she reads your mind. you lick your lips swiftly and smirk—it’s not a big one, but the slight curve of one side of your lips is noticeable.

“i told my uncle i’d be staying with a friend for the night,” you explain, and the tempting look in your eyes is replaced by curiosity with a hint of wonder. “i brought some drinks, got a sweet tooth?”

“i can’t pass down drinks from you.”

“you like strawberry soda?” you ask—jihyo hums. “good. i um— thought… maybe we could watch a movie—or just talk? i don’t know honestly, i’ve just been wanting to see you.” you admit, “i realized we haven’t really had time to you know, go on a date and just hang out without any of it being work or crime related… i wanted to be with you.”

jihyo laughs and she feels her heart thud against her chest. “you’re cute.”

“thanks, but you’re cuter,” you reply, which makes jihyo blush and she tries to hide it by walking over to her living room area. you follow behind and she sits down on her couch, patting down a space for you.

“didn’t know spiderwoman was so romantic.”

“hey hey… spiderwoman is a lot of things.” you huff.

you and detective park—no, just jihyo, sweet, genuine, and crazily pretty jihyo—talk for an hour. it starts off with you explaining that you earned the chiefs trust, then it goes on to complaining about said chief, nothing too new though laughs are shared. jihyo complains about her job and the paperwork that’s been piling on her desk and you complain about your side hustle; jihyo is attentive, listening to you ramble about your spiderwoman story of the recent (and very pretentious) group of high school boys who tried to rob a gas station.

talking with jihyo feels easy, it’s not like you have to force yourself or exaggerate anything; conversing with jihyo feels right.

the whole hour of you two simply sharing sodas and drinks leads to scooting closer, shoulders touching and heads leaned back against the top of the touch.

when silence floods for a bit after you share another anecdote, jihyo takes this time to blatantly admire your face—keeping her look on your lips for a couple seconds longer than the other features.

it’s you who closes the distance this time, no words need to be exchanged when you finally do what the both of you have wanted to do: simply lock lips.

“fuck i missed this,”

jihyo smiles when she pulls away. “it’s been a couple hours, y/n.”

“one minute is already too long.” you mumble before kissing her again.

this time your kiss is slow and soft, not the same crashing of hungry lips against each other, it’s soft, sweet, and you two take your time since there’s no risk of being caught. no rush at all.

in contrast to your previous (rushed, aggressive, and heated) kisses, you both take your time to really appreciate each other’s intimacy.

the new comfort and absent feeling of cautiousness lets you savor the feeling of jihyo’s lips on yours: warm, soothing, and everything you didn’t know you needed. you taste the faint hint of strawberry off her while she cups your face, sliding her fingers to the back of your neck and rubbing her thumb against your skin.

a few minutes (you guess it’s been a few minutes, cant be that long, no? it’s been thirty minutes) pass and the two of you have your hands roaming around, the kisses get needier by the second.

hunger hurriedly takes over and you’re practically eating other’s mouths in no time. despite the change in pace and intimacy, you’re perfectly fine with it; if anything, it’s perfect how it escalated from a simple sweet kiss to whatever is making your cunt throb.

you blindly shift yourselves and jihyo backs up to lay down comfortably on the cushions of the couch. one thing you that made your breath uneasy was the way jihyo tangled her fingers in your hair, especially the way she tugged at it occasionally. her hand rested on your neck at first, then she moved it down to your waist and slid her nimble fingers under your sweatshirt, making contact with your skin. you whimpered unintentionally at the sudden contact, which was not only amusing—but also incredibly alluring to jihyo.

“you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you?” she mumbles, pushing a strand of your hair out of your face. “i think it’s cute how you’re on top of me, but you seem much more shaken up.”

you try to respond to jihyo, but a lump forms in your throat when she pulls back a little more and looks at you like you’re the cutest thing in the world. jihyo slides her hands further up near the middle of your ribs, making your breath hitch.

“didn’t know you’d be this easy to rile up spiderwoman.”

before you can try to respond, she closes the gap you groan into her mouth. with a swift press of her fingers against your skin, you part your lips for her to explore your mouth, then push yourself closer to her. her touch sends a shiver down your spine and the way her tongue takes over in your mouth drives you fucking crazy.

she makes her way down to your neck with soft kisses serving as a trail, then nips at your skin softly, eliciting a soft, breathy “fuck” from you.

jihyo pulls away and you whine. she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and looks into your eyes before mumbling, “you’re cute.”

you smile and your lips meet again, you pull away to murmur against her lips softly, “bedroom?” and jihyo hums in agreement.

the two of you get up from the couch, but your lips are almost unable to part from one another for more than five seconds. you bump into the walls clumsily, which makes you two laugh even as you groan into each other’s mouths—it’s all so heartwarming and cute—and soon you manage to make it to jihyo’s room.

now it’s jihyo’s turn to press you against the door again. you curse lowly as she marks up your neck again and try to feel for the light switch against the wall; you manage to light up the room despite your eyes closing from the overwhelming feeling of jihyo’s skilled lips.

she pulls away for a second and asks, “are you sure you want to-“

“fuck yes, please.” you answer immediately, then cut her off with a hungry kiss that leaves her stumbling back. you kiss her needily and fumble with the edge of her shirt before slipping it off, and when you pull away to gaze at her body you let out a breath of amazement.

jihyo laughs. “you kept teasing me about how i could undress you, but look who’s so eager to have me naked.” she asks, catching you staring at her in awe. you part your lips at the sight of her tremendously toned core and she snickers. “you like what you see?”

“love what i see,” you sigh, “shit, you’re beautiful.”

“let me help you out, i wanna see what’s under there again.”

with a swift movement, she slips off your sweatshirt and you’re both standing close to each other topless.

you were confident enough with your words and jihyo seeing your skin when you had that mask on, but now that it’s just you; you feel a little shy now that you’re a bit revealed in front of jihyo—despite still having a bra on—and you avoid eye contact.

her eyes soften. “you’re so pretty.” she sighs, then kisses you swiftly and sweetly.

the detective is a natural leader, and it’s showing now. she guides you to the bed while exploring the curves and grooves of your body, then she’s straddling you on her queen sized bed.

you pull away and jihyo looks at your dilated pupils—completely taking over your eyes.

“can i— can i take your bra off?”

“of course.” jihyo responds.

your fingers work to unclasp jihyo’s bra and holy shit you’re stunned. your eyes widen and you exhale in amazement.

as embarrassing as it is to admit, you’ve fantasized at the ungodly hours of the night and also during those boring moments at work about seeing jihyo like this. you thought you’d be fine in a situation like this seeing you’ve daydreamed about it—but fuck it’s better than anything you can imagine now that it’s really happening. you pause in your place, halting any action.

“cat got your tongue?”

“i— fuck you’re so pretty jihyo.” you sigh, “can i touch you?”

“of course,” and right after her approval your hand slides up from her waist to her chest.

the way she gasps as you brush your fingers over her nipple is music to your ears, and it does not help the way your cunt throbs. something about the way she groans roughly when you pinch her bud slightly makes you groan in response, muttering a small “holy shit” in response.

you press a chaste kiss on her breast and trail down with your tongue to swirl around the peak of her breast, taking note of what kind of action makes her breath shake the most. the only thing you want to do right now is make her feel good, make her feel the same as you.

“your tits are so fucking nice,” you say, and jihyo lets out a sound that’s a mix of a laugh and a moan.

a couple minutes pass of you shamelessly indulging in jihyo’s tits (something that you could get used to—something that you need to do often) and your lips find their way back to each other. then, jihyo pulls away and she look at you with lidded eyes.

“can i—”

“please,” you interject, “please.”

“whatever you’d like,” jihyo says amusingly, “let me take care of you. i’m gonna make you feel good, okay?”

you nod eagerly and she unclasps your own bra, biting her lip at the new territory revealed. she mutters a compliment and you simply whimper at her words. needless to say, your reactions have jihyo surprised and invested.

she works at your tits for a while, leaving a couple marks in between, under, and on them. you grip at her bedsheets and arch your back at the way she swirls her tongue skillfully around your sensitive areas, you’re practically drowning in bliss and she hasn’t even touched you where you need it most yet.

her lips leave a trail of pecks on your body as she lowers down, and when she reaches your soft tummy her hands tug your pants down.

“hyo, p—please…” you groan, “please touch me.”

jihyo hums and she presses a finger against your underwear, it makes your hips twitch.

she kisses your inner thighs and leaves you breathless, your eyes shut as you press against the mattress. she pulls away and slides your underwear off, tossing it aside carelessly and biting her lip when she meets your core.

a soft peck is pressed on your clit and you let out a stifled moan. gently, she slides her fingers along your walls. she smiles at how aroused you are, feeling the slick that dampens her fingers.

“god, you’re so wet y/n.”

“shut—shut up.”

“excited aren’t you?” she teases, “i like this side of you more than spiderwoman to be honest.”

before you can respond, she latches her mouth onto your pussy and the surge of pleasure makes you groan so loud that it even takes you by surprise. you bite your lip the more she lashes at your dripping center, sucking, slicking, and savoring the sweet slick that seeps out.

your hand immediately reaches for her hair the more she indulges in your pussy, and she groans against you.

you’re not sure how long it’s been since she went down on you, but you’re feeling that knot forming in your stomach the more she tongue fucks you and the more you whine. you’re completely lost in pleasure; a few points of contact from her nose to your clit and tongue to your walls and you’re sent over the edge.

a hoarse, strangled sound between a cry and a moan is heard from you, jihyo continues to savor your sweetness. you push your head back into the mattress and jihyo trails back up to you with kisses.

“holy shit,” you say breathless, jihyo grins while you recover.

“how was it?”

“i— think you know the answer.” you sigh as you prop yourself on your elbows. “i’ve um, i’ve thought about you like this before and— this is better than anything i’ve ever imagined.”

jihyo chuckles and you cup her cheek, then kiss her fervently. she hums into the kiss and you pull away, stroking her cheek with your thumb.

seeing as you’re spiderwoman, you’re naturally quick to recover. your hand moves back to her breast and you brush your finger over her nipple, earning a sharp breath from her.

“my turn to make you feel good.”

with a swift motion, you flip jihyo over and pin her down on the bed. she gasps at the sudden change, and before she has time to process much—you’re already occupied with her boobs.

blindly, you slider her pants and panties off with a quick motion and slide your hands up and down her legs. jihyo’s moans are on the louder side, and they’re strangled too.

you’re so eager to hear her come undone, so eager to leave her a mess. with thumb her clit once, then twice, and then stick your fingers inside—which has jihyo’s nails grasping at your shoulder and her breath shaking.

the more you pump in and out, the closer she is to breaking. you savor each and every moan that reverberates against the walls in her room, making sure the target the spots that make her curse louder than ever. her hands uncontrollably grip at your tricep, then your shoulder, and soon she’s gripping your hair, which has you groaning against her chest shamelessly while you mark it up.

