#now I need to let it simmer so I can come back later and edit but oh my god it's finally all written!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[icedteaandoldlace]

Draft one..........is complete.

[paarksunghoon]

you plus me (teaser)

SUMMARY: it’s been six years since heeseung stopped being your friend and the thought of him tagging along an annual camping tradition makes you feel like the world must be crashing round you. one misunderstanding and one trip later makes heeseung re-evaluate all he knows, and it makes you believe that there might life after love.

PAIRING: heeseung x fem!reader (featuring enhypen)

WORD COUNT: no estimate because who really knows but this baby sits at 28K right now. the teaser stands at 2.7K.

NOTES: usually I don’t post teasers but I’m so proud of this story so why not!!!!!! I don’t think I’m going to open a taglist but that could change. I’ll let you know if I do. :) hoping to publish by October 26! thanks for reading!! xx

GENRE: angst + fluff + smut

edit: it’s out!

***

“Please don’t make me go.”

“Y/N, you already said yes. We’re only gonna be gone for a week.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Jungwon. You just said that Heeseung is gonna be there.” 

Your best friend sighs and sits down on your bed, inspecting the duffle bag you have that’s half-packed. Your clothes are haphazardly strewn all over your bedding while you plead with him to no avail. You’re so desperate that you consider getting on your knees to beg.

“I’m sorry for telling you now but he was able to get people to cover his shift last minute and paid for a spot on the kayaking rental.” 

“If he’s going, I’d rather save us all the trouble and stay at home.” Jungwon watches you cross your arms over your chest. “Every time we’re in the same room, it’s just a matter of time before things become awkward.” 

“We’ll be outside in the suuuun,” Jungwon says, tilting his head to the side and giving you those amused eyes that he always gives you when he’s trying to convince you to do something with him. You scoff and look away. It almost works. 

“I bet that it’ll be worse since we have a few things planned with the guys already.”

“So what? You two don’t get along. Big deal. We’ve already made reservations to secure a spot on the campsite and set a deposit for kayak rentals.”

“Won, I think you and I view Heeseung very differently. He doesn’t just not like me. He hates me.” 

“Hate is a wrong word.” 

You huff. “I don’t think you grasp just how weird it is every time we’re together. You could cut the tension with a knife.”

“Seriously, Y/N. It’s one week. I’m sure you can survive that. You’ve never missed a camping trip and it’s the first time all of our friends are coming.” Jungwon deadpans and throws a shirt towards your chest, which you hastily grab after being startled by his sudden movement. You know better than to argue with him when he gets like this. “Just help me pack your clothes, dude. Jay’s gonna be here to pick us up tomorrow morning and you don’t want to be under-packed.” 

You relent and grumble. “Are you still staying over?”

He nods. “My apartment’s in the opposite of where we’re going and I didn’t want to make him drive an extra twenty minutes since he needs to pick Riki up. Just need to drop Maeumi off at my mom’s before coming back here. ” Your eyes fall for a flat second before you squash that feeling down.

“I didn’t invite you over, you know.” 

“No, but don’t pretend like you’re not excited,” Jungwon says with a laugh as he pulls your clothes out of the bag and starts to readjust the clothing you’ve folded poorly. Seeing your best friend smile tugs a bit at your heartstrings and you can’t say that you aren’t happy to have him with you. “We should get you packed now so you don’t stress out later.” 

Begrudgingly, you allow Jungwon to sort out your clothes for you and pull last minute items you’ve yet to pack. It annoys you, watching him be so calm when you’re simmering with worry. But you know he’s right—you’ve invested some money into this getaway and it’ll be the last big outing before you move away from Korea for a year-long job opportunity in Okayama before pursuing your Master’s degree. Jungwon knows you a little too well and sometimes it irks you. 

The end-of-summer camping trip is always one for the books. For as long as you can remember, the two of you have been going camping just before everyone goes back to school to celebrate the beginning of a new academic year with your families. But this time, the trip wasn’t just about continuing an annual tradition. It was also to commemorate a new chapter in your life. 

You’re a year older than Jungwon. He’s known you since you were obsessed with learning how to double dutch and you’ve known him since he first learned how to ride a bike. The two of you started out as neighbors when you moved into the house next to his and his family had adopted your own like old friends, eventually inviting you and your parents into their annual camping tradition. Even when dynamics changed and people had left, the tradition was the only thing that remained a constant for you.

This is the first summer that your loved ones announced they wouldn’t be coming along. They all thought it was time for you to embark on new traditions with new people and nobody seemed to mind the change that much except for you. Jungwon had been ecstatic about it since he invited his friend, Jake, to the camping trip last year. You’d been wary at first since Jake is friends with Heeseung, but he never brought up your confusing arch-nemesis and chose to have a great trip before you all started university again.  

Sure, you had a lot of fun. You might even consider last year’s trip as one for the books. But your mom pulling out of the camping trip and everyone around you agreeing that it was for the best made you feel like your world was crumbling around you.

When you graduated university three months ago (Jungwon swears he didn’t cry but you know better than to believe him) and the weight of leaving your home started to sink in. In the blink of an eye, Jungwon wouldn’t be a twenty minute drive and hanging out with all of your friends wouldn’t be as easy as it once was. You’d be in Japan all alone.

This past summer has been a whirlwind as you tried to do everything under the sun, savoring each moment until you wouldn’t be able to anymore. Jungwon’s been a good sport about it, never once complaining when you drag him to your latest adventure. He deals with your sudden shift in mood from happy to sad, letting you cry on his shoulder and braving the cliche words you say when telling him you’ll miss him a lot. 

Unlike past seasons, this is the first summer you haven’t seen Heeseung very often. Lee Heeseung, who usually keeps his head down and minds his business, always seems to have a bone to pick whenever his eyes settle on you. It confuses you to no end and he keeps his quips to a minimum when your mutual friends are around, but it doesn’t stop you from wondering what you must’ve done to make him act like that towards you. It’s a shame because that small childhood crush you always had on him was squashed the first time he ignored your presence 

None of your friends comment on it much. They’re used to the dynamic between the both of you because it's been years of this. Elementary school saw the two of you become friends for the first time and middle school brought more friends into the group. It was in high school that things changed and Heeseung started ignoring you out of nowhere until one Thursday afternoon when he’d told you to leave him alone after pestering him about his change in behavior. 

The odd tension followed you into university and continued to seep into your life. You don’t think you’ve ever been in a room with Heeseung where he’s been anything but nonchalant towards you, often acting like you aren’t there to begin with. You do your best to put up with it and plaster a smile on your face but six years have gone by and you don’t think you can handle a seventh. All of your friends seemed to have moved past it. You don’t know why you can’t.

“Don’t think about Heeseung,” Jungwon says with a sigh. “In fact, don’t think at all. Let me handle everything and enjoy this trip before you move to Okayama, okay?”

“Okay, fine. But I want to see Maeumi.”

Jungwon snorts. “She’s gonna be real pissed when she doesn’t see you for a year, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Jungwon knows you like the back of your hand and has seen what you bring on these trips enough to know what you like to have in your duffle. He packs things you neglected to pull out because your mind has been elsewhere. As much as he wants to flick your head and tell you to quit overthinking so you can help him, he did tell you to let him handle everything. 

Your best friend makes you triple check that the two of you didn’t miss anything before heading back to his apartment to fetch Maeumi. She jumps into your arms when you squat to pick her up and won’t allow Jungwon to pet her white fur body while she’s nestled against you. This fondness and the familiar jab of Jungwon’s elbow to your ribcage makes your heart ache despite the sweet moment. You’re really going to miss home. 

Ever the concerned mothers your mom and Jungwon’s are, they send you with a tray full of sweets for the road. They make you tell them exactly when you’ll be picked up and by who (“Jongseong, Eomma,” Jungwon says for the umpteenth time) and when you plan to come back. His dad gives you a spare bucket hat for when you’re on the water and an old sweater from his college days when Jungwon complains about how you never pack enough layers. The gesture feels warm since you consider his father to be somewhat of your own.

Leaving them to go back to your house feels a bit bittersweet. A lot of your belongings sit in storage boxes in the garage from when you moved out of your campus apartment upon graduating. Jungwon decided to get an apartment for himself with the money he saved from his part-time job as a busboy at a local chain restaurant. Staying over with you makes it seem silly when you remember he used to live next door. 

It’s nine in the evening when the two of you get ready for bed. Jungwon puts your bags by the front door so neither of you would forget while you finish brushing your teeth. He grabs extra blankets from the linen closet and settles onto your L-shaped couch, pulling the fabric just underneath his chin. Your heart feels like it’s sinking in on itself when you think about how this might be the last time you’re able to be so casual around him. 

“Stop overthinking,” he says in the quiet of the night as if he can hear the thoughts in your head. The living room lights are off and the moonlight is what’s responsible for illuminating the space. 

You refrain from throwing your pillow at him. “I’m not overthinking. You’re overthinking.” 

Jungwon snorts. “We both know that’s not true. I know you’re scared about Okayama and I know that’s why you’ve been on edge about Heeseung. You’re usually never this loud about it.” Like always, your best friend is right. 

“It’s hard not to.” Your meek voice makes Jungwon’s heart lurch. “Everything’s changed so fast. I feel like I didn’t get enough time to properly say goodbye to everyone.”

“You’ll be in Japan, not America. It’s not like we’ll never see you.” 

“Yeah, but I won’t be able to annoy you for boba and you won’t be coming over to have dinner with my mom and I.” Jungwon frowns. Too caught up in making sure you were happy this summer, he hadn’t given it that much thought. “I know I won’t be far but I’m scared that things will change too much.” 

For the first time today, Jungwon doesn’t know what to say to make you feel better. “I’ll miss you a lot.” 