“y-y/n, oh— i’m close, i-i’m— keep going,"

with the overwhelming sensation of your tongue swirling around her nipple and the way your thumb presses against her clit—she’s breathing heavily, shaking, and soon enough she’s trembling after a loud yelp. she mutters a string of curses and does what you had done before, sinking into the mattress and once you pull away from her chest to gaze at her; she pulls you in for a messy, sensual kiss.

the two of you stay like that for a while, kissing tiredly and sloppily before you fall over beside her on the bed.

“god, y/n…”

“did you like it?” you ask. the smug smirk on your lips makes jihyo sigh amusingly and she shakes her head playfully.

“of course i did.”

“we should…” you begin, “do this more often—if you’re fine with that.”

jihyo laughs and you lay your head on her chest.

“i’m more than fine with it, spiderwoman.”

when jihyo wakes up, she feels an extra warmth on the left side of her body.

she looks down and looks at the face squished in her chest which makes her smile immediately. you’re breathing gently and one arm is draped across her body, loosely resting above her waist.

“like my boobs that much?” she chuckles softly, tracing her finger along your soft skin. you grumble into her and sigh, waking up to the low sound of her voice.

you blink three times—though the first two times were slow and lazy—then shift closer into her. your hand presses her against you more, and you tangle your leg with hers before mumbling, “morning.”

she laughs at the lower tone of your morning voice and kisses your forehead. “good morning y/n.”

after rubbing your face against her shoulder, you push yourself up and prop yourself up on one elbow. jihyo laughs at your squinted, tired eyes before you tickle her with kisses on her jaw and neck.

“jihyo,” you begin—she hums in response. “do you think we rushed this?” you ask, referring to whatever relationship you two have now as you slide your along the skin over her ribs.

“hm, i don’t think so. you’ve already been saying a lot of suggestive things prior to this.”

“you liked it though.”

“maybe.” jihyo says, rolling her eyes. you drop back down onto the bed and return to nuzzling your face into the crook of her neck, kissing it once before closing your eyes again. “y/n,” jihyo says again, this time with a tone that makes you open your eyes again.

“yes?”

“what would your uncle say if… if he knew his detective slept with his niece?”

now your eyes widen and your body tenses. “shit.” you groan. jihyo laughs and you sit up quickly. “how bad did you mark me?”

“let’s hope there’s a store nearby that has concealer in your shade y/n.”

#twice x reader #twice imagines #kpop x reader #miinatozakiii #jihyo x reader #twice jihyo #park jihyo #jihyo imagines #twice #jihyo

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therealslimshakespeare · 4 months ago

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ok i had a crazy thought. u know how in that little blurb with lu and benny she laughs to herself and he’s like “what’s that?” that was soooooooo fucking cute. like so cute. and now i’m thinking that if she ever (as a yapper) tries to get out a sentence during sex but cuts herself off by moaning, he’d slow down and like wait for her to say what she wants to say. because i think being connected in that moment is so important to her and he often enforces it, not even her. the exception to this is if she’s speaking protests or wanting to drive he will keep kissing until she is satiated and slumps into the passenger seat.

Except in question:

He’s got his eyes closed again, lashes fanned out on freckling cheeks. And Lu is watching him once more and thinking how much she’d like to be a couple of lazy lizards with Benny.

She snickers at the thought.

“What’s that?” he hums.

Lu shakes her head, disbelieving that she’s about to embarrass herself like this but at least he still has his eyes closed, “I was thinking that we’re a pair of lizards.” And that she’d like to keep being a lizard with him and have a lizard family.

Holy shit Nonnie now this is what j call a good contribution to filth?! Whoaaaa damn ok yes, yes we already talked of him edging her but this is such a perfect extra characterization, taking it to a new level. Your use of the word “enforcing” has done funny things to my womb, it’s so hot and so loving and just Jeeze. I can literally see and hear him slowing down and making her say it lovingly teasing and insistent ughh

#starting off strong #filthy friday #those who can #Benny x Lu

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strandnreyes · 11 days ago

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2024 fic round up

thanks for tagging me @heartstringsduet @whatsintheboxmh @henrygrass !!

sacred new beginnings

After five years of marriage, TK and Carlos have been through a lot together, but change is never something that stays away for too long. As they approach a new phase of their lives—searching for a new home—they continue to navigate many other changing aspects of their relationship—family drama, work dynamics, sex, and discussions of their future.

With each twist and turn, they work through it as they always do. Together.

Or, the marriage fic.

tell me you're still mine

Their first Valentine’s Day as husbands is far from what TK expected, but despite the circumstances, they still manage to make it their own.

the rainbow fish cowritten with @welcometololaland

Despite being a big fan of animals, TK Strand has never owned one. He’s never had a reason to enter a pet store, until he gets caught in a torrential downpour.

Carlos Reyes knows a lot about pet stores. It comes with the territory, considering he works at one. That being said, none of his in-store training ever taught him how to help a beautiful, rain-soaked stranger pick up the aquarium rock display they just knocked over.

The Tarlos pet store meet-cute.

all of you, all of me intertwined

A collection of unrelated stories taken from prompts about types of hugs, subtle love, and setting the scene.

the wildest winter

TK’s second winter in Antarctica starts the same as the first—short days, cold nights, and a never-ending work load. Except when Carlos returns part way through the season after a sudden departure last year, TK has to learn to cope with being in the most remote place on Earth with the man he used to warm up with nearly every night. An expedition for emergency maintenance throws them together again, but when they become part of the emergency, they’re forced to face their pasts.

all is not lost

As they tear through the loft, Carlos gets flashbacks to when he had to do the same for a lost lizard. Twice. Except this time it’s not a reptile, but a very expensive engagement ring that doesn’t even belong to them. They flip cushions and roll rugs and dig through the dishes filled with pretzels or chocolate covered almonds, but even after their home looks like a tornado ripped through it, they’re still empty handed.

TK slumps down on the living room floor after a last ditch effort to look under the couch, staring up at Carlos with wide, horrified eyes. “The ring is gone,” he mutters, and all Carlos can do is swallow past his dry throat and nod.

Or, a tale of three lost rings

what could've been

After recent events, Carlos once again considers what it means to be a father.

third time's the charm

TK has an idea for role play. Carlos isn’t totally on board.

so much for summer love

The summer before his senior year of college at NYU, TK finds himself in Galveston, Texas, working at a restaurant on the beach. It’s there that he meets Carlos, a fellow server with a heartstopping smile and a need for a temporary break from his own life back in Austin. Without planning it, the two of them fall into a whirlwind romance that’s a bad idea for a million different reasons, yet they can’t figure out how to stay away.

these fatal fantasies

Carlos always feels at home working in the stables, where he’s accustomed to order and solitude. Except when a disturbance catches the attention of the king, Carlos is presented with an offer he can’t refuse: the prince’s guard.

Prince Tyler is the last person Carlos wants to spend all his time with, but he commits to his duty of saving a life. Along the way, he learns that spending so much time with TK is dangerous all on its own.

save a horse, ride a cowboy

After a comment about being good with horses leaves TK wondering what else he doesn’t know about his fiancé, he jumps on the opportunity to ranch sit for the night. The 24 hours they spend together out in rural Texas have them falling even deeper in love.

leave the light on

Early in the hours of the morning, Carlos finally makes it home.

A post 5x01 coda

meet me in the afterglow

TK and Carlos’ thoughts, feelings, and actions throughout the course of 5x05

never quite buried

It’s a deal they made a century ago—when they reach their 100th anniversary, they’ll spend a month apart. It’s preventative more than anything, but TK and Carlos go through with it anyway, even if it’ll be the longest they’ve been apart since they met on a dreary autumn day. When it’s over, TK is more than eager to reunite with Carlos at the place where their love story began, but when he doesn’t show, TK realizes his worst nightmare has come to life. As it turns out, tracking down vampire hunters and his kidnapped husband is the easy part.

keep your hands in my hands

As one chapter in Carlos’ life comes to a close, another one begins.

brighter in the morning cowritten with @paperstorm

Sometimes nights together are hard to come by, but TK and Carlos find ways to connect as husbands in the morning.

A series of 12 mornings together for each of the 12 episodes in season 5 (plot permitting …)

because you want it

Late December always feels like a zoo for Carlos as he prepares his classroom for winter break, but when an afterwork errand causes him to bump into a handsome paramedic, Carlos’ holiday season takes a turn. As they begin to get to know one another through shared meals and traditions, Carlos finds a whole new reason to feel joyful this season.

the railyard

One dead body, seven suspects, and two undercover detectives sent in to get to the bottom of it. It shouldn’t be too difficult—TK and Carlos are used to solving murders—but when the department decides the best cover is to go in as newlywed husbands, they’re forced to face some hard truths. As the case goes on, they struggle to remember what’s real and what’s fake, and they worry the suspects’ secrets may not be the only ones that are revealed.

fics written in 2024, but not yet published

this is me trying - coming soon

Early in their relationship, TK finds Narcan in Carlos’ glovebox. He doesn’t take it well.

right where you left me - coming soon

When Carlos isn’t ready to be a parent and Jonah needs a home, TK and Carlos must make the impossible decision to go their separate ways. Two years later and they’re still trying to get their hearts on board with that plan, but time has passed and things have changed, and they learn that maybe they don’t have to figure out how to move on after all.

tagging @paperstorm @lightningboltreader @reyesstrand @tellmegoodbye @carlos-in-glasses @welcometololaland @rmd-writes + open tag!!

#tag game

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tlirswriting · 5 days ago

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[They Colonized Mars, entry 5 // start here]

Maintain:

v. To keep in an existing state (as of repair, efficiency, or validity) : preserve from failure or decline

Maintain machinery

To sustain against opposition or danger : uphold and defend

To continue or persevere

> Atlas unclips his key-card from his belt and shoves it into the lock on his door, emitting a beep as the mechanism clicks open. He stumbles inside, kicking off his sand- and frost-crusted boots, and slumps down on the floor. He stretches his leg, and it resists the movement, sand gritting between the moving parts of his brace.