“I know that, dummy. I guess…I feel like I’ve been dealing with a lifetime of shittiness and the universe wanted to throw another curveball at me.” Jungwon’s heart softens at your confession. He’s used to your quick jabs and sarcastic humor. Knowing you’ve more afraid than excited makes him upset. 

“The universe sucks,” he says, happy that it pulled a laugh out of you. “I’ll always be a phone call away and you’ll never have to worry about me ignoring you because we both know I’m gonna blow up your texts anyway.” 

“I can always count on you to annoy the hell out of me.” You can’t see his face, but no you already assume Jungwon’s sporting a shit-eating grin. Even if you both know the main reason why you’re afraid of living in Okayama, neither of you say it. You’re grateful that Jungwon doesn’t bring it up. “Still, though. You know how I am with change. I’m really scared that I’m going to hate it there and not have you to keep me company.”

“Life is crazy and unpredictable but that doesn’t mean you’re going to be miserable. I mean, you did a pretty good job of making sure both of us had happy childhoods even though I know you were hurting when we were younger.” 

“It’s really hard not to have expectations or think badly about the future when I feel like I took everything for granted.” 

“I know, Bug,” Jungwon says, using a nickname from your childhood he reserves for when he thinks you need an extra bit of comfort. “But you’re the best person I know. You didn’t do anything wrong. Life just…gets in the way.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

Jungwon is quiet for a moment. “Just please promise me you’ll try to have fun, okay?”

“I know I’ll have fun, Wonnie. I’m scared that I’ll have too much fun and be a sobbing wreck when we get back.” 

The two of you share a laugh. “Alright, fair. Promise me you won’t let Heeseung get under your skin.”

You groan. “If he doesn’t like me, that’s fine. I don’t need everyone to like me. But why go out of his way to act like I’m scum of the Earth?”

“Just ignore him, okay?” Jungwon pleads. “I know it’s uncomfortable but he paid for a last minute spot. I’ll tell him to be mature about it too.” 

And, well, part of you believes Heeseung will listen to Jungwon. Despite being on the younger side in your shared friend group, everyone seemed to listen to your best friend most of the time. Jungwon has an authoritative aspect to himself when he’s refrained from being the silly, happy-go-lucky guy you all know him to be. 

It’s quiet for a brief moment with the wind gently tapping on the windows behind you. “I don’t know why he doesn’t like me.” 

Truthfully, neither does Jungwon. “I’m sorry he’s putting you in a tough spot.” 

“Won, sometimes I really wonder if he hates my guts. He doesn’t talk to me and he never replies to my messages in the group chat. It’s like I don’t exist to him.”

“I think that might be a little extreme.” 

“It’s not and you know it.” 

Jungwon hums. “Well, at least you’ll get away from him when you move to Okayama.” Just like that, all of your worries come flooding right back.

“Yeah,” you say meekly. “I’ll have Okayama.”

You don’t see him, but you know Jungwon’s smiling since you agreed with him for the first time tonight. “That’s more like it. You have your whole future ahead of yourself, dude. Heeseung is just a blimp. In three weeks, he won’t matter because you’ll be having fun in Japan. Just think about that.” 

You try not to think about the fears and hesitations you have about starting anew. This time, you wouldn’t be going back to university after the camping trip. You’ll have a week and a half back home before you’re boarding your flight and saying goodbye to the place you’ve called home for the past two decades. Thinking about the future keeps you up until you hear Jungwon’s snores from the other side of the couch. 

Unsure of when your mom will be coming home, you snuggle further into the cushions and curl yourself into a ball before falling asleep. 

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! xx

[kurokawaia]

─── ❛ Sasuke Head Canons ❜ | pt.3

Sasuke X Fem!Reader

WC; 600+

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯; annony - hi can i rq fighting with Sasuke in an established relationship. What do you seriously argue about, who pouts longest, who apologizes first, or who offers a nonverbal olive branch, how do you makeup, etc 😇 thank you!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

m.list | naruto/boruto m.list | uchiha m.list

What would the two of you argue about?

I don't think Sasuke is a man who openly states what is bothering him because he lets the feeling simmer before he tells you. He only tells you if it's serious or if it's been bugging him. Personally, I think Sasuke don't gaf what you do unless you get yourself hurt on a mission, then he starts arguing with you because he's concerned for your safety. What I think you would argue to him about is his annoying little habits he just can't seem to get out of doing. Just the little simple things like leaving things where they are supposed to be, because Sasuke is a really clean person because of how he grew up. So there probably won't be much for you to argue to him about him. If I'm being so serious right now, you would probably argue with him about not giving you any attention-

Who would be 'pouting' the longest?

I'm sure depending on the situation it would vary between the two of you and depending on what Sasuke and you actually argued about would be the determining factor. Although, I don't Sasuke would date anyone like himself, he would go for someone who can balance his stoicism out, it would be his energetic pretty girlfriend who will be pouting the longest because you are dramatic at times.

Who apologises first/ Silent treatment/ Making up

I'm gonna have to say Sasuke on this one. He seriously doesn't want to mess things up with you because your his family and he can't go through the pain of losing you. Butttt, depending on what the two of you had argued about, it could be you apologising, you would usually apologise to him after accidently yelling or arguing about something incontrollable like Sasuke missions. It start off as a competition on who couldn't talk to each other but then Sasuke couldn't hold it for too long, he needed to hear you soft voice speaking to him, Sasuke needed your voice to talk to him because that's what makes him feel just a little bit happier everyday. You would usually want to stop the silent treatment but when Sasuke wasn't talking to you it truly made you nervous because sometimes he could just say the meanest things to you without thinking what he's saying. As for making up? You would be doing some mundane tasks in the bathroom, kitchen, bedroom or anywhere and Sasuke would come up behind you just to wrap his arm around your waist and place his chin on your shoulder and mumble a soft, 'I'm sorry' in your ear even if he was right and you were wrong. As for the other way around, you would walk up behind Sasuke and you would hold the hem of his shirt with your head hung low, waiting for Sasuke to say something, but he doesn't. So then, you would apologise first and he would turn around with a sigh, planting a soft kiss to your forehead while mumbling the same words of, 'I'm sorry' back to you.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

this was rushed, ill make sure to edit this later!!

[morgana-larkin]

Hi can you write a Melissa x reader with enemies to lovers, a true slow burn, and the reader only calls her ‘Schemmenti’ until the turning point where the reader finally calls her ‘Mel’? Thank you!

Hola! Here ya go! I have to say that it was fun, and I did not do an evil laugh at some point while writing this… 😏. Anyway, like I said previously, hope you’ll enjoy my period driven fics for the next week cause this one gots the smut too. (I regret nothing… I might in a week *shrugs*). Anyway, not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: I made a masterlist and I’m quite proud of it *does self five*. But then 5 minutes later the wifi craps out so I’ll be adding this one to it when it decides to work again as I need my laptop to do it. And if you want to be added to my taglist then let me know peeps!

Fine Line

Warnings: smut, I think there’s swearing but I’m too lazy to check

Words: 4.3k

You come storming in the break room and slam the door open, then proceed to stomp to the fridge. Melissa trails your movements and sees that you’re in a pissy mood this morning.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Melissa teases you.

You throw your lunch in the fridge and slam the door shut then go to the coffee machine.

“I don’t have the patience for you right now Schemmenti.” You snap at her. You pour the coffee in your mug.

“Are you alright dear?” Barb asks you and you sigh.

“Just a rough morning.” You tell her gently.

Melissa has always seen how both of you treat each other differently. You both have a short fuse and didn’t like each other from the start. You accidentally pissed her off one too many times during the week and you got mad and started arguing back at her. Now it’s a year later and it hasn’t changed.

Melissa eyes you and you catch it and glare at her before walking out of the break room and Melissa smiles. If Melissa was being completely honest, she doesn’t mind the little rivalry. She has fun with you and enjoys how hot you look when you’re mad at her.

You on the other hand want Melissa to just avoid you, you have no idea why she enjoys torturing you and you want her to leave you alone instead.

Melissa stops by your classroom on her way to the break room at lunch. “Have you simmered down at all?” She jokes to you and you roll your eyes.

“I have and then I see you and it goes right back up.” You retort back and Melissa smirks. “What are you doing here Schemmenti?”

“I work here.” She tells you and you huff in annoyance and glare at her.

“You know what I meant.” You snap a bit at her.

“I came to see you.” She tells you and you sigh. She likes to come see you before she goes on lunch everyday and quite frankly, today, you don’t have the patience for her. So you stand up and walk towards the door. Melissa sees you walking over and she unconsciously licks her lips.

“I already told you that I don’t have the patience today for you Schemmenti.” You tell her, then slam the door in her face and lock it. Melissa huffs then defeated, she walks to the break room. Melissa likes talking to you, she just doesn’t know how to without making you annoyed at her. She already admitted to herself that she has a crush on you and she wants you to see her as more than a rival and more than a friend too.

“How do I talk to y/n without her getting mad at me?” Melissa asks Barb in the break room and Barb is stunned by the question. She thought that you and Melissa were gonna wanna keep this rivalry forever.

“Why?” Barb asks.

“Because I want to try and be friends with her instead of enemies.” Melissa says and leans back and crosses her arms.

“Well you could start with not insulting and teasing her.” Barb starts.

“Everytime I try it seems like I just annoy her. Like she thinks I’m joking or playing with her mind.” Melissa says.

“Well you did get mad at her everyday for her first 2 weeks.” Barb reminds her. “Maybe start with an apology.” Melissa sighs, it’s worth a try and she stands up, grabs her lunchbox and yours from the fridge, then walks to your classroom.

When she gets to your door, she stands in front of it for a moment then knocks. You answer it a few seconds later, when you see Melissa there you go to close it again but she stops it with her foot. “I brought your lunch for you.” She tells you and holds up your lunchbox. You open the door and stare at her confused.

“Why?” You ask.

“Because it’s lunchtime and you should eat.” She simply tells you.

“Did you do something to it?” You ask and Melissa huffs.

“No, because I’m not 12.” She tells you and hands you your lunchbox. You take it and just stare at her confused. Melissa then walks to her classroom and continues to eat her lunch while grading some tests.

There’s a knock at her door and she gives a ‘come in’. She finishes grading the question and finally looks up and sees you standing there, looking at her curiously. “Yes?” She asks and you sigh.

“Why were you being nice to me?” You ask her and she drops her pen on her desk and lifts her glasses up to the top of her head.

“I just brought you your lunch, that’s all.” She tells you.

“But why?”

“Because you’re having a rough morning and you’d have an even worse day if you didn’t eat.” She tells you.

“And that’s all?” You ask her.

“Ya.” She says and you turn to leave but glance back at her.

“Thank you.” You tell her and she looks at you.

“You’re welcome hon.” She tells you and you close her door and leave to your classroom.

Melissa smiles after you leave. That’s the first normal conversation she’s had with you and you even thanked her. She thinks maybe now you won’t take everything she says the wrong way. When she thinks back on that thought, she thinks that it’s nice to have dreams.

You walk into the break room the next day in a better mood than yesterday and Melissa looks up and smiles at you.

“Morning.” She tells you and you look at her confused.

“What do you want Schemmenti?” You ask her and she sighs.

“Nothing, just saying morning to you.” She tells you and you eye her suspiciously but then continue with what you were doing.

After you leave the break room, Melissa sighs. “Everytime.” Melissa mutters.

“Wow, she really does take everything you say the wrong way.” Barb says beside her and she turns and glares at Barb.

“Really? I didn’t notice.” Melissa says sarcastically but Barb just smiles.

“Just because you brought her lunch one time doesn’t mean that reverses a year of rivalry.” Barb tells her and Melissa sighs then gets an idea and smiles. “What did you just think of?” Barb asks cautiously.

“That maybe I could bring her lunch more often, as in something that I made. No one says no to anything I make.” She says proudly and Barb looks at her sceptically. Barb then prays that this doesn’t end badly.

The next day, Melissa brings an extra lunch for you. You stay in your classroom during lunch again. You end up staying in your classroom during lunch quite often, mostly to avoid Melissa. You start to think you should pack food that doesn’t need to be refrigerated and keep your lunchbox with you in your classroom. You’re grading one of your students' homework when there’s a knock on your door. “Come in.” You say and finish what you’re writing then look up. Melissa is there with a smile on her face.

“Hi.” She says

“I was starting to think you forgot about me, bummer.” You tell her and her smile doesn’t falter. “What are you doing her Schemmenti?” You ask and she walks up to you.

“I brought you lunch.” She says and you look and don’t see your lunchbox.

“Then why isn’t my lunchbox with you?” You ask her.

“Because I didn’t bring your lunch to you. I brought something I made for you.” She tells you and you look at her surprised.

“What?” You deadpan.

“I made food last night, and brought some leftovers for you.” She says.

“Why?”

“Because I did.” She says and sets the food on your desk.

“I don’t want it.” You tell her.

“No one ever says no to anything I make.” She tells you.

“Well I’m saying no to you now.” You tell her.

“That’s because you haven’t tried it yet.” She tells you and crosses her arms.

“If I try it and still say I don’t want it then will you go away?” You ask and she nods. Reluctantly you sigh and take a bite. You go tell her to now leave then it hits your tastebuds and you freeze. It was good, like really good, the best food you’ve tasted. And now you reluctantly tell her no to the food and tell her to leave. “There, I tasted it and I’m still telling you to leave.” You say and she looks at you unconvinced.

“I saw you hesitate, you love it.” She tells you and you know you’ll have to admit you do like it but don’t want it here.

“Ok it was probably the best thing I ever tasted but I don’t want it or you here.” You tell her and she looks offended.

“Why?” She asks.

“Because in case it escaped you, I don’t like you and you don’t like me. We’ve been enemies since I got here since I was an easy target for you. So now, please leave.” You tell her and she looks defeated but takes her food and leaves.

You think she’d give up but she doesn’t, she’s very stubborn, but so are you. She brings you lunch for a week before you finally blow up at her.

“Brought you lunch again hon. Maybe you’ll actually have it today.” She tells you and you sigh and rub a hand on your temple. She walks in and your anger that’s been building all week finally lets go.

“MELISSA WILL YOU PLEASE STOP!” You say and she freezes. “I don’t want anything you make! What I do want is for you to leave me alone. Forever!” You say and she actually looks upset which catches you off guard but still stick to what you want. “I don’t want you to talk to me or to bring me food ever again. We’re co workers, nothing more.” You tell her and she lets out a huff then snatches her food.

“Fine.” She snips and starts walking out of your classroom. “Try to be nice and this is what I get.” She mutters. You hear it and you’re confused. She was trying to be nice? Wtf?

A month goes by and to your surprise, Melissa does leave you alone. She doesn’t even look your way anymore. She pretends you don’t exist and for the first week you actually like it. Then the second week hits and it turns out you miss the rivalry you had with the redhead. You keep glancing at her throughout the week and she keeps feeling like she’s being watched and looks up and you look away quickly. If Melissa ever catches you staring at her then she doesn’t comment on it.

After a month, you go to talk to her. You both have a prep second period so you go and knock on her door. “Come in.” You hear and you enter.

She glances up to see who it is and she does a double take. “What do you want?” She says with a bit of anger and sadness lacing it.

You close the door then turn around and face her. You don’t seem annoyed, she thinks, more frustrated about something.

“Did you mean what you said a month ago?” You ask and she quirks an eyebrow.

“You’ll have to be more specific. I said a lot of things a month ago.” She says and you walk over and sit on one of the students desks.

“That you were trying to be nice.” You say and she looks stunned.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” She says.

“So it was true? You were trying to be nice?” You ask and she rubs her temple and nods.

“But why? You have been nothing but mean to me since I got here.” You state.

“I know.” She says. “At first it seemed like you just did everything wrong to make me mad but then I realised you didn’t know what you were doing and I was gonna stop but I found it a bit amusing to see your annoyed reactions. Then I wanted to stop fully 6 months later but you keep taking everything I say wrong. And I can’t say I blame you.” She says and you look at her stunned.

“What exactly are you saying Schemmenti?” You say and she quirks an eyebrow.

“You know last time you spoke to me, you called me Melissa.” She says and you look at her confused.

“I did?”

“You were telling me to get the fuck out and leave you alone but ya, you called me Melissa.” She says and you roll your eyes.

“Obviously an accident.” You tell her and she rolls her eyes at you.

“Well I don’t know about you but I want to put the whole rivalry to an end and maybe actually get to know each other.” She tells you and you look at her stunned.

“You do?” You ask and she nods. “You mean you don’t want to annoy each other again?” You ask and she quirks an eyebrow again at you.

“Obviously we still will but more friendly this time. That’s if you want to possibly become friends.” She says cautiously and you smile.

“I think that could happen.” You tell her and you get off the desk. “Well I gotta get back and finish some grading or my students might revolt as I’m apparently taking too long to grade the tests, like I got nothing else to do.” You say dramatically and she giggles.

“Hey y/n.” She says and you look at her. “I’m sorry for how I treated you when you got here.” She tells you genuinely and you smile.

“I forgive you. And I’m sorry for how I treated you too.” You tell her.

“It’s alright, I would have reacted the same if I had someone being mad at me everyday.” She jokes and you laugh. You go to leave then glance back at her when you reach the doorway.

“See you around Melissa.” You tell her and she freezes and looks at you stunned. You smile at her and she smiles back at you.

“See ya around y/n.” She tells you. You nod, tap the doorway once and then leave. And for the first time in a month, Melissa feels hope with you.

A week goes by and you and Melissa stay true to your word. Everytime you enter the break room, she says good morning to you and you say it back to her. Barb looked at you guys suspiciously for a second, thinking she heard you both wrong. But after glancing at the trio, she realised she heard you both correctly, if the trio’s shocked expressions are anything to go by.

You come in at lunch everyday and you mostly go to the table and couch and do some work there while you eat. On Monday of the third week of you two getting along, she brought you a coffee while you did your work during lunch. You look up and smile and thank her.

“Whatcha working on hon?” She asks you and glances at your paper.

“Descriptions of their hero.” You tell her and you hand her the one you were grading.

“This is cute.” She says and hands it back to you.

“Ya, most of them chose their parents or a celebrity. But I got concerned when I read this one.” You tell her and hand her one of them. She reads it then laughs after a minute.

“I think this little one is on the right path to be a little Wednesday Addams.” She tells you and you laugh.

“Maybe that’s their goal.” You joke with her. And neither of you notice but everyone is looking at you two shocked.

When it comes to a month of you two actually being nice to each other, you realise you have feelings for her and you get annoyed at yourself. You just became friendly with her and now feelings had to get involved. The thing you have to realise is, is that there is a fine line between love and hate.

You start to ignore her a little bit, in the hopes of your feelings going away. They don’t though. And to make it worse, Melissa notices the change in how you treat her. She comes in your classroom during both your prep, without knocking , after a week of you ignoring her a bit.

“What’s going on with you?” She questions right away.

“Well hello to you too.” You joke.

“Hi.” She says and then sighs. “Now what is going on with you?” She repeats.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“What do I mean.” She says with a chuckle and huffs. “I mean, why do you sometimes ignore me?” She asks and you sigh.

“I’m not.” You say and honestly, you don’t even believe yourself. Melissa crosses her arms and that unintentionally lifts her chest up a bit and you stare at her chest. She catches on to you staring and looks down to what you’re looking at. She looks back up, confused, until she puts the pieces together and she smirks.