> He grumbles, pressing and sliding the connectors around his thigh and ankle to release the brace and slide it off — repeating for his other leg, and both arms — and fumbles his hand over a small bedside table for a wire brush and can of compressed air.

> He gets to work on one of his knees. Canned air hisses from the nozzle, blowing dust from his mechanized joints. He turns it over in his hand, inspecting it, and sees more caught between hinges, sticking in oil.

> He scrubs, twisting the brush into awkward angles, specks of gunk flicking to the floor and sticking to his hands.

> Selene beeps beside him. “My field of view is obstructed,” She states, covered in a thin layer of orange dust.

> “Oh, shit, sorry.” He wipes his hands on his pant legs and scoots over to her. “Guess it is, huh?”

> He blows the dust off the sensor array on her front panel.

> “Thank you.”

> “How are your legs?” He asks as he runs a hand down her rounded 90° angles. “Can I take a look?”

> “Yes, you may.”

> “Okay, let me just…”

> He hooks his fingers under her bottom edge, lifting — straining, surprisingly heavy — until she tips over with a thud. He presses a hand to her bottom panel, cool and smooth to the touch, thrumming slightly.

> Her four legs stick straight out to the side, small cone-shaped claws corresponding to each bottom corner. He takes one in his hand and gently tugs, extending it outward, exposing a longer segmented metal structure, something to allow climbing over shelving. Sand, of course, found its way through her outer paneling, and settled into the machinery’s crevices.

> “Tell me,” She beeps, “About yourself. What is it like?”

> Atlas hums, scrubbing the wire brush against her joints. “That's kinda broad. You got anything more specific?”

> “Your life. What is it like?”

> “Well… more of the same, mostly. I get up, I go to work, I go out…”

> “You are not Human.”

> He pauses. “Yeah, no, I'm not.”

> She blinks.

> “My, uh… my father was Human, my mother was Martian. There used to be more of us.”

> “What happened to the Martians?”

> “Well, we're still here, but… you know, it's…”

> “I do not know.”

> He sighs. “My mom used to tell me about before, how we used to live underground in the caves. Deep, deep underground, where it's warmer, ‘cause you're closer to the planet's core, and there was still life in the water. Algae, shrimp, whatever. Fish and lizards. Things like that. And, um… and we had stories about how there used to be breathable air on the surface, too — we knew those sandy valleys used to be rivers before the Humans figured it out with their telescopes, we knew about the mountains and how they used to be volcanoes.”

> “What happened?”

> “I'm not sure, that's all, like, billions of years ago. Mars froze over, the surface dried out, the atmosphere thinned. I don't know. But, we went underground, adapted to it.”

> He steadies himself.

> “Anyway, the Humans came, and they didn't know any of this was still here until they started probing. Just for knowledge, at first, until they found liquid water, and oxygen, and they realized they could settle here and sell the land to the highest bidders. Americans, really, but they all wanted a slice. They started building pipelines to pump the water and air up to the surface.”

> “What happened to the people?”

> “What do you think?”

> Her lights blink back and forth. “Oh.”

> “It wasn't just that they didn't care, it was on purpose — they killed us for getting in their way, they…” He clears his throat. “They used to offer bounties for it, they'd be paid for every head they brought back. They hunted us like animals, it's…”

> “I'm sorry.”

> Atlas takes in an unsteady breath, swallows, and half-lies: “It's fine, that was all before I was born.”

> “I wish…” She deliberates. “I could hold you.”

> He thinks of the hardware planted inside him. “I think you can, actually — hold on.”

> He stands up, slowly, knees cracking and wobbling.

> He reaches into a drawer, pushing aside miscellaneous mechanical junk, and grabs a standard-sized, double-ended cable. Carefully, he plugs one end into Selene, making sure that it fits, and feels along the nape of his neck to find the port connecting to his nervous system nestled between two cervical vertebrae.

> He gasps as they click together, sparks tingling down his spine. “Do you feel that?” He asks her, sinking down to his knees.

> “Yes.”

> He raises a hand in front of him and turns it over, flexing his fingers. It repeats the motion without his input. “What does it feel like?”

> “It is… interesting. Your flesh is pliable. Soft.”

> Willingly, he moves beside himself, allowing her to take his arm. Electricity hums through the wires.

> “It pulses.”

> “My heartbeat.”

> “And breathes. Everything is moving — blinking, twitching.”

> He looks at her, and sees himself through the fisheye lens of her cameras, her own sight fed back to him, watching himself tilt his head. Through his eyes, she sees herself; a cuboid shape about a meter high, but something else, somehow. She feels alive, and he feels it.

> The feedback loop makes his pulse race.

> His head spins and he reaches an arm out to catch himself, holding onto her top edge, feeling the pressure of his own hand on her hard plastic shell. Tentatively, she moves his other hand up to touch his face, cupping his jaw.

> It goes without saying; it thrums through them like a single body.

> She strokes his cheek, feeling the curve of his face and calluses on his hands, and he turns to press a kiss to her palm. She feels the ache in his legs, the weight of his arms; she feels soft lips, warm breath, his knees pressing against the floor.

> His eyes open — he couldn’t tell he closed them — and she watches his pupils expand in almost-black irises, just a little too big for a Human, as she slips two fingers into his mouth and feels along his tongue. He sucks on them, gently, curling his upper lip over his teeth and licking the space between her fingers. Something coils low in his stomach when she presses deeper, touching the back of his throat, and he suppresses a gag.

> She pulls out and examines the spit on his fingers, listening to his breathing.

> He could feel her thought processes, her curiosity and longing.

> She reaches up and touches his hair, gently stretching a curl and twisting it between her thumb and forefinger. She lightly scratches his scalp, and he melts into her touch, making a noise low in his throat. Her fingers find a broken-off nub of a tendril, twitching, and she grabs it, making him yelp.

> Flinching away, he grabs her wrist.

> I'm sorry, she thinks to him.

> It's okay, it's just— he doesn't have words for what it is. She understands.

> He leans forward and rests his face against the flat plane of her paneling, perfectly smooth and pleasantly cool under his flushed skin.

#they colonized mars #my writing #original fiction #ITS HERE 🎉 the freaky part youve all been waiting for

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

Text

⋆ 𝐏𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃

Dark!Commander Mills x f!Reader

word count: 3.7K

warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove Do Not Eat; this fic may be unsettling for some readers. Dark!Mills, Chasing Predator/Prey, fear, tense scenes. DubCon [Non-Con Themes?]. Mentions of body hair, Size Difference/Size Kink. Pussy slapping, unprotected p in v sex, tummy bulge, claiming, cream pie

➛ mills masterlist I| main masterlist |I send an ask I| taglist

Jagged bark digs into the skin of your back through the thin, soft cotton fabric of your shirt. You feel the amber tree sap seep into the canvas, sticking uncomfortably to your back and clinging to you as you try to ease your hyperventilation. The cells of your lungs vibrate with alarm, stinging as you suck in mouthfuls of oxygen.

Get away.

The sunshine thrashes you, your skin slick with the sweat that rolls down your temples. Heat ebbs at the edges of your mind, teasing you with the promise of unconsciousness. Rest. It urges you to let your knees slump, to ease your aching body down to the forest floor and close your eyes for a moment– you can’t. You can’t be certain how far ahead you were or how much of a head-start he had conceded.

It had been freezing when you awoke, the cold biting your skin raw even as it thawed. A low hum deafened your ears, subconscious tears frosting your coarse eyelash hairs together and forcing your lids shut. Panicked, you had pushed the heels of your palms to your eyes in an attempt to melt the frosty glue, feeling something slippy and thick smear across the skin of your cheekbone.

The metal tang to the scent that pierced your nostrils indicated you were bleeding, pain leaping forward in your skull and forcing your eyes open in your discomfort. Like a mallet smashed over your head, the sounds of your surroundings cracked through your ear drums. A deafening siren screamed, blurring your vision with the intensity of its volume. Glass tinkled against the metal shell of the cryogenic chamber as you’d wearily pushed yourself from the leather seat you had called home for an estimated double solar-cycle. Your limbs were stiff, unused and preserved in ice for twenty-four months.

Green flooded your vision as you rose to your feet, a flashing light on the data pad of your chamber indicating your apparent survival following defrost. You’d been thankful to see your vitals displayed across the screen– you had felt so awful upon waking that you were almost certain you had died.

Relief that had flooded your veins curdled into distress when the data pad beeped, a cursor swiping across the pixels to dismiss the notification of your stirring.

You hadn’t given the scene much notice from then, jittery fear shuddering over your skin and forcing your feet forward. The ship that had meant to deliver you to Somaris was nowhere in sight, but debris pieces of the vessel had lay strewn across the forest floor. Orange embers still glowed within the metal of some large slabs of metal.

The realisation had been slow to arrive, the throbbing remnants of a concussion sweeping nausea throughout your body as you stumbled over the fallen trees. The piercing ring of the alarm continues to circle your agitated mind, tormenting you with the sinking reality of your plight. Stranded on a planet far beyond the solar system you had come from, surrounded by alien creatures you hadn’t seen stored in information holo-pads and without a ship to re-enter orbit– all while attempting to avoid the person who you had no doubt was hot on your heels.

Initially, you had assumed that the scaly, lizard-like animals were causing the snapping of the twigs in the thick treeline of the forest. While some were humongous, you noticed some were of a smaller size. Even the creatures that reached your hips posed a significant enough threat for you to avoid them by ducking behind tree trunks and bushes, their sharp teeth dripping with saliva when they caught your scent.

Whipping around at the sound of another ‘crunch’, you’d caught sight of him. Long, ebony hair fell in strands in front of his face; his brows pinched together in a stalker's concentration. His lips set in a grim, thin line, recharge-blaster aimed directly at your calves. The amber sap that had coated your skin from the trees appeared to have drenched his eyes, irises burning a bright honey colour in the brutal sunshine.

You hadn’t stopped running since, chest heaving as the cells of your lungs screamed at the intensity of your pace. The thick fabric of your flight suit, coated in leather around the collar, was heavy to carry, your legs aching as you’d lept over each of the fallen trunks in your way.

Shuddering at the memory of the hours you have spent evading capture, you inhale shakily in an attempt to ease your thumping heart. It threatens to crack your sternum, bludgeoning the bone with its rapid pace. Even though you’d stopped for some time, dread kept your heartbeat thrumming like the wings of the birds on your home planet, your blood rushing in your ears and drowning out the squawks of the flying lizards, their beaks long and sharp, wings leathery with clawed hands at the joint.