“Why are you staring at my chest?” She asks and you snap out of your trance.

“What?” You ask and she walks towards you until she’s right in front of you.

“I said, why are you staring at my chest?” She repeats and you gulp.

“I- I wasn’t.” You say and she leans down and puts her hands on the arms of your chair, effectively giving you a view of right down her shirt. And you try to not stare at it, but the view of it is just too good not to stare.

“Do you like me y/n?” She asks you and you look up at her eyes. You see the curiosity and hope in them.

“I do ya.” You tell her and look down at your lap. She puts a finger under your chin and forces you to look back up.

“I like ya too hon.” She tells you and your jaw drops. She smiles warmly at you then closes your mouth with the finger still under your chin. Then she leans in and kisses you and your brain shuts down. She pulls back after a second and sees your reaction and laughs. “Did I make you short circuit?” She teases you and you stare. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She tells you and you snap of your very deep trance.

“What?” You ask and she giggles.

“I made you short circuit didn’t I?” She repeats and you nod embarrassed. “No need to be embarrassed, it actually makes me happy I have that kind of effect on someone.” She tells you.

“Mel, you’re stunning, of course you have that kind of effect.” You tell her dramatically.

“Oh I’m stunning am I?” She asks you and you nod. “And you called me Mel.” She says and your eyes widen.

“Sorry Melissa.” You tell her.

“No, go back to Mel. I like it.” She tells you and you blush. You still have the view of down her shirt and you rub your thighs together. She notices and she smirks. She then casually sits on your lap with her legs on the sides of the chair and kisses you. You kiss her back this time and she smiles in the kiss. She makes out with you for about 5 minutes then you buck your hips and she pulls back and stands up and you whine. “Patience you. How about you come back to my place after?” She says and you nod with a smile. “Perfect now, hand me your phone.” She says and holds her hand out. You give her a confused look and she smiles. “So I can give you my number.” She tells you and you scramble to get your phone out and then give it to her. She giggles as she takes it then puts her number in and texts herself. “Great, now we have each other’s numbers. See ya tonight.” She tells you with a wink then hands you your phone back then turns and leaves.

She gets a text from you not 5 minutes later.

You: was your plan for me to not be able to concentrate the rest of the day?

Mel: Possibly

Mel: Did it work?

You: Possibly

Mel: see you tonight right after school.

Mel: *sends address*

You: can’t wait

Mel: don’t touch yourself! I know I left ya hot and bothered

You: Ffs

Melissa smiles at that then you both continue out the day. Of course she can’t resist teasing you. Like sending you winks whenever she sees you, touching your thigh when she comes to join you on the couch during lunch, pressing you up against the wall during… oh wait, that last one was in your daydream.

When you get to her place though, that daydream comes true. As soon as you walk in through the door, she closes it, slams you against it and kisses you roughly. She then trails down to your neck and immediately sucks it. You think she’s trying to be quick about this with the pace and intensity she’s doing it at.

“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of doing this with you.” She says between kisses on your neck.

“How long?” You ask curiously and out of breath.

“About 6 months.” She says and you gasp, from shock of her answer and pleasure of her sucking your neck again. She then pulls your top off and inclips your bra then taking that off of you. She stares at you with a smile then cups your breasts and leans in to you. “6 months I’ve held off wanting to kiss you.” She says and starts moving her hands in a circle, causing your breasts to move a bit and your nipples get played with at the same time. “Now that I have you, I’m not holding back. Especially since you were ignoring me for a week.” She tells you and you groan.

“It’s because I realised my feelings for you, and we just started to be friends and I thought if I ignored you, my feelings would go away. But they didn’t.” You tell her and she smirks.

“I don’t care for the reason Bella. Just know that you’ll get properly punished.” She tells you with a low pitched voice and you shiver. While you were distracted, she pulls down your pants and underwear at the same time, you step out of them and she spreads your legs. You finally clue in to what she’s about to do. “Mel, shouldn’t we go to your be-.” And what you were about to say was cut off with a gasp from you as she goes and sucks your clit hard, right away. You get close to an orgasm and you hold on to her head and lean against the wall so you don’t fall down. but once you come, you collapse. Luckily she catches you as she knew you’d fall. She then picks you up and carries you to her bedroom and places you on the bed with a pillow under your head. You’re still blissed from your orgasm that you don’t realise that she’s out of view until she comes back. You look and your brain shuts down again. She comes back completely naked and wearing a strap.

She crawls on the bed and kisses your lips, you taste yourself on her and you moan. While kissing you, she grabs the strap and gently slides it in through your entrance and you squeak into the kiss. She gives you a second to adjust then she goes and moves in and out of you quickly and hard. You start gasping and moaning and she does check in with you. “Is this ok?” She asks and you nod.

“Yes, ple-please d-don’t stop!” You tell her and she smiles. She puts one of your nipples in her mouth and you come again 20 seconds later. She doesn’t stop though and you’re over sensitive as you already came twice.

“I still have to come baby.” She tells you and you whine. You end up coming again and then she comes right after. She stops immediately and leans her head on your shoulder and catches her breath. Then she pulls out of you gently and flops over beside you on her back. She takes the strap off and grabs the Kleenex on her nightstand. She cleans both of you then spoons you. You shift so that you’re on your side so you can spoon properly. She leans up a bit and kisses your forehead then lays back down and pulls you in closer to her.

“I really enjoyed that.” You tell her and she giggles.

“Good, I’m glad.” She says and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Didn’t know you’d be so intense.” You tell her and she laughs.

“Well I guess a week of being ignored would do that.” She says and you laugh. You turn around in her arms so that you’re face to face and she smiles at you. “Hi beautiful.” She tells you.

You smile back at her. “Hi Mel.” You say. “This wasn’t a one time thing right?” You ask cautiously.

“Of course not. I want to do it again. For as long as you’ll have me.” She tells you and you smile.

“Well I guess unfortunately for you, you’re stuck with me.” You tell her teasingly.

“Oh, I’m so unlucky that I have to wake up to this beautiful face every morning.” She says and boops your nose and you giggle. You then nuzzle into her neck and fall asleep. She wraps an arm protectively around you and falls asleep as well.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @imaginesmultifandoms @idonothingalldays-blog @sexysapphicshopowner @dvrkhcld @lilfartbox1

Let me know if you want to be added!

[rainerioun]

𝖶𝖧𝖠𝖳 𝖲𝖧𝖮𝖴𝖫𝖣 𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖥𝖮𝖢𝖴𝖲 𝖮𝖭 𝖳𝖧𝖨𝖲 𝖶𝖤𝖤𝖪? | 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽.

— Hi! This reading is pretty straightforward and simple, but I tried to spice it up with other elements. Wishing you all an amazing week!

ORIGINAL DATE POSTED : MARCH 31ST, 2024.

HOW TO CHOOSE A PILE : The outcome may vary based on whether you receive clear messages visually or intuitively. If you resonate more with selecting a pile visually, trust that inclination. Personally, I believe the notion that 'looks can deceive,' so I prefer to take a deep breath and close my eyes, allowing the pile I'm meant to connect with to come to me. You might see the color of the pile, sense or hear a number, or simply feel its overall vibe.

Please don’t redistribute or edit my content.

MUST READ + MASTERLIST | KO-FI

PILE ONE

Main Focus. Phoenix : Freedom from Suffering and Past Karma. Reincarnation. Nightingale : Fearless Voice, Speech, Communication, or Song.

This week, prioritize expressing yourself openly and communicating clearly. Release worries from past experiences to embrace new ones. Whether through work, hobbies, casual conversations, or anything else, you can offer valuable contributions for personal growth and the benefit of others.

Additional Focus. Step Away from the Crowd. | It's Not an Emergency. Material and Spiritual Prosperity. | Choose Wisely. Teacher : Share Your Knowledge. Teacher — Light : Ability to communicate knowledge, experience, skill, or wisdom.

I was taken aback when I drew two teacher cards from different decks, but it really emphasizes what I mentioned earlier. Allow yourself to unconsciously or consciously guide others. This might involve sharing experiences openly, teaching a skill, or imparting wisdom. This will end up benefiting you in the long term. If you're in a work setting, this could manifest there. If not, it may reveal itself in another form.

If you're currently pondering over a decision or choice, it might resurface later in the week. [ If this doesn't resonate with you, this could also form suddenly and randomly. ] Take your time; there's no need to rush. Remember, it might not be as significant as it seems initially. Approach it with a clear mind and stability, allowing yourself to make a wise decision without being swayed by others or external factors.

If Wanted, Balance Your Root Chakra.

Affirmations: I am centered and grounded. I am safe and secure. I have all I need. I am where I'm meant to be.

Try Using/Wearing: Smokey Quartz, Red Jasper, Black Obsidian, Red Garnet.

Activities: Go outdoors. Walk barefoot. Dance. Meditate. Journal. Ensure you attend to your basic needs. Engage in grounding exercises, both mentally and physically. Physical activities, such as jogging or exercise. Declutter your space. Listen to music or sing.

PILE TWO

Main Focus. Oyster : Patient, Secret-Keeper, Hiding Inner Treasures. Unicorn : Reconnecting to Higher Wisdom or Divinity.

This week, consider starting a journey of deeper self-discovery, even if it's just taking small steps. Nothing happens overnight. Allow yourself to slow down and reflect, practicing patience with both life and yourself. If you're religious or spiritual, try deepening that connection this week; you might discover the answers you seek or a kickstart in the right direction.

Additional Focus. Don't Sweat the Small Stuff. | Rise and Shine. The Waiting Game. | Authority. Family : All in the Pride. Victim — Light : Prevents you from letting yourself be victimized, or victimizing others.

Taking it slow is crucial this week. Rushing through life isn't the way to go; instead, allow things to unfold naturally for now. Empower yourself to let this process happen without stressing over easily fixable or insignificant matters.

For some of you dealing with family or close ones, let things simmer for a bit before diving back in. If not, perhaps reach out and say hello!

If Wanted, Balance Your Third-Eye Chakra.

Affirmations: I trust my intuition. I accept things how they are. I am insightful. I see and think clearly. All I need is within me. I trust in my decisions.

Try Using/Wearing: Sodalite, Lapis Lazuli, Sapphire, Blue Aventurine, Amethyst.

Activities: Visualization. Do puzzles or other mentally stimulating tasks. Do what you simply feel called to do. Pay extra attention to your dreams, and write them down. Get creative. Limit screen time.

PILE THREE

Main Focus. Octopus : Reaching, Yearning, Lacking Boundaries and Direction. Hawk : Watchful, All-Seeing, Messenger of Divinity. Golden Egg : Message at the Center of the Heart, The Unstruck Sound.

Taking quiet time for yourself is important. Embrace the peace and comfort of what you already have. There's no need to desperately search or long for something at this moment. It might feel challenging without a clear direction, but if you've been seeking a sign, consider this it. Pushing and rushing will only lead to a shortage of these things. Allow yourself the time and space to form them naturally, whether you're actively involved or not.

This is just a gentle nudge for a few people: if you've been contemplating starting therapy or seeking help, please consider doing so. I'll leave it at that since it's a sensitive topic.

Additional Focus. Reclaim Your Art. | Celebrate You. Light. | Base Chakra. | Financial and Material Changes. Fullness : Give Thanks. | Conundrum : Up In The Air. Rescuer — Light : Provides strength and support to others in crisis. Acts out of love with no expectation of reward.

For those of you who engage in any form of creativity, no matter how small, consider spending some time alone with your craft this week. You might find it brings even more clarity than before. Embracing the unique aspects of yourself is always a beautiful and necessary thing. Remember, you are strong, and any challenges you face will eventually fade away as long as you continue to love and nurture yourself. Trust that things will work out; sometimes, you have to be your own savior for the right people or opportunities to come into your life.

If Wanted, Balance Your Heart Chakra.

—The Root/Base Chakra card appeared, but I sense that focusing on the heart is more necessary at the moment. You can explore the other later on. If you're still interested, you can find more about it in the lower half of the first pile. <3

Affirmations: Wherever I go, love is all around me. I love myself to the fullest. I am worthy of love. Love flows freely. I feel my heart's calling. I honor myself. I live in harmony. I forgive myself and others.

Try Using/Wearing: Rose Quartz, Aventurine, Jade, Pink or Green Tourmaline, Opal.

Activities: Pamper yourself. Give love and help to those in need. Volunteer. Go to a pet shop. Do things you loved as a child.

PILE FOUR

Main Focus. Panther : Annihilation of the Unnecessary, Purging. Camel : Resourceful, Independent, Knows One's Self.

This week, take a more action-oriented approach. Be bold and productive—it suits you. Try relying on yourself as you tackle tasks and goals. Let go of anything that no longer serves you, that includes toxic people.

Additional Focus. Turn Back. | Connect with Your Soul Family.  Heart Chakra. | Rejoice in Celebration. Self-Confidence : Stand Your Ground. | Watcher: Be Your Own Witness.  Fool — Light : Fearlessly revealing emotion. Helping people laugh at absurdity and hypocrisy.

You need to learn to be your own support. Celebrate your confidence and embrace yourself. Remember, it doesn't always have to be rigid and serious—you can express this through humor and laughter. You can be a strong figure while also being open about your emotions. Connect more with the people around you in this positive energy.

If Wanted, Balance Your Heart Chakra.

Affirmations: Wherever I go, love is all around me. I love myself to the fullest. I am worthy of love. Love flows freely. I feel my heart's calling. I honor myself. I live in harmony. I forgive myself and others.

Try Using/Wearing: Rose Quartz, Aventurine, Jade, Pink or Green Tourmaline, Opal.

Activities: Pamper yourself. Give love and help to those in need. Volunteer. Go to a pet shop. Do things you loved as a child.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: ….i was supposed to be working or at least working on my fic exchange fic. but yeah. i took a slightly too long lunch and this happened instead. i have no explanation except for the fact that @pyotrkochetkov and @smileysvech post about nečas all the time and his big brown eyes have captivated me. this is just pure filth tbh and just barely edited so be nice 😅

word count: 2.7k

tw: fingering, oral (male receiving), brief handjob, unprotected sex, innuendo, dirty talk, mild voyeurism - let me know if i missed anything else

summary: you get bored while martin’s playing his video game so you decide to take matters into your own hands, so to speak

You’re bored and horny - a lethal combo. It’s Martin’s day off and it’s pouring outside, so neither of you had felt the need to go out and do things when you woke up and saw the weather. After lazy orgasms in bed, you’d gotten up to get a beef stew simmering in the Dutch oven, something warm and fitting for the weather.

Martin had gone down to the building’s gym for a workout and you’d cleaned out the drawers in your dresser, leaving two full bags of clothes to be donated. But now, Martin’s back in the apartment, showered and settled in his gaming chair with his headset on and a video game on the screen.

And you’re bored and horny.

Sure, you could clean out the closet or read a book or something, but you just want more of Martin. You miss him too much when he’s traveling and the team has a string of away games coming up. Quickly poking your head into the spare room where Martin’s gaming computer is set up, you confirm that he’s not streaming. He’s just playing with who you assume are the boys and when he scoffs into the headset, “ah, Svechy, you suck at this,” your suspicions are confirmed that it’s his teammates he’s playing with.

Happy that you can execute your plan, you undress, tossing your clothes in a pile on the floor for later, and stroll into the room. Martin doesn’t hear you enter, probably because of the chatter in his headphones, and when you step around him to stand next to the screen, he does a double take and his eyes widen before giving you a once over. His gaze lingers on your pebbled nipples and when his eyes land on your bare cunt, his lips turn up in a hungry smile. You cock your head at him, smirking and allowing your hand to slide down over your stomach, fingertips barely brushing between your legs. Martin’s grin grows downright dirty and he says, “go ahead, get in there,” startling you because surely he can’t be talking to you while he’s got the guys listening. But then, after just enough of a pause, he adds, “Fishy, come on. Get in the storeroom.” and you realize he’s going to make this fun for both of you.

He raises an eyebrow at you and flicks his gaze from your face down to where your fingers are lingering, giving you a meaningful look. You take the hint and shift your hand, thumb brushing your clit and burying two fingers into your already wet cunt. A satisfied little sigh leaves your lips and you grind on your hand for a few minutes, leaning your free hand on the desk for support as your knees turn to jelly. You curl your fingers to work up the pleasure building low in your stomach, arousal dripping and making your movements that much easier. You bite at your lower lip to stay quiet.

Martin keeps talking into the headset, but it’s like white noise to you since you don’t understand any of the lingo. He makes a gesture with his hands still wrapped around the controller and your fingers stutter, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion because you have no idea what he wants. He grins at you and opens his mouth, wiggling his tongue playfully at you.

Oh.

Your cheeks heat up and your fingers are drenched between your legs, but you pull them away - pouting at the emptiness - and hold them up to Martin’s mouth. He wraps his lips around your fingers and sucks them clean, tongue lapping at the pads of your fingertips. You shiver and he grins around your fingers, the devil. He hums, whether it’s a response to a question from the guys or a way to make you even wetter, you’re not sure and you don’t really care. He keeps your fingers in his mouth, lazily licking and sucking at him, while you drop to your knees in front of him and scrape the nails of your free hand over his bare knee. His cock is half hard under his shorts, the tented fabric a beacon for your gaze.

He glances down at you, opens his mouth to release your fingers, and says, “yeah, go ahead. You know what to do.” It’s directed at you and it’s not, his thumbs flying furiously over the buttons on the controller.

You sigh and lean your cheek against the inside of his knee, reaching for the waistband of his shorts. Martin barely moves and you wiggle the fabric down just enough to expose his cock and balls, saliva pooling on your tongue at the sight of him, huge even when he’s not even fully hard yet. You wrap your wet fingers around him and stroke slowly, gently, satisfied when he lets out a little grunt that he tries to disguise as a cough. You smirk to yourself, licking your other palm so you can get two hands on him, stroking him to full hardness. He’s throbbing in your grip, the soft velvet of his skin hot against yours.

Leaning up on your knees, you settle in between Martin’s thick thighs and he spreads them a little more so you have room, one hand leaving the controller briefly to rub the tips of his fingers against your scalp. You nearly purr at how good it feels. Martin’s cock twitches in your grip and you lean forward the rest of the way to place a soft kiss against the slit, darting your tongue out so the tip of it brushes the sensitive head. He grunts again, not even trying to disguise the noise, and bucks up slightly into your face. You tighten your hand around his base, a little warning, and suck the head of his cock into your mouth and hold it against your tongue. Martin groans and you wonder how he’ll explain the noises.

“Yeah, fuck,” he mutters. “I think we could’ve done that faster.”

You’re sure he’s talking to you, but you don’t change anything about your movements, letting saliva pool on your tongue and drool down his length so you can glide your hand over him easier. He feels impossibly thick in your mouth and you can’t wait for him to stretch you out. You never take more than a few inches of him into your mouth, even though you know he wants more, keeps flexing his hips up into your mouth. One of your hands is firm on his thigh, nails digging into his skin every time he tries to thrust his cock deeper down your throat. You keep up your fun until you can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs, pleasure coiling tight in your body. Martin rests his hands on the top of your head, the pressure keeping your mouth on his cock.

He laughs suddenly, his body shaking, and you gag a little on his cock when it pushes deeper. “Sorry, yeah, I told you the game is fun when you’re good at it,” he says and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard at the head of his cock, pre-cum filling your mouth.