A stream trickles nearby, the running water rippling around the surrounding rocks. The breeze is cool against your face, tickling your cheekbones in a soft kiss. Despite the rustling of the leaves, the babble of the small brook, and the distant hiss of the hot spring geysers, it’s utterly quiet.

Foreboding chills you to the bone, wringing you dry.

It feels off, this delicate balance of stillness. Trepidation crawls up the vertebrae of your spine and prickles your skin with goosebumps. There’s an ambience; thick with something sinister. It coats your surroundings and lingers in the air like unsparked lighting, threatening to pounce.

Your hair stands on end, blood freezing along with the beat of your heart when you hear it; the zooming charge of a blaster.

“You can’t run from me forever.” It’s delivered with an alarming deadpan, his even voice ricocheting off the tree line. You can’t tell where he is like this, your neck reeling on its shoulders as you frantically search the area.

Darting your eyes amongst the bushes, you spot him- his footsteps cautious as he picks each footfall carefully. He’s learnt from his previous mistake, ensuring not to reveal his position with a snapping twig.

You swallow back a whimper, skirting around the trunk of the tree. Palm pressed to your nose and mouth; you hear your trembling breaths as you attempt to smother them. It’s terrifying, the level of noise you make. You’re certain your pulse gives away your hiding spot- that the vibration of the very cells of your being is connected to an amplifier and blasting through the woodlands.

In contrast, your pursuer is almost silent, barely making a sound as he picks through the undergrowth. You wonder how it’s possible for such a large man to make so little noise. He’s so careful, so silent that you pause your breath to listen for him better. Where-?

“Sweet Thing…” you hear him coo, a slight taunt to his voice that makes your nails dig into the tree's bark. Your lungs threaten to scream, ankles promising to buckle beneath the suffocating pressure.

Crouching as low as you can onto the balls of your feet, you attempt to shuffle around the trunk's circumference. You’re careful to test each footstep, feeling for fragile foliage beneath the sole of your shoe before setting it on the floor. You swallow thickly, wincing as the dried leaves rustle quietly.

It’s as though time momentarily stops. The rubber of your heel catches on the roots of the tree, slipping down the curved surface and sending your foot crashing through the sun-baked foliage with a sickening ‘crunch.’

Oh.

Tensing up all at once, your muscles pinch with fear. You fail to suppress the heaving breaths that rattle through you now, sucking in mouthfuls of oxygen and wheezing in terror when you exhale.

“Hmm,” a hum sounds to your left, loud to your ears. You bristle, the seams of your person screaming that you need to move, to run. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot, fight or flight bested by the primal instinct to be still. To hide. The atmosphere shifts, the chill of the breeze twisting to an icy disquiet.

Don’t. Don’t move, be still. If you’re still, he won-

They crawl across the curve of your jaw at first, fingertips creeping along the line of the bone before gently grasping your chin. White hot fear holds you perfectly still as his thumb pushes into the soft flesh of your cheek, the scrape of his knuckles biting into your skin as they purse your lips together. With your feeble attempt to shake him, his grip turns solid.

“Got you.”

His gruff voice rasps against the shell of your ear, lips brushing the thin skin and raising goose pimples across your neck and down your spine. Breath caught in your throat, you barely manage a whimper of response– the sound cracks in your vocal cords and sounds more like a startled exhale.

Your resolve fractures into tiny shards as he uses the grip on your chin to tilt your head backwards. Tension cracks between your shoulder blades at the awkward angle, your muscles straining as he pulls them taut. There’s a tensity at your throat, too, the thew connecting your jaw and neck almost pained by the extreme flex.

Amber. The thin strips of gold lay stark against the pitch black of his dilated pupils, irises merely a slither as the abyss swallows them whole. An eagerness paints his expression, even as his thick, dark brows pinch together in concentration. The hulking frame of your hunter stands above you, neck practically folded over to stare down at your kneeling form. He’s scanning your face, assessing each aspect of your visage and taking in the details. The paw grasping at your face tilts it left and right as he searches for… something.

Again, you wail as you feel his thumbprint dig into the soft flesh of your cheek. It braces against the edge of your molars, prints embedding– branding itself into the skin beneath it.

“Shh-Shh,” He hushes you softly, voice somewhat soothing now as he sweeps his knuckles across your temple and over your cheekbone. “Quite the hunt. Chased you all over, 70652. ”

The five digits of your passenger number ring through your eardrums like the alarms that had alerted you to your crash landing. It flits across his expression, a smug, mocking look as the realisation strikes you between your ribs like a wet blade—the pilot. Commander Mills, you had been told before cryostasis, was a skilled enough aeronaut to deliver you safely to the destination of Somaris. It appeared he had failed his mission.

“I- I don’t-”

“Everyone in the cryo-bay is dead,” he speaks over you, matter-of-fact in his unwavering tone. Your eyelashes flutter closed, confident Mills can feel your pulse pump blood through your veins as he trails his fingertips down your jugular. It tingles, the feather-light touch, adrenaline rushing over your body in surging waves. “It’s just us.”

“Hngg-” you mewl as he crouches behind you, dragging his lips gently across your pulse point as he breathes you in- the scent of your evasion. Soil coats you in an earthy smell, the metallic tang of blood from the scrapes of the thorny undergrowth. Mills groans against your jugular, scraping his sharp incisors over the thrum of your heart while savouring you.

“Aren’t you lucky?” He whispers, gravelly voice barely registering at this volume. Mill’s hand slips down your throat, calloused fingertips tracing down your central points. Your throat, your sternum between your breasts. The deliberate trail has your breath quickening, an underlying threat of danger making the hairs on your arms stand on end. “Lucky that I found you before those creatures did? Hmm?”

The delicate intonation of his question is deceptive. He’s not being kind- he’s mocking you. Still, the enamel of his teeth sinking into the concave connecting your neck and shoulder has you crying out, wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Mhm,” he lathes his tongue over the indents his teeth leave behind, splaying his fingers wide as he trails his palm over your stomach. Need unfurls beneath the weight of his hand, twisting and coating your abdomen when his fingers dip just beneath the waistband of the joggers you had been provided before entering cryostasis. “This... Is thanks enough.”

Heat creeps across the apples of your cheeks as you feel his hand slip further into your pants and wedge beneath your panties. You can do nothing but turn your hot face away from him, squeezing your eyes shut when his fingers brush through the thatch of curls across the curve of your pussy. Mills hums softly, your only warning before he’s sliding the pad of his finger through your slick cunt.

“Shit,” he grunts softly, the tip of his nose trailing up the length of your jugular. “So wet for me already.”

Sinews in your jaw ache at the force with which you clench your jaw, trying desperately to swallow down the moans that threaten to bubble up from your throat. Mills is circling his fingertip just barely over your clit now, the delicate touch coiling a throbbing heat between your thighs.

It’s a subconscious response, one that bypasses your brain and jolts your hips forward onto his hand. You don’t mean to, your fingers sinking into the soil beneath you as your body tenses. It sends a bright, hot arc of pleasure through your body and you wail raggedly, the short-lived friction enough to blur your vision.

Mills leaps.

Ripping his hand from your pants, he grabs ahold of your waist in a bruising grip, flipping you over onto your back harshly. It’s so fast, the world careening sideways. When you land it almost winds you, your spine hitting the ground with a thud. Twigs and rocks dig into your flesh, but Mills gives you no real opportunity to complain when he pins your body down with the hulking weight of his own.

Urgency spurs Mills on, pushing his fingers under the waistband of both your joggers and your panties before yanking them down your thighs. He doesn’t bother to remove them, abandoning them over your shins. They bunch around your ankles, movements restricted by the fabric. Your body is trembling, buzzing with something far from the fear he had originally inspired in you.

Mills is huge. Broad and muscular, when he leans his body over yours he almost blocks your whole line of sight. His muscles shadow through the thin fabric of his shirt, sweat causing the material to cling to his damp flesh. The chase across the forest seemed to have had little effect on his athletic frame, the exhaustion that had afflicted you unapparent when he pushes your knees back against your chest.

“Just look at you. Trembling. Panting. It’s gorgeous.” Subtle cruelty drips from his tongue when he praises you, watching your nipples harden as your folds are exposed to the cool air. Honey irises drag over your sopping cunt, greedily lapping up the view. You shouldn’t be enjoying this, so exposed to a stranger you had been running for in fear of your life just moments before.

“Please,” you beg, pathetic sobs cracking in your throat at the desperation to be touched.

“You’re in no place to be directing me, Sweet Thing.”

Despite his apparent refusal, Mills is pushing the trousers of his flight suit past his hips to expose his cock. Again, he refuses to waste time in removing them entirely, removing just enough to ease himself out of the confines of the material. You only catch a glimpse of his cock before he hoists your thighs over his pelvis, but your heart seizes at the sight– an angry, red tip leaks precum that smears across the inside of your thighs, veins protruding across the large shaft. You can’t fit tha-

God, he pushes the pad of his thumb into your clit and you yelp, seeing stars. A steady, wicked throb of bliss pulses through you as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves, swiping his print back and forth. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t help the way your hips jolt as you feel him attempt to breach your entrance with the head of his cock.

“Stop moving,” Mills orders, hand wrapped around his dick as he sweeps through your folds. You’re sobbing now, tears welling in your eyes as he continues to abuse your swollen clit. He slips again, dark eyes flicking up to your face when your hips jolt upwards to chase his touch, the build of your impending orgasm catching you off guard with how quickly it seems to blossom. The third time, when the tip of his dick notches the inside of your thigh rather than taking root, his patience snaps.

Mills suddenly draws back from you, removing his hand from your clit before bringing his open palm down on your throbbing cunt with a brutal slap. Pain bows through you, blending seamlessly with your bliss and causes a sharp, high pitched cry of his name to tumble from your lungs. In your shock, your hips momentarily still. Taking advantage of your dazed state, Mills quickly lines his pulsing cock against your cunt and drives home, swiftly ramming into you with an abrupt snap of his hips.

A haggard gasp rips through your throat at the sudden intrusion, the painful stretch of his cock cracking through you and making your eyes roll back. Dirt cakes under your fingernails as you grasp feebly at the damp soil, trying and failing to find any kind of purchase to ground yourself.

“Take it,” Mills orders, his gruff voice impossibly reaching lower octaves as he pushes his length further into you. He sits back slightly, his eyes almost pitch black with how his pupils swallow them up as they settle on your cunt. Fascinated, he watches your lips stretch around his girth and paint his protruding veins with your slick. “Make it fit— Shit!”