Martin’s had enough fun, you decide, releasing the head of his cock with a wet pop, strings of saliva still connecting your mouth to him. He looks down at you, frowns. You grin wickedly back up at him, slipping your body under his arms and climbing up onto the gaming chair, knees on either sides of his thighs so you can straddle the thick muscle. You’re eye level with him now and he licks his lower lip, looking down at his lap. His cock bobs between your bodies, hard and red at the tip, leaking steadily. Martin’s hands rest at your lower back, just above the curve of your ass, the cool plastic of the controller making you shiver a bit.

“Mhm,” he hums into the microphone, “let’s do a targeted entry. On my count.” He looks at you, a teasing glint in his warm brown eyes. “One,” you reach between your bodies, grasping his cock. “Two,” you slide your palm over his shaft. “Three,” your thumb rubs over the slit on the tip and he groans.

You know he expected you to sit on him at the end of his countdown, but this is for your fun, not his. You can feel his hands moving at your lower back, can hear the faint action sounds from the headset. Your hand works him over slowly and you watch, sliding closer over his thighs so you can press his cock against your stomach, showing you both just how deep he reaches inside of you. He leans down and bites gently at your shoulder, flexing his thighs under you, feeling the rush of arousal drip over his skin. He leans forward to rest his chin on your shoulder so he can see the screen better and press his cock more solidly against your stomach. It throbs against you and you shift your hips so your cunt is pressed against the underside of his cock. You roll your hips a little, getting him slick, so you can lift up on your knees and using his shoulders as leverage, balance yourself just over his cock.

The broad head bumps up against your clit, making you gasp and whine while you line him up at your entrance. Martin kisses your shoulder and you sink down on him, just an inch or so, stretched wide. Your thighs tremble and you can’t keep your moans quiet even though you cover your mouth with your hand.

“Come on,” he says, voice raspy in your ear. “I think we can take it, it’s not too bad.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, with relation to the game, but you know he’s encouraging you to take more of him, so you sink down. Inch by inch. Until your ass is back on his thighs and he’s spearing you to the hilt. It’s hard to breathe, it feels like he’s stuffed you all the way to your lungs, your cunt stretched to the point of near pain, you legs spread wide and then wider when he opens his legs a little more. You hiccup a gasp, clenching around him.

Martin bites at your shoulder, muffling his own groan, before snapping, “go! Move, move, move.” His hands move at your back, working the controller, and you roll your hips, grinding down on him, bouncing over his cock. You’re soaked for him, the glide easy, keeping yourself as full of him as you can. Occasionally, he bucks his hips up into yours, drives his cock deeper, punches a moan from your lips.

You bury your face where his shoulder meets his neck, bouncing on him, the fabric of his shorts rubbing your ass raw, the slap of your skin against his balls surely audible through his headset. You’re dripping around him, so close, clenching around his length. One of your hands drops to your laps, finding your hard, swollen clit and working at the nerves with two fingers, sliding through the wetness. Pleasure and pressure build up in your stomach as you ride him, the throbbing of his cock matching your pounding heartbeat.

It just takes a few more seconds of his cock and your fingers until you’re gushing around him, your orgasm exploding in your body. You’re panting against his neck, your pace slowing down as your orgasm hits and your legs get tired. Martin thrusts up into you a few more times, keeping you bouncing on his lap even as he’s giving directions to the guys. Your hand is still between your legs when he comes, finishing inside of you with a muffled grunt and a hot flood. He keeps fucking up into you, pushing his cum both deeper and out of you.

You can feel his cum on your hand and you wipe it a little on his shirt, slumping against his chest. You’re exhausted now. Your eyes flutter shut, cheek pressed against his shoulder, cunt still throbbing.

“Fuck, nice,” Martin crows, startling you a little. “Good win, boys. Gonna log off and spend a little time with my girl.”

He pulls the headset away from his ear a little and you can hear a voice - maybe Svech, maybe Sebastian, you’re honestly not sure - say, “think you already spent some time with her, huh, Neci?” There’s some laughter and you blink, entire body flushing with heat.

“Ah, she’s a good girl,” he laughs a little. “Deserves my full attention.”

His hand is warm on your asscheek, patting gently. You bite at his shoulder and he pats you again, not as gently. The headset is back on his ear so you can’t hear their response, but you thought you had been quiet enough.

“Should’ve told me I was so loud,” you mutter when you feel him take the headset off completely. His arms tighten around your back.

“When did I get a chance, miláček?” He asks, nuzzling his nose against your temple. “I didn’t have a warning before you decided to use me as a sex toy.”

His hands knead at your ass, keeping you close. You can feel his cock start to throb inside of you, getting harder the more he touches you. Your hips move subconsciously over him, drawing a grunt against your temple.

“Was horny,” you mutter, gasping at the rough feeling of his fingers between your legs, pushing into your entrance along with his half-hard cock, filling you up.

“Did I not pay you enough attention this morning?” He asks, sounding genuinely concerned. He mouths at your neck, teeth scraping your skin, and you shiver in his arms.

“Just wanted more of you,” you pout even though he can’t see your face. “Miss you when you leave.”

Martin sucks a little mark behind your ear, “ah, moje sladká holčička, I miss you too.” He kisses down your neck again and your nipples pinch painfully. “How about I take you to bed and make sure you have something to think about when I’m gone?”

You can feel your body react to his words, wetness pooling between your legs again. You nod and Martin stands up, easily holding your weight and keeping his cock buried inside of you. Your legs lock instinctively around his waist, arms around his neck, and hold tight while he carries you back into the bedroom. He settles you onto the bed, kneeling in between your spread legs, hands wrapped around the backs of your knees.

“You know,” he says, lips curved in a teasing smile, “I had one of the best game scores while you were riding me, maybe we should make that a habit.”

You let out an embarrassed giggle and shake your head, “I definitely don’t need the guys hearing me again.”

Even as you say it though, the thought of the other guys listening sends a little thrill down your spine, your clit throbbing. Martin watches it twitch, carefully flicking his thumb over the bundle, making your back arch off the mattress.

“I think you liked that,” he rasps, “didn’t you? Liked the boys listening to your sweet little noises, knowing you were using me to get off.”

“Ngh- ah- no,” you manage to squeak out with Martin’s fingers continuing their assault on your clit.

He clicks his tongue. “No lying, miláček. Next time, you’re going to be even louder. Going to let the boys know how much pleasure you get from riding my cock.”

You grind against his hand, overwhelmed. “N-next time?”

Martin nods, free hand grasping the base of his cock, stroking himself until he’s hard. He bumps the head of his cock against your clit and you scream. “Good girl,” he murmurs, lining up at your entrance and pushing just the tip in. “Like that. You’re going to scream so they can hear you.”

You clench around the tip and he leans down to kiss you, driving his cock deeper, making you gasp into his mouth.

“But for now,” he says against your lips, “you played your little game, it’s my turn.”

[tswaney17]

I Do Bad Things with You - Part 43

It's aliveeeeeee!!! 🙌 I can't even begin to describe how off my game I've been trying to write. I've had the entirety of IDBTWY written for months, but I honestly hated my writing, and editing was such a chore. I'm still not completely in love, but we need to push past so we can finally close this beast. I am slowly working through my creative drought, and hope to have some consistent content coming soon!

Also, credit to @123moiaussi for the "superseed" comment. 😉

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

Word Count: 6,187

Elain was sitting in the waiting room of the OBGYN office, knee bouncing nervously. This was her first-trimester check-up and she just wanted to make sure that everything was okay. Her nausea had been pretty awful over the last few weeks and she had grown excessively tired—to the point that she had to talk with Thesan about reducing her surgical procedures so she could keep a clear head.

She hated having to do that, not wanting to disappoint her boss just after she reached her attending level earlier that year. But Thesan took it in stride, helping to arrange her schedule to fit what she was comfortable doing and ensuring she had time to take proper meal breaks and rest when she needed it. He rearranged schedules and let her take on leading the resident interns full-time, allowing her to take some of the stress off by guiding them through procedures and running the ER.

He had come into her hospital room after she collapsed to check on her, and she knew she couldn’t keep it from him after what had happened in the operating room. Her boss had been ecstatic, congratulating them both.

It had been about a month since they found out they were pregnant, and she was now sitting at around seven and a half weeks along. She and Azriel decided to keep the news to themselves until she reached week twelve, just to play it safe, and Elain wished she could say they had been successful in their endeavors. But, her boss knew, and Viviane knew. The Moonbeam twins found out two weeks ago when she and Fenrys had exited the elevator of their building and Connall’s breakfast sandwich sent her hurdling for the nearest trashcan. Fen had been quick to slide her hair back, holding it above her head as she heaved. Stepping off the elevator a few minutes later, a startled and confused Azriel took in the sight of Connall and then heard her retching. He instantly was at her side, taking her hair from Fenrys, and running his hand down her back.

“What is in that sandwich,” he demanded.

Blind-sighted, Con rambled out ingredients. “Bacon, cheese, spinach, and egg.”

Elain gagged at the word egg, her stomach violently rolling from the name. “Get rid of it,” she moaned, still leaning into the disgusting garbage.

The dark-haired twin had swallowed the remains of his meal in three large bites.

It took effort to push herself off the trash bin, falling into the comforting embrace of Az’s strong arms that he wrapped around her.

He cupped the side of her face, tucking her under his chin, and let her thumb swoop over the apple of her cheek, the touch gentle and soothing. “Do you want your tea,” he murmured, lips pressing into her hair.

Unable to voice it answer, she dipped her chin.

Fenrys was already on the ground before them, pulling her coffee mug from her bag that she dropped and handing it to Azriel.