His crude growl scrapes your eardrums as he bottoms out inside of you, hips flush with your own. You can’t breathe, feeling as though he’s big enough to settle amongst your lungs. You heave shallow breaths, your head pulsing with mind-numbing dizziness.

Then he’s moving. He drives forward at first, reaching depths inside you that make your abdomen ache before pulling out of you. The stark emptiness he leaves you with is short-lived, thrusting forward and stealing what little oxygen you had swallowed down.

Heat simmers through you with each shred of the head of his cock against something blinding inside of you. It gives you no room to think, to move, the cruel pace Mills sets. It’s merciless, pummelling into you and driving you up across the forest floor. “Fuuuuck, that’s good,” Mills groans loudly, holding on tight to your hips to prevent you from sliding away from him. You sob brokenly, hitting his chest with the heel of your palm as you struggle against the orgasm that’s practically hurtling towards you. Christ, his dick is so hard, ramming through you and pushing up against your cervix and causing a delightful ache.

The wet sounds of him thrusting into you are obscene, slick and desperate as he begins to pull you down onto the snaps of his hips. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, collecting in your hairline as you sob his name over and over.

“Look at you,” Mills practically snarls, eyes set on the bulge in your lower abdomen and in awe of what he finds there. Fuck fuck fuck. You can see him, see the outline of his cock driving in and out of you through your abdomen. “Mine.”

Through your haze, you feel Mills press his giant palm against your abdomen, feeling himself twitch and thrust inside of you. His forehead drops against your shoulder, hips beginning to stutter as your walls flutter around him.

It’s overwhelming; the intense pace, the brutality of his thrusts, the way your clit brushes against the pubic hairs on his lower pelvis. You sound fucking wrecked, wails spluttering with each devastating rock of his hips.

“Aha-ah- ohfuck,” you babble, eyes rolling back as your body curls inwards. You’re burning, tightening, your orgasm creeping across the pit of your stomach. “I-I’m gonna-“

Mills groans loudly, and your back arches suddenly when he bites into your collarbone. His teeth sink into your flesh, hard enough to draw blood, and the pain shoves you right over the ledge you’d been dancing over. You cum with a scream of his name, clamping down around his cock as ecstasy surges through you from head to toe. Your vision blurs, hearing cuts out.

“Shit,” you hear him spit distantly, despite the close proximity to your ears. Mills’ hips push up deep inside of you, his body lurching and trembling as he cums inside of you. It feels, even in your altered state of consciousness, like it takes forever. Milking him endlessly, his breath shuddering against the wound on your clavicle as he gently grinds into you to ease himself down from the high.

There’s no movement, no sudden release of your body and flopping to the side. Mills stays stuffed within you, your mixed cum dribbling down the inside of your thighs as he squeezes the flesh of your hips with his palms.

Your sobs of his name had been loud, noisy enough to draw in all kinds of lizard creatures, but Mills seems insistent on remaining like this, scraping his teeth across the curve of your shoulder and beginning to rock into your swollen cunt again.

“There’s a few hours before nightfall,” he talks over your garbled string of noises, overstimulated and exhausted from the hours of running and the brutal way he had fucked into you. “You can take me again before then, can’t you, Sweet Thing? Before we head back to the ship?”

Your body resigns to his question, already far too wearied and submissive to argue what feels more like an order than a question— besides, bliss is already pooling in between your thighs when he pinches your clit with the pads of his forefinger and thumb.

“Good Girl.”

END

Join the Tag List Misc Character Taglist: @glassbxttless, @peachyproserpina, @pansa-1-san @htccu7gho9

Gif belongs to @zachsnydered

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rangersoup · 15 days ago

Text

Where the Fear Comes From

We learn about where Carlos’s fear and disdain for lizards comes from.

***

It’s early, or maybe late, TK can never decide which word to use to describe the morning after a sleepless shift. Never the less, the sun is barely peeking over the hills outside Austin, its golden rays just starting to kiss the city, when he finally makes his way to his car, eye lids heavy and feet dragging.

When he finally makes it home, he steps inside to discover that every light in the loft is still on, and the place is an utter disaster. He finds Carlos passed out on the couch, head lolled back, glasses still on his face, one hand rested on a book lying idly at his side, and the other wrapped around a very awake Jonah who is sitting contently on his lap. Sitting in Jonah’s lap, is Lou 2. The lizard looks as content as a lizard possibly can with Jonah running one little pointer finger down his back, starting just behind his head and moving down to his tail.

TK lets out a long sigh and rubs his tired eyes. He’s exhausted. By all rights, Jonah should still be sound asleep in bed and the lizard should be his cage. Also asleep. Neither of them should be up. And the house not looking like a tornado had blown through would also be a plus. But despite his exhaustion and nothing being in its rightful place, he still can’t help the fond smile that spreads across his face.

“Lou got out,” Jonah explains matter of factly, answering TK’s unasked question.

“And Carlos said he wouldn’t go to bed until he found him?” TK asks. His husband is still softly snoring away.

Jonah nods his head. “He fell asleep reading. Then Lou found us!”

TK smiles but still heaves a heavy sigh. “Well, I think we should put Lou back in his cage before he wakes up.”

“I think so too,” Jonah agrees, and very carefully scoops the lizard up before sliding off of Carlos’s lap. He meets TK at Lou’s cage, but isn’t tall enough to reach, so TK takes the lizard from him and carefully returns him to his rightful place.

“Now I think it’s your bed time.”

“But the sun is coming up!”

“I still think it’s your bed time,” TK says, scooping Jonah up and taking him to his room. “It’s about to be mine too.”

“That’s silly,” Jonah giggles.

TK chuckles a little, “maybe, but I’m very tired.”

“Okay,” Jonah says agreeably, as TK lets him slide out of his arms and into bed. “If you’re tired, I guess I can be too.”

TK finishes tucking Jonah in for what will probably turn out to be more of a morning nap, and then returns to the living room and his sleeping husband. He eases himself down on the couch next to Carlos, and slides his hand into his. Carlos sniffles once, and then very abruptly becomes very awake, sitting up quickly.

“The lizard!” He exclaims, looking around frantically until his gaze finds TK’s. “He got out…”

“He’s back in his cage now. Jonah caught him while you were sleeping.”

“Oh,” Carlos says, letting out a relieved sigh and running a tired hand through his curls. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s okay Babe. Lou’s put up, and I just put Jonah to bed.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlos says, sounding a little defeated, his shoulders slumping. “I wanted to get all that done before you got home.”

“Baby, it’s okay,” TK promises, cupping his hands around his husband’s cheeks and kissing him gently. “I do have to know, though, why are you so scared of Lou 2?”

Carlos blinks once and stares into the middle distance.

Austin TX, 2002

“What do you guys have?” Carlos asks, running up to his sisters. They are both perched on the top rail of the fence giggling. They have something with them, cupped between their hands that they seem very excited about.

“Nothing, go away,” Ana says looking up briefly, and making a shooing motion with her hand.

“No it’s not! If it was nothing you’d let me see!” Carlos argues, stomping his foot on the dusty ground and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Go away Carlitos!” Louisa adds, glaring at him.

“If you don’t let me see I’ll tell mama you’re not being fair!”

His sisters roll their eyes in unison and let out long groans. “You’re so annoying!”

“I just wanna see!”

“Fine.” Louisa says, annoyance brimming in her voice and produces the lizard she and Ana have captured. She holds the little creature up by its tail out over Carlos’s face.

“See—“ Ana starts to say when the lizard suddenly drops, detaching itself from its thin tail. It lands directly on Carlos’s face. He screams. The little creature doesn’t stay there long, it scurries down the side of his face and before he can swat it away it’s crawling down his back under his shirt. It’s little feet tickling his spine the whole way down. He’s shrieking now, tears streaming down his face as he flails his arms and legs swatting at his back trying to catch the lizard as it crawls around under his shirt. He can hear his sister’s laughing as he keeps crying. Finally the lizard drops to the ground and scampers away. Louisa laughs so hard she falls over backwards off the fence, which only makes them both laugh harder. Carlos turns and runs crying back to the house. He still feels like there’s something crawling around him.

“Carlos?”

“Huh?” Carlos blinks and looks at TK.

“You spaced out,” TK says. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“What’s your problem with lizards? Why are you so scared of them?” TK repeats, studying his husband’s face.

“Oh,” Carlos says, shaking his head a little as he shrugs. “I’m not scared of lizards.”

#911 lone star #tk strand #tarlos #911 ls fan fic #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #I’m doing it guys! I’m posting stuff! I’m writing again!#let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my fic posts

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thalialunacy · 8 months ago

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[for the @calaisreno May Prompt-a-palooza; cw for bodily functions]

(1) (2) (3) (4) 5: awkward (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

Sharing a home with someone, regardless of square footage or relationship, involves an unavoidable amount of intimate physical knowledge. As an army mate of John's had once said eloquently, 'Well, I know what your shit smells like, don't I?'

Those things, John is prepared for. Has got used to, even, in his once-and-future living arrangement. He's a doctor, a combat veteran, and a widowed father. He's not exactly squeamish.

And he can personally attest, on several levels, to the fact that Sherlock is not a machine. You can't share a bathroom and not learn a few things about a person.

But… it's like some switch got turned on after their 'moment' in the stairwell.

(Because no, they had not marched back upstairs and worked things out per Mrs Hudson's request. As will shock no one, they had instead gone on their stubborn ways, and are ploughing through their daily lives willy-nilly as long as they can.)

(Which is not very long.)

Things keep happening.

- John, sitting guilelessly at the table, makes to stand just as Sherlock is walking by, and ends up with his nose essentially in the armpit of Sherlock's dressing gown. Which Sherlock is still wearing. After sleeping several hours in it and old pyjamas.

- John, Rosie in his lap, snorts awake to find himself-- well, both him and his daughter-- slumped into Sherlock on the sofa, credits scrolling on the television screen while Sherlock scrolls through his phone. And, unfortunately, both John and his daughter have managed to leave sleep-warm saliva on Sherlock's person, in two round spots on his breathtakingly expensive shirt. Sherlock, who must have noticed, seems unconcerned. John wonders briefly if he's woken up in an alternate dimension, then realises they'd been watching Doctor Who and it must have seeped into his psyche.

- John, now one hundred percent accustomed to wiping his toddler's nose, is so focused on his laptop screen when he hears a sneeze that he doesn't think (at all) before pulling out a tissue and reaching over to the face of the sneezer. That it's Sherlock is only a fact he recognises a split second too late.