Her husband brought the mug up to her lips and allowed her to sip, the peppermint hitting her stomach and calming the raging sea. His hazel eyes glanced at her, a question simmering in them, and read the answer she didn’t even need to speak. “Elain’s pregnant,” he told the twins. “It’s still very early and we’re trying to keep it close to the chest for now, but please don’t bring eggs anywhere near her.”

Her body shuddered at that damn word again, but she managed to gain enough strength to pull herself from Azriel’s arms as she faced the Moonbeam brothers. “Sorry about that,” she said and felt her husband tense as she apologized for being sick. He’d been wildly adamant that she not apologize for the nausea, the cravings, or anything else she needed of him or anyone else. Not after having a meltdown because he went and got her something she asked for, only to start craving something else when he was out and feeling utterly ridiculous about it.

Connall seemed to snap from his shock first. “Congratulations to you both. And I apologize for the sandwich. I won’t bring anything around that has—”

“Please don’t say the word or I might hurl again,” she interrupted, fingertips touching her mouth like she’d hold it back. Fuck, even just the name of it sent her body quaking from the queasiness.

Fen chuckled. “Noted. Is there anything else that sets you off we should be made aware of?”

She shook her head no. “Nothing else that I know of yet.”

He nodded, a charming smile spreading his lips. “Let us know if anything changes. And congratulations on the pregnancy. I’m so happy for you both.”

And she could see it, the joy radiating on both of their faces. It made her heart swell with love for the two men who would likely become Uncle Fen and Uncle Con to their child.

The door opening caught her attention, pulling her from her reverie, and she met the gaze of the nurse who’d come to collect her. Elain glanced back at the elevator, waiting for her husband to show up. He was running late—something that was so very unlike him, which only added to her anxiety. She returned her attention to the nurse. “Can you give him another couple of minutes?”

It wasn’t the first time she asked to delay her appointment and knew it couldn’t continue much longer.

The nurse—Maria as her name badge read—gave her a sad smile. “We really can’t delay much longer. There are a few appointments behind you.”

“Just a couple of minutes,” Elain practically begged.

Maria hedged, shuffling from foot to foot, uncomfortable by the request, but was saved from having to deny her by the elevator door sliding open and Azriel rushing out.

He was at her side instantly, taking her arm to help her stand as if she couldn’t do it herself. Elain had to remind him on occasion that she was not yet showing and could still move about the house without his assistance. “I’m so sorry I’m late. There was an accident downtown and I got caught right in the middle of traffic. I’ll leave a half hour earlier next time.” He leaned down to brush his lips to her cheek.

His presence immediately calmed her and she leaned into his touch.

Azriel, always in tune with her feelings, didn’t miss how she settled into him as they followed the nurse back, his arm slinking around her waist so he could touch his mouth to her ear. “Are you all right?” he asked her. Nothing ever got by him.

She nodded but knew he hadn’t bought it. Still, he let it slide, caressing her arm in a soothing gesture. The nurse took all her vitals and then handed her a gown to change into before the doctor arrived. Az helped her slip it on, tying the strings together for her before assisting her onto the table.

“You’re nervous,” he commented now that they were alone.

Elain blew out a breath. “A bit.”

He swept his thumb over her cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know to be honest. Just want to make sure everything is growing healthy in there,” she said, patting her still-flat stomach. “No surprises.”

Az chuckled, kissing her temple. “I have no doubts that we have a healthy baby, love. Try not to fret.” His words seemed to calm her as she relaxed back onto the table.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of her doctor and she took a moment to introduce herself to her husband, shaking his hand.

“Okay, let’s get started. Elain, if you wouldn’t mind putting your feet into the stirrups.”

She took out the ultrasound wand, spreading lube on the tip, and Elain couldn’t help but smile at her husband’s confused face.

“All right, my dear. You should feel a little pressure,” her doctor said.

“I’m sorry, but I thought she was getting an ultrasound. What is that?” Azriel questioned.

Elain snorted lightly. “Az, it’s a transvaginal ultrasound. It goes inside, not on my belly.”

His eyes widened. “Well, the three baby books I’ve read didn’t discuss the differences in ultrasound types.”

Doctor Chen raised her brows. “You’ve read three baby books already?”

He shrugged. “I just like to be prepared.”

“You’re going to be a great father.”

The comment seemed to startle her husband. “Just because I’ve read a few books?”

Chen’s lips turned up at the corner. “Mr. Archeron-Knight, I can barely get most fathers to read one, let alone three. And before she’s even through the first trimester. Believe me when I say that I can tell who’s going to be well-adjusted to handling fatherhood.” Giving him a wink, she slipped the wand inside, making Elain’s grip on Azriel’s hand tighten slightly.

“All right, here we are,” Doctor Chen said, clicking a few buttons on the keyboard to bring up the monitor. A pitter-patter sound filled the air as she located the baby’s heartbeat.

Tears sprung into her eyes as that beautiful, perfect, innocent noise washed over her and she glanced up at her husband to see him sharing the same look as her. He leaned down to kiss her softly on the lips, the special moment between them growing with the touch of his mouth against hers.

“And here is your baby,” Chen announced, pointing to a little blip on the screen.

Elain’s dark gaze stared at that spot on the screen, feeling like her heart was about to burst with happiness. But when her eyes slid to her doctor, seeing the furrow in her brow, that joy dropped like a rock in her stomach.

Her doctor let out a small noise of contemplation, enough to catch Azriel’s attention. “What is it?” he asked, voice laced with demand and worry.

A few clicks on her keyboard had the screen adjusting, zooming out just slightly. She repositioned the wand inside of her, making her body tense. “Well, I think we should discuss multiple births. Because that right there,” she said, pointing to another blip on the screen, “is a second fetus.” She clicked a button again and two very distinct heartbeats surrounded them. Chen turned to look at them with a smile. “You’re having twins.”

If Elain thought her heart was racing before, it was absolutely pounding now, the sound rushing in her ears. Because there was just no way, no way, right? Twins? Twins! Her head swiveled to look up at her husband. “You and your fucking superseed!” she snarled.

“Elain!” Azriel chastised, looking torn between being guilty of impregnating her with two kids and amused about her foul language in front of the doctor. Mostly the latter.

Chen just laughed. “I’ve told many expecting parents they’re having twins over the years, but that was, by far, the best reaction I’ve ever seen.”

She had the decency to at least look embarrassed as she apologized to her doctor for her outburst, but she just waved her off.

After snapping a few pictures, she pulled the wand out, cleaned her up, and set the printed sonogram photos on the counter for them. “Everything looks good, Elain. You’re growing at an optimum level. I’ll go ahead and prescribe you some anti-nausea medicine that you can take in the morning and before bed for as long as you need it. Unless there are any concerns, you’re free to get dressed. The nurse at the front will schedule you for your next appointment.”

The door clicked shut softly behind her as she left and Elain felt the silence between her and Azriel like a weight on her chest.

He helped her sit up, but before she could slide off the table, he stepped in front of her, finger hooking under her chin to force her gaze to his. “Hey,” he said softly like he was afraid anything louder might startle her. “El, love, I know this is scary, but we can do this.”

“Twins, Azriel. Two kids. As in one whole being more than we even were planning for.”

His mouth quirked up at her zealous explanation. “I’m well aware of how twins work, baby.”

She glared at him for the comment.

But he ignored it, leaning down to capture her mouth in a sweet kiss. “Twins mean two beautiful children of our own. Twins mean twice the amount of love we will have. Twice the amount of joy they will be bringing into our lives. If there is anyone who can take on the challenge of having twins, it’s us. Don’t ever doubt that.”

His words settled inside of her, soothing the jagged worries of her heart into something perfectly beautiful. His confidence, his strength…it was exactly what she needed at that moment and he knew it.

Elain let out a heavy breath. “You’re changing all the diapers.”

He barked out a laugh, folding her into his arms. “I’m okay with that.”

~~~

They decided to wait until she reached the fifteen-week mark before they told their family the news. Azriel was ready to burst at week nine, but she managed to hold him off until now with just a little bit of persuasion.

A surprise to both of them was when Elain didn’t have her head in the toilet, she was horny as fuck. Azriel was running hard to keep up with her impressive sex drive. And that was saying something.

He reached out and took her hand across the center console, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Are you nervous?” he asked, bringing the back of her palm to his lips.

She glanced at him, a soft smile pulling at her mouth. “No. I’m excited. I want to tell everyone about them.” Her hand rubbed over her swollen belly. Swollen was probably the best way to describe her appearance. Truthfully, she looked like she indulged in a very large, carb-based meal of pasta and was extremely bloated from it. Which, to be fair, with Azriel’s amazing skills in the kitchen, it was a fair assessment.

Elain opened her purse and slipped out the sonogram she had a few days before. The one that told them what they were having. Her eyes welled up with tears as her fingers stroked the black-and-white image. She was so blissfully happy. “I’m glad that they’re healthy. That was all I cared about.”

Az kissed the backside of her palm again. “Me too. And I’m happy they’ll be close to Sutton’s age so they can grow up together.”

“Do you think Feyre and Rhys will start thinking about having kids?” she asked, curious if he thought their other siblings might be feeling a touch of the baby fever.

He shrugged. “If they weren’t talking about it before, I’d say they will be now. Rhys has been wanting kids since practically in high school. He always wanted to be a father; better than his, though he wasn’t anything compared to mine.” The words hung between them for a minute before he asked her, “Do you have concerns about me becoming my father?” His voice dropped to a near whisper. Almost as if he were afraid of her answer.

Elain looked at him in shock. “Azriel, gods no. I know exactly the kind of father you’ll be, and it will not even remotely look like what you were given.”

His lips quirked up at the corner. “Yeah? And what kind of a father do you think I’ll be?”

She twisted in her seat to face him better. “You’re going to be the most devoted father because you’re already the most devoted husband. You’ll dote on those kids until they never have a wish or dream unfulfilled. You will love them fiercely—I mean, you already do and they’re still in my stomach,” she giggled lightly, rubbing her belly. “They are going to be the most spoiled children.”

At that, he laughed. “I can’t say you’re wrong. I don’t think I will be able to say ‘no’ to them at all.”

“Azriel, you can’t even tell me no,” she deadpanned.

“It’s just not in my vocabulary when it comes to you.”

Elain shook her head, eyes rolling as she twisted back in her seat to face forward again. She could see the restaurant down the street where they were meeting their siblings for lunch to tell them the news. “Well, I’m not going to take on the mean parent role just because you can’t say no.” She fiddled with her purse, sliding the image back inside. “We may need to find an alternative—” Screeching tires caught her attention and then she screamed, “Azriel! Watch out!”

The car lurched, sending her head sideways to slam against the side window. The last thing she heard was shattering glass as another car collided with them before everything went dark.