- John, brain uncaffeinated, yawns while reaching across Sherlock to grab something off the table, and realises with a start that it's 6am and neither of them have cleaned their teeth. He stares at the mouth so close to his, at the man whose breath is bitter, yes, but somehow not unagreeable, then jerks away gracelessly. 'I'll just--' He points his thumb over his shoulder at the loo, and escapes, face flaming.

- And finally: John, going quietly mad when Rosie gets her first real, frightening fever. His training doesn't stand a chance of overriding his lizard brain, so he spends three days ignoring absolutely all personal hygiene and never leaving his daughter's side. When it finally breaks, when John feels like he can breathe again, he notices Sherlock is there, too, beside him, quietly watching her sleep restfully for the first time in what feels like long, dusty years. And he suddenly realises he must smell like -- well, like a locker room and a crowded pub rolled around in the dirt then pissed off a skunk, probably. And Sherlock is standing next to him as if he smells like roses. This, unexpectedly, makes John's stomach broil under a surge of affection, and he feels his eyes stinging for one horrifying, sleep-deprived moment.

Soon, after so many of these things, he can't help wondering if God or whomever is taking the piss. If fate is having a good old go at John H Watson by giving him the closest, most fulfilling relationship he's ever had-- and making it with the one person who can knock him flat on his arse and keep him there.

He's tempted, more than once, to give the sky two fingers. But he has yet to get around to doing it. He's too busy, for once, actually living.

[❤️]

#mayprompts2024 #BBC Sherlock #Johnlock #Parentlock #UST #(For now)#Anybody else edit these things like 50 times after posting even though it's supposed to be a casual thing #it's gonna be MAY 2024

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hiiikiko · 16 hours ago

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𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 [deadpool x spidey!ellie]

caught in your web m.list | tlou m.list

“You gotta trust me, Sheriff, I don’t know her at all!” Spidey yelled from behind the bars of the jail cell, her hands tightening around the bars.

A dramatic gasp echoed from behind her, “How dare you say that?! Throwing away all those late night rendezvous and nights full of passion and sloppy sex?!”

Ellie groaned and trapped the masked vigilantes collar, “Shut it, you’re only making this worse.”

“Ooh, I like it when you’re rough with me,” she giggled and wrapped her hands around Ellie’s arm.

Ellie knew there was no winning when it came to her… ‘Deadpool,’ ugh, what a stupid name. This chick was the absolute worse, the way she was obsessed with Ellie gave her the chills… not to mention how this chick knew EVERYTHING about her?? Even her name?? On top of all that, she was annoying as hell and a total poser! Like, come on! She obviously ripped off Ellie’s costume, right?!

“Sheriff, please, she’s the bad guy, not me,” Ellie groaned and slumped against the wall.

“Sorry, Spidey, but I don’t see a reason why a ‘hero’ should hide behind a mask like some damn criminal,” he chortled and took a sip of his coffee, exiting the room.

“This is all your fault,” Ellie mumbled and leaned her head against the wall.

“How did it all come down to this is what you’re thinking right, dear reader?” Deadpool turned to the wall.

“What the fuck,” Ellie quirked her brow and turned to see who the hell this freakazoid was talking to…. she was talking to no one.

“Well, it all started five hours ago when I met, Spidey, the love of my life, the apple of my eye, the keeper of my heart, my snuggle bunny, my baby kitten, my.. well, you get the gist. I was lucky enough to run into her at the police shootout, she was tackling some lizard man and I was passing by when I saw the glimmer of red… I quickly helped her and may have accidentally shot a few officers… but, who cares about that right? Anyway, we made our daring escape and to this alley where I found out she’s a girl?? Like, whaaaaaaat?? I found out because I felt boobs when I tackled her, although… they’re kinda small..”

“Hey!”

“Anyway, so I dragged her along to this amusement park where she proposed on top of the ferris wheel—.”

“I was trying to tie my shoe.”

“We shared a romantic dinner at the pier—.”

“You stole a slice of pizza from a old lady.”

“She won me a teddy bear—.”

“I was trying to escape through a booth and the bear wouldn’t come off my hand because of these stupid webs.”

“It was the most romantic night of my entire life,” she sighed dreamily, “but then just as I was about to kiss her, this dumbass runs towards a police officer and gets us both arrested, me for breaking a few laws here and there and her for being the best person ever?? Stupid, right?”

“Uh, no, you’re an actual murderer.”

“I’m a changed person now, honey,” Deadpool quickly turned to Ellie and nodded, making a heart symbol with her hands.

“You’re just lucky they didn’t take our masks,” Ellie groaned and flipped her off.

“Ooh what would’ve happened? Would you have put me in my place? Handcuffed me? Maybe spanked me?”

Ellie’s cheeks turned as red as her mask, “Shut up! J-Just find me a way outta here,” she grumbled and paced around the cell, looking for anything to get them outta there.

“Oh, is that what you’ve been waiting for? Why didn’t you say something, I stole that pig’s keys two hours ago,” she dangled the keys in front of her, Ellie couldn’t see her face but could feel the smirk radiating through the leather of her mask.

“You’re the worst,” she grumbled and unlocked the door.

“You can’t say that in bed,” there she goes again, Ellie rolled her eyes and pushed the door open.

“Here’s the plan, we—.”

BAM!!

“What the fuck!” Ellie yelled as Deadpool kicked the door down and quickly knocked the guard out, reaching behind the counter to grab her guns and katanas, “A warning next time, will you?!”

“Ohh, so there will be a next time then,” she giggled and tied her gun holster around her waist, “Can’t wait.”

Ellie shook her head and made her way for the exit, “I sure can,” she muttered as she exited the building and swiftly put as much distance between her and that deranged woman.

Upon returning back to her apartment, Ellie climbed through the window and flopped onto her bed, rummaging through her backpack for her phone when a piece of paper fell out… it read: ‘Spidey x Deadpool xoxo’ and had a picture that looks like it could’ve been drawn by a toddler of her and Deadpool making out… and not to mention the 136 page handwritten smut filled fan fiction attached to it..

“Gross,” she grimaced and threw it into the paper bin.

That was when Ellie decided to never, ever get involved with Deadpool again..

[a/n:] I FINALLY WROTE IT YAYYYYYYYYY, kinda short but I wanted to write something today :3

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tachimichishrine · 1 year ago

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"sap"

⫭◦ପଓ◦⫬

tachihara machizou x fem! hirotsu's daughter! reader

warnings: nsfw ; shower sex ; oral (receiving); masturbation (m); cursing ; bondage; fluff to smut ; idk how to write warnings; unedited ill do that later

being a part of the black lizard had its fun, but some days were boring, like today; tachihara slumped his body against the wall as he stole glances at hirotsu, who seemed just as disinterested.

"cigarette?" the old man offered, placing one in his mouth and lighting it while gunshots rang out in the background. some small rival organization - even rival was a generous word - had "forgotten" to pay back the port mafia. one warning was given and they were told to go fuck themselves, so the black lizard battalion was called. apparently, this organization had some kind of powerful ability users as executives, but whoever they were, they didn't show up for the slaughter.

grunts, low level thugs and anyone else got caught in the crossfire. both mafia members watched the wall of suits fire off enough gunshots to fill up the night sky if bullets were stars.

"i still don't get why we gotta be here for this," tachihara grumbled, taking the offer and placing the plume of smoke to his lips. "seems like they just talk a whole lot of shit."

"it's never wrong to be cautious," the senior member retorted. he puckered his lips and made a ring of grey that floated listlessly in the atmosphere alongside the smell of blood. "the boss specifically warned me about a dangerous woman who could wipe out our troops in one shot."

lips curled around the cigarette, sucked on the nicotine and exhaled pure sarcasm. "yeah, well looks like she's a real pain in our asses."

a few moments passed in silence - or rather, with only white noise echoing in the abandoned warehouse, white noise being a steady stream of gunshots. it was music to both their ears - and surely enough, no one showed up. every thug had enough bullet holes in them to make the notion that a single one survived laughable. tachihara pressed his forearm to the wall and pushed himself off, stretching dramatically with a sigh.

before he could complain again about how lame this mission was, the wall exploded.

not so much an "explosion" as a deformation. it was pushed back, and tachihara barely had the time to react before a giant hole was pierced and a woman came out.

"well, fuck," she glanced at the sea of corpses on the ground, then back at tachihara with a playful smirk. "I guess you're the mafia shithead who I was just told I gotta put down. sucks that I got here late though; if you hadn't killed all my subordinates, I might've let you live, pretty boy."

she looked young, too young to be an executive. despite this, she walked with the kind of confidence that got his skin crawling in anticipation. finally, this night gets more interesting.

he pulled his guns out of their holsters and pointed them straight at her face, mimicking her expression. "you're shit out of luck, lady, 'cause I'm gonna-"

"[_____]?"

hirotsu, who had been briefly blown out of the way, came walking back in with a look of shock on his face. the redhead rolled his eyes; he didn't care whether or not the old man knew this lady, he was going to blow her brains out.

only, as his gaze reverted back onto her, she had the same expression as hirotsu did.

in fact, she was blushing, embarrassed like a schoolgirl who'd gotten caught.

"...dad?!"

what the fuck?

tachihara felt his hands lower a little as he took in the situation, and his eyes just kept darting to his superior, then to his enemy. shellshocked isn't the right word, they were looking at each other like neither had a clue what to say.

"shouldn't you be in school?!"

"dad, since when are you in the fucking mafia?!"

"language!"

the woman dropped her gun, groaning with her face in her hands, muttering to herself. "great, this is great. what the hell?! I knew you did shady business, but I didn't think-"

"is this where your university fund money has gone?" the mafioso's face was red too, from what could only be guessed to be anger mixed in with shame and shock.

"no, I'm still in class, I just... hey, don't distract me, old man. why didn't you tell me you were in the port mafia?"

"why didn't you tell me you were a gangster?!"

"because it's none of your business!"

tachihara's presence grew smaller and smaller as he watched the whole debate happen. it was awkward in a manner he couldn't describe, as he felt not only that he was intruding, but that this was definitely not something he should be listening to. he tucked his guns away, mostly out of respect for hirotsu and the fact that he wasn't about to shoot what appeared to be his daughter.

a few moments later they were hugging.

"sorry dad," she muttered as she pulled away from the embrace. "if I had known, I would've told you..."

"it's alright, but you shouldn't keep things like these from me, [_____]."

sighing, the woman chuckled nervously then promised she wouldn't. she crossed her arms and leaned her back against the deformed wall, then took a look around. she seemed to suddenly notice that tachihara was still there.

"well..." she looked at him then giggled a little, likely embarrassed about the whole situation. "I guess I'm not gonna kill you after all, huh?"

he didn't know what to say, because what is there to say? obviously, this conflict couldn't go anywhere further. thankfully, hirotsu intervened. "what will you tell your superiors?"

"no idea. they just called me to ask me to return to base to protect all of these hopeless fuckers-"

"language."

her eyes rolled. "dad, I'm not 5, I can swear. pretty boy here agrees, don't you, red?"

it took tachihara a moment to realize she was talking about him. once again, his mouth opened but his boss was quicker to respond.

"do you throw yourself at all men like this, [_____]? I thought I raised you better than that."

ignoring his comment with a wave of her hand in the air as though swatting away a fly, she continued. "as I was saying, they just called me. I could technically tell them that I got here too late and the culprits were gone, but I don't think that would bode well with the news that they just lost 90% of their entry-level grunts."

slightly annoyed, the tuffs of grey hair nodded. "you're right, they won't. what's your plan, then?"

a shrug and a pursing of lips. "no clue. you sure I can't just kill red and bring his body to-"

"why don't you just join the port mafia?"

the suggestion came from the one who had barely spoken all night. of course, he didn't think hirotsu would actually let him be used as a scapegoat, but all this banter felt useless. "since your organization is dead in the water anyways. if you just leave, they'll kill you as their final act, but if you join the mafia, you'll have protection."

another shrug. "he's not wrong," she said, "plus, I could just work with you."

hirotsu wanted to protest, but logically, they were both right. despite not wanting his daughter to get involved, he had faith in the mafia like no other member, and was loyal to no ends.

and that's how hirotsu [_____] found herself a member of the black lizard.

her father hated it, of course. the only people who knew they were related was tachihara and gin, the latter picking up on it after a while of noticing them bickering like they had a past.

over time, tachihara got snippets of the story. it seems like at some point, the old man had some sort of relationship with a woman who didn't know he was in the port mafia. time progressed, and they drifted apart. 5 years later, he saw her again with a child's hand in her own.

it was the only time hirotsu had ever requested time off from the mafia.

it was awkward, his former lover telling him that she didn't think he needed to know about it because she wanted to raise the child herself. however, that's not the kind of man he was, let alone the kind of man he'd ever been. it started by asking her name, then he wanted to be properly introduced to her. after a few years, he would have coffee with his partially estranged daughter every other month. he often sent money, which was never used out of pride. when [_____] decided to pursue her studies, she found the stash of cash her mother had been hiding and decided she didn't care for pride. apparently, she was jumped when getting home after a long day of lectures, and her use of her ability got people talking. before she knew it, she was being recruited to the underground for enough money to set her for life.

it took several years for her relationship with hirotsu to improve, but there seemed to be some kind of mutual respect between father and daughter.

not in the mafia.

"dad, I'm not going to do something just because you-"

"I'm your superior, [_____], you can't give me attitude like a teenager. and don't call me dad in these settings."

tachihara thought it was funny. she seemed to like innocently getting on her dad's nerves, and she often used him to do it. she'd get bold some nights and flirt with him right in front of the old man's face. tachihara would feel guilty if he didn't think it was fucking hilarious.

on this particular evening, she didn't seem to have anything better to do than pester him and do her absolute best to get on his nerves.

"so you're saying you've never seen him drunk? not even once?" she giggled, sitting on the table as he tried to write his report for their last mission. her feet were swinging and the table would shake with every swing of her legs, and it was getting harder and harder to concentrate.

"no, look, can you just shut the fuck up for a second so I can write this?" he nearly snapped the pencil in half. her smirk only grew at the sight of him being frustrated. "do you really have nothing better to do with your time?"

"nahh." her chest vibrated with a playful chuckle. she tilted her head at him, then slammed her hand onto the pile of papers he was trying to fill in. "this is lame, paperwork isn't for our kind. c'mon, don't tell me this isn't boring you out of your mind, red. let's go do something else."

one fleeting thought of 'fuck it', and suddenly they were at a bar, downing shots like they were on a mission.

"I bet... you couldn't handle 3 more," she slurred, liquid swirling around dangerously close to the rim of the glass, threatening to spill over. somehow, her shit eating grin was unaffected by the liquor; if anything, she'd gotten worse. her fingers would settle on his thighs grip too tight and too far up, the tips of her shoes would play footsie with him, and she straight-up tried to kiss him a few times. she couldn't handle her drinks very well, and he had only now realized what a stupid decision it was to take her up on her offer.

"that's enough for the whole month, [_____]," he rolled his eyes with his signature scoff, and grabbed her wrist to push it away from where she was teasing at. "you need to go home."

"are you finally gonna take me home, pretty boy?" she tried to lean in again, and he scooted backwards. flirting with his boss' daughter for fun was one thing, but something about her demeanor tonight seemed serious. he just hoped she was too drunk to remember the blush dusting his cheekbones.

"I am going to call you a cab." he enunciated every word clearly so she understood it, but as soon as his hand reached into his pocket, she placed hers on top to stop him.

the look in her eyes looked completely sober.

"I'm serious," she whispered, and he could practically feel her gaze on his lips. her eyes darted back up to his own, but before she could say something else that would confuse him further, she seemed to realize her words and her entire face flushed a deeper colour.

she stammered something incomprehensible, threw way too much cash onto the table and walked (if you can call it that) outside. tachihara didn't know what to do, so he just watched her go. she'll probably be fine. probably.

he didn't know why his face felt so hot and his cheeks hurt from a subtle smile.

weeks later, and they'd made a tradition of skipping out on reports to go do something, anything except what they were supposed to do. walking along abandoned streets at night in hopes of picking up a fight, or going to a bar and picking someone for the other to take in a fistfight. a lot of it involved fighting. all of it, really. they'd show up to work the next day littered in matching bruises, and hirotsu's face would glow red and he'd have to excuse himself. giggling like children who knew exactly what they were doing.

tonight, tachihara got knocked out by a man twice his size, and it took her using her ability to get him to back off her partner in crime. she dragged him to her apartment to put some ice on it.

"that was really funny," she teased, tossing him a bag of assorted frozen items to place on his temple, which took the brunt of it. "I though you were really a goner for a second, there."

"ha, ha." the sarcasm was dry, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the thrill of seeing his life flash before his eyes. "I would've liked to see you try."

"an ambulance had to pick up the guy after I was done with him," she retorted, sitting on the sofa next to him with her feet up on the armrest. "actually, I've been meaning to ask you something."

a sigh in response. he took off the frozen bag from his skin and set it on the table, then looked at her. she winced.

"that's gonna need stitches, tachi," she remarked, then thought for a little bit. "I have glue somewhere, we can use that for now then have the port mafia medic fix it tomorrow, yeah?"

she didn't wait for a response, disappeared and reappeared after a string of curses thrown at herself for not being organized enough to know where she puts things. she had what was possibly medical glue but also possibly craft glue in her hands, and she glared at him. "lay down, dr. [_____] is here to save the day."

he quirked up a brow, then quickly relaxed his face after realizing the pain that was brought on by doing that. "weren't you drunk earlier tonight?"

"greatness knows not the bounds of liquor."

"what the fuck does that mean?"

she only giggled, then sat next to his head as she pinched together the skin and tried to apply the glue. her hands were shaking and it was clear she had no idea what she was doing, but tachihara prayed she was doing more good than harm. although, who knows.

"ow, ow, take it fucking easy," he grit his teeth together as she manhandled his injury. he could've sworn he saw her grinning at his pain.

"calm down princess, I'm done," she raised her hands in a sign of innocence, then took a closer look at her work.

tachihara watched in slow motion as her gaze moved further and further up his face.

"is... is your hair dyed?"

the room went dead silent. he had no idea what to respond, and for the first time since he joined the mafia, he felt stupid for letting his guard down. how did he forget to retouch his roots and then let someone get so close? how-

"you'd look really cute with black hair."

...what?

"that's your natural hair colour, right?" she kept going, raking her fingertips through his hair. "man, I feel lied to, I called you red for so long. why'd you dye it?"

"because I fuckin' felt like it," he grumbled out, having no other response. he felt such relief when she just giggled to his answer.

"fair enough. red was definitely the right colour, though. you'd look like shit if you went blonde."

he was so glad she let it go. he tried to sit upright, his head still throbbing from the pain, but she just looked at him curiously.

"I'll get you another mystery frozen item from the freezer," she laughed, getting up and rummaging through her kitchen. even with her face in the door of the fridge, she spoke, "I still haven't asked you my question from before, by the way. I just wanted to know how you got into the mafia."

out of one tight situation and into another.

he considered it; he considered it long and hard, way before she'd ever even asked the question. most of the time, if anyone asks, he'd just say it was none of their business. but he couldn't get away with that kind of response with her.

so, he told the truth.

"my... my brother joined the army during the great war. I just... I hated being compared to him by my family, so I wanted to get as far away as possible from his path, and ended up at the mafia. nothing much to it."

at least, part of the truth.

she pulled her face out of the fridge, looking at his expression for a moment. she tossed him another frozen bag and quickly sat back at his side.

"that sucks. was dying your hair also part of your rebellious phase?"

his nostrils flared at her teasing and he rolled his eyes, barely holding back a grin. "shut up."

laughing, she moved her body closer to his and put a hand on his delicately. "seriously, though, sorry to hear that your family didn't treat you right. I mean... I don't have that with my parents, but I know that it's tough being compared with someone else. but I don't know how that would apply to you. you're literally who I wanted to grow up to be."

he put down the ice pack because clearly it was affecting his hearing.

"like... I dunno. you're a badass who doesn't take shit from anybody. I mean, sure, you get your ass handed to you in bar fights and you don't have an ability, but so what? dad respects you, and so do I. not really sure how your brother compares to that."

this time, there wasn't anything to hide the stupid expression on his face. he just looked at her blankly like he'd never received a compliment in his life, which made her laugh even more.

"man, you really do have self-esteem issues, dontcha? if I had known you couldn't handle compliments, I would've said this ages ago. anyways," she got up, again, and stretched out her back, "don't worry about it, let's pretend that conversation ended there. so, are we dying your hair at your place or mine? because I don't have any dye and the store closes soon if we're gonna go buy some."

his mind could barely keep up with the way she was jumping from topic to topic. in the end, he just pushed his confession and her response to the back of his mind, and got up as well with a shrug. "my place, then. but you don't need to-"

"nonsense! I've been wanting to try to dye someone else's hair forever. plus, you're my partner in crime, I can't let anyone see that you're a big fat liar of a redhead."

her laugh felt so comforting to him. he felt like he was floating out of her apartment, out onto the street and all the way back to his own. his mind was just a blur (maybe it was from a concussion from the blow?) and in no time, he found himself sitting down with his head in between her thighs, gloved fingers massaging his scalp.

"okay, so the instructions say to rinse off and you're good!" she beamed, looking at her work proudly. "no need to thank me, by the way. despite my professional work, this one's on the house."

he chuckled, getting up and being careful not to get anything to touch the stained hair. "fine, then I won't thank you. I could've done this myself too, but you insisted, so if anything I should be charging you money."

shaking her head aggressively, she placed a finger on his lips while attempting to look solemn. "in that case, let us never speak of this again."

a few more minutes, and he was in the shower, the excess red streaming down from the water and making a puddle at his feet. she kept talking to him, loudly, from the other side of the door.

"how's it going so far?"

"it's almost all out, just be patient, damn," he laughed back, the final bits of red coming out of his hair until all the water that went through his hair came out clear. he turned off the faucet, and the stream stopped. he had barely dried his hair and wrapped a towel around his hips before he saw the door open.

"[_____], what the fuck-"

"sh, I want to see how it came out," she strolled right up to him and grabbed his face with one hand, tilting it in different directions to see all angles of his wet hair. as if he wasn't nearly naked right now. as if this was perfectly normal. "it looks good, but it's still wet so the colour doesn't show fully yet, right?"

he grabbed her hand and pulled it off of his face, looking at her seriously. "[_____], don't play dumb, you-"

"... saw an opportunity to see you shirtless, and I took it," she shot him a grin. then she suddenly seemed to get a little sad as she shook her head. "sorry, that isn't funny. um... I'll wait outside."

he watched her walk out just as quickly as she walked in. he slipped on his clothes quickly, then walked out to go find her standing at the entrance, putting on her shoes. ready to leave.

"hey, what are you..."

she cut him off, not even maintaining eye contact as she slipped her heel downwards and tied up the shoelaces. "look, tachi, I'm sorry. I just get excited sometimes and forget you don't feel the same way."

"what the fuck do you mean, don't feel the same way?"

now, her gaze met his. she looked confused. "I told you, weeks ago, that I was serious about the flirting. I even tried to kiss you, and kept dodging, so I got the message. it's fine, I get it. boss' daughter, or maybe I'm just not your type or whatever, but it's okay. I don't mind, I'm getting over it."

"holy fuck, [_____], you were drunk when you said that and I thought you were..."

he couldn't finish his thought. it was hard not to notice the hope in her eyes as she seemed to realize that he hadn't actually said no yet.

so, he said yes.

she kicked off her shoes hastily as his hands went to her waist and he pushed her back against the wall, lips eagerly devouring hers. her head slammed backwards, but her hips were pushed forwards to meet his own. her hands on his chest; one of his on her waist while the other secured itself at the base of her neck, pulling her in closer.

it was hot sweaty and fast, and they ended up back in the shower. he didn't expect her hands to roam the way they did, but she'd managed to have his entire chest coated in her touch before they even made it inside.

she murmured his name into his lips, and he responded by biting her lower lip harder. her fingertips were now on his back, his tight frame feeling warm and so right as it grinded on hers. her thigh went up to his side, and tachihara realized just how much she wanted him. fuck. he couldn't believe he waited so long for this for no reason.

he dropped down to his knees. as soon as she saw him look up, her thighs clenched together and he could feel them shaking in anticipation. he threw one leg over his shoulder and his breath barely hit her pussy before he was eating her out like a man starved.

and she was so damn loud. every flick of his tongue on her clit, every time he sucked on her lips, every thrust of his fingers inside of her, she seemed to get more vocal. at first, it was just curses, mumbling fuck like it was the only word left in her vocabulary. then his name. he'd never heard her say it like that before; she'd called him tachi sometimes, but never michizou. just the sound had him dragging his free hand from her ass down to his erection, palming himself as she kept moaning out for him. it was worse when she'd roll out the praises. fuck you feel so good... michizou, hngg... fuck keep doing it like that, you're so perfect... and she'd gasp as he sucked on her needy pussy and tell him how perfect he felt inside of her all over again.

he couldn't even handle getting her to climax before he lost control. his face was still buried between her legs, but he couldn't concentrate on the way her hips would grind on his face anymore. he needed relief and he needed it fast. she glanced down to find him pounding himself, and her hand at the back of his head gripped down on his hair and yanked him upwards. back on his feet, she brought his lips back to her own before briefly pulling away, spitting in her hand and taking his cock in it.

his forehead was pressed up against hers, but he was having trouble maintaining the kiss through broken moans and grunts. he'd try to bite his lower lip to muffle a whimper, but every time he did, she would just pump him harder until it was impossible to muffle the sounds he was making. every scream from his lips drove her pace to the next gear until he was coming undone under the soft drizzle of hot water droplets, washing down his cum from her stomach.

she took it slower, gentler as he felt so fucking raw from falling apart so fast under her touch. she let go of him and placed his cock between her thighs and pressed them together, letting him rock his hips and fuck them as she kisses him again. her lips get rougher, as she goes from peppering his jawline with love to nibbling on his earlobe to piercing his skin and leaving marks on his neck that won't go away anytime soon. he arcs his neck backwards, tilting his chin upwards to give her better access as she gets greedier and greedier, taste of his flesh intoxicating her.

"michizou..." she sighed into his skin, then brought his face back up to her level, one hand in his hair and the other positioned on his abdomen as her thighs are glistening from the hot water vapor of the shower, her arousal trickling down and the pre-cum already leaking out his tip. "fuck, michizou, your body... you're so gorgeous, I just want to wreck you until you forget your own fucking name." her words weren't particularly sultry or pretty, but the way she was murmuring it into another kiss got him hard all over again.

"baby, can we... bedroom..." the ask barely left her lips before his hands went onto her hips, lifting her up a little bit as they stumbled out of the shower, barely wiped themselves dry with the towels and connected their mouths again as he pulled her to his room. she backed him inside then pushed his shoulders, his back bouncing on the mattress as he realized this was the first time he was seeing her, fully bare in front of him, in his bedroom. just the sight of her perky tits and curves got saliva pooling under his tongue and eyes scanning her hungrily.

she turned her head around, looking in his room for a few moments before opening drawers and boxes like she was in a hurry to locate something. he shot her a look.

"[_____], what are you..."

she pulled out two belts from a drawer with a grin on her lips.

fuck.

she murmured something about not needing to do this if he didn't want to as she climbed on top of him and kissed him gently, but he just rutted his hips upwards in a desperate motion to show her just how much he wanted her.

in one motion, his wrists were tied together with the first belt and pinned above his head. in another, he was biting down on worn leather and a makeshift gag was soaking up all the drool he couldn't control. that was the point: he couldn't control anything. and it felt so fucking amazing.

she kept stealing glances at him as she checked to make sure he was still on board, and when he gave her a slow nod, she flipped him onto his stomach and secured his hips under her own, legs spread out over his ass.

with only her hips, she pushed him downwards so that his dick pushed up against the sheets and the mattress. she knew it wasn't enough to do anything but edge him until he went mad, and no matter how much the bed was shaking and the frame was creaking, it wouldn't be as good as what he felt fucking her thighs. but the view was so damn pretty: his face drowning messily in the sheets, mouth gagged and wrists tied together. she grabbed a handful of his wet hair and yanked him back as she grinded slowly on his ass, dripping lustfully onto him.

it was fun edging him, but the muffled whimpers signaled he was desperate. giving into his desires, she plunged her hand between his parted legs and gripped onto his cock which was humping the mattress. she just held him with a hard grip, and he did all the work for himself, thrusting his hips as well as he could while pinned down by her weight and restrained. tears were prickling at the corners of his eyes. he wanted to tell her how badly he needed her, but the damn gag was turning his pleas into muffled whimpers and moans.

she finally let him out from under her body and flipped him onto his back, but not before stealing in a smack on his ass, which was now coated in her pussy's tears.

"want me to fuck you, baby?" she murmured with a smirk, leaning down to let her lips brush up against the shell of his ear. "is that what you wanna say?"

he nodded hastily, no more shame as now the only thing he could feel was the need for her tight pussy around him. she loosened the gag, then slid it off of his mouth in order to kiss him again. "I wanna hear you. I wanna hear your pretty voice telling me how good I'm fucking your cock, yeah? can you do that for me, michi?"

he couldn't even respond as she lowered herself onto him and dragged a long moan from deep within his lungs, which were on fire. he could barely breathe, he could barely think. all he could do was what she told him and jut his hips upwards to hit her as deep as possible. all the control she had and she couldn't help but curl her toes and dig her fingernails into his shoulders as he screamed out her name and groaned with every thrust. his eyes squeezed shut as he let the feeling wash over him, but they didn't stay that way for long as they locked onto her tits, which were bouncing up and down with her on him, not to mention her face was hot and her hair was still wet from the shower.

it was too much, too fast, despite the slow build up she forced him to endure, suddenly he found himself choking as he tried to tell her that he was close. she was first; walls collapsed around him and she exhaled a thready verse of his name. she finally let him pull out at the last minute, and he came all over himself, stomach coated in the warm sticky liquid. her chest rose and fell with every heavy breath as she watched him, then unfastened the restraints around his wrists.

he wiped his stomach clean with one of the sheets and tossed it somewhere in the corner, a problem for tomorrow, then slipped under the rest of them.

she shot him a hesitant look. "do you want... can I stay?"

he grabbed her wrist and pulled her body onto his, then pressed a lazy kiss on her forehead. "always."

"sap," she teased, snuggling into his warmth and wrapping her arms around his waist. "my dad is gonna go fucking feral when he hears about this."

a gentle chuckle. "isn't that what you've been tryin' to do ever since day 1?"

"shut up, sap," she grumbled into his chest, eyes fluttering shut as she remembers his hair then fluffs it. she craned her neck upwards to get a better look, and smiled softly. "the dye turned out well."

"next time, I'll let the colour grow out," he whispered, dreamy amber eyes looking at her through low eyelids, "since you said it would look cute."

"sap!" she cried out again dramatically, then kissed him slowly again before looking at his face again. "I really did mean it, by the way. when I said that you're perfect to me."

he blushed; somehow, that was what brought the most colour to his face all night. still, he was without a response. he just slid his fingers up her back and pulled her closer. he buried his nose in the top of her head before he thought of a response. "sap."

"shut up."

they giggled and fell asleep in a world where everything was right.

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