~~~~~

Azriel’s eyes blinked open, ears ringing loud enough to make him wince. His body ached across his chest and waist from the seat belt and as he shifted himself, he could tell nothing was seriously injured. Thankfully. He looked over at his wife, fear locking his heart in a deadly force. “Elain,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

Her head lay against the back of the seat, lulled to the side. She had a gash on her forehead, blood dribbling down her temple, and most of her right arm was scratched up from the shattered glass.

He tried to unbuckle his belt, but the damn thing was stuck. Pulling the knife Ruhn had gotten him from his pocket, he cut the fabric, releasing him, then reached over and did the same to Elain’s belt. A scarred hand slid to her cheek, cupping it gently, and then moved down to her throat, searching for his worst nightmare.

The relief he felt when her heartbeat pattered against his fingertips was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. “Elain,” he tried again, moving his palm back to her face. “Elain, sweetheart, open your eyes for me.” His tone took on a desperate sound as he willed her to wake.

Movement caught his eye, the sound of tires crunching on glass flooded him and he looked out the window to see the car that hit them, pulling back and fleeing. “Motherfucker,” he cursed, realizing that this was an intended accident. He had managed to jerk the wheel so Elain didn’t take the brunt of the impact, but it still slammed into the back door, shattering all the windows on her side.

A burning rage built in his gut, one that could not—would not—be stifled without blood. Whoever ordered this hit…

They were as good as dead.

Azriel refocused on his wife, fingers sweeping over her skin. He shoved that wrath building inside of him down until it was a flickering ember, something for him to let rage once he knew she was okay. “Elain, come on. Open your eyes for me.” He gently tapped her cheek, trying to get her to look at him. “Please, love. I need you to open your eyes. Elain.”

A groan passed through her lips, sending tears of relief cascading over his cheeks as her eyelids began fluttering.

“El, baby,” he cried, swooping his thumb across her smooth skin. He collected the soft sounds coming from her parted lips like precious gems, thanking every god for each one.

“Az.” Her voice cracked on his name. “What happened?” she asked, still coming into consciousness.

He shuffled closer, leaning over the center console to kiss her temple with a gentleness he reserved only for her. “We were in an accident, love. I need you to stay still until help gets here.” He felt her pulse kick up under his palm.

Elain’s breathing turned short. “Azriel…” her voice shook in fear. “Az, the babies.”

His heart wrenched, hoping and praying that everything was all right. After all that they had been through, he didn’t think he could handle the world taking something else away from her. From them. But despite his fear, he remained calm, knowing she needed to as well. “Everything is going to be okay,” he promised. “I hear the sirens, love. Help is almost here.”

The words didn’t seem to abate her as she continued to shake. “Please,” she cried, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes and dribbling down her cheeks. “Check if I’m bleeding.”

Azriel knew she needed to know—would not breathe steadily until she did. He placed his hand on the inside of her thigh, sliding up until he reached her panties. Feeling her for any sort of wetness. Any stickiness that would confirm to him there was blood.

She was dry.

There weren’t words to describe how thankful he felt for that confirmation. “No blood,” he told her, pulling his hand out from underneath her dress to show her his clean fingers.

Elain released a sob, her tense body relaxing slightly.

He shushed her, kissing her temple again. “You’re okay,” he murmured, wanting to do everything in his power to reassure her. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Two firetrucks pulling up snagged his attention, as he continued to stroke her cheek soothingly.

“Sir, are you both okay?” one of the responders asked as he approached his side of the car.

He glanced at the man. “We’re conscious but she needs to be looked at.”

The guy rapped his knuckles on the top of the car. “We’ll get you out in a second—”

“Her first,” he told him in a tone that brooked no room for argument.

Another firefighter moved towards his wife’s window. “Ma’am, can you tell me your name?” she asked.

“Elain,” his wife answered.

“Are you in any pain?”

“My head hurts a bit.” Those doe eyes looked at the other woman. “I’m pregnant.”

She turned her head and yelled, “Get me the jaws!” Looking back at Elain, she reached in and wrapped a C-collar around her neck. “How far along are you?”

“Fifteen weeks.”

A nod. “All right, Elain. We’ll have you out in a jiffy and get you over to the hospital to have your baby checked out.”

Neither of them bothered to correct her on the number of babies. It wasn’t relevant, only that they needed to get her out. Once the door was opened, they began moving her onto a backboard. Azriel wrenched the driver’s side open, wanting to get to her as quickly as possible.

“Sir! You need to be checked by the paramedic,” somebody called out but he ignored them, rounding the vehicle to where Elain was being placed on a stretcher. Just before he reached her, another voice called his name—one he couldn’t ignore. He turned, finding Cassian running over to him, flashing a badge to one of the firefighters to get past him. Rhys, Feyre, and Nesta stood just beyond the scene at their cars, all watching his wife being checked out.

“What the hell happened?” Cassian demanded, eyes flitting over to where Elain was being hauled towards an ambulance.

“Hit and run. Fucker took off after T-boning us,” he snarled, tone murderous. They would not get away with this. Not with his pregnant wife in the car with him. Az glanced up and saw the street cameras, angled just right to have caught the entire accident. “Cash, get me the film from that camera,” he indicated with a nod of his head before swiveling on his feet and prowling toward his wife.

Cassian kept stride with him, took in the responders on the scene, and lowered his voice to not be overheard. “Az, the police will investigate. Just let them do their job.”

Azriel whirled on his brother. “You either get me that tape, Cassian, or I’ll get it my way. Either option, I will find out who did this to her.” There was no arguing when he stepped into this role. This wasn’t a brother asking for a favor. This was the head of the Velaris Mob Boss demanding it.

His voice turned deadly, taking on the dangerous threat he used to get what he wanted.

When it looked like his brother was about to argue, the female firefighter shouted, “Victim is fifteen weeks pregnant. She needs to be checked out by a doctor.”

Elain called Az’s name and he turned, striding towards her but not before he caught how Cassian’s face paled. Or the shocked looks from their siblings. Well, that’s one way to find out, he thought to himself as he reached his wife’s side and took her hand.

She clutched his fingers, her face still scrunched with worry. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, placing a kiss on her forehead before they loaded her into the back of the ambulance. Az climbed in after, sitting down on the bench and gripping her hand once more. He glanced back out the door and found Cassian standing there.

“I’ll get you that tape,” he said quietly; fierce determination blazed in his hazel eyes to help his brother wreak havoc over the person who went after his pregnant wife. Only Cassian could understand the fear of something like this, having already gone through a pregnancy with Nesta. Without another word, he shut the doors to the ambulance.

Elain looked up at him, his name falling from her lips. He brushed a thumb over her forehead. “Everything is going to be fine, love. Just try to relax.” It was empty words, they knew that. Knew neither of them would settle until they heard both of those heartbeats on a monitor.

He just hoped he was holding it together enough for her until they could confirm she was still pregnant.

And may God have mercy on the fucker who caused this, if she wasn’t.

~~~

They ushered Elain into a private room, hooking her up to a fetal monitor. The doctor moved quickly, shoving her dress up to reveal her bare stomach while a nurse covered her hips with a blanket.

She flinched slightly when the cold gel was applied to her skin and Azriel brought her fingers to his lips, kissing her across the backside of her knuckles.

It was like the world held its breath as they searched for those two heartbeats.

“Baby number one looks good,” the doctor said, clicking a button and sending the hummingbird’s wing pattern of a heartbeat into the room.

Elain squeezed his hand, a soft sound passing between her lips in relief.  

The wand moved on her belly, searching for their other little one. “And, there they are. Hiding behind their sibling.”

When the second heartbeat reached their ears, Elain twisted, sobbing into Az’s chest with utter joy. He wasn’t very far behind her, letting tears of relief slip from his eyes as he cradled her against his torso. His hand rubbed her shoulder, lips pressing to the crown of her head, offering comfort to her through his presence and touch.

The doctor cleaned her off, smiling at the two of them. “Everything looks good on the monitor,” she started after giving them a moment. “We’ll keep you here for another hour or so just to be safe before we discharge you. If you have any bleeding in the next few days, come in right away.”

Elain seemed unable to answer, so he did it for her. “We will, thank you, doctor.”

“There also appears to be a group of people waiting for you guys in the lobby. Would you like me to send them in or give them a message?”

He crouched, putting himself at her eye level, wanting Elain to make the decision. Az cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away the tears under her eyes. “Love, do you want to see the family now?” he asked, voice low.

She sniffed, eyes still flooded with silver. The subtle shake of her head told him she wasn’t quite ready for the company yet.

Azriel rose, perching himself on the edge of her bed, and tucked her back into his chest. “Can you tell them that we’re okay, and I’ll come to get them when we’re ready for visitors?”

“Of course. Page the nurse if you need anything.” Without another word, she slipped from the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Elain fisted his shirt, taking in his cedar and mist scent deep into her lungs. He gave her whatever time she needed, letting her get herself together. “I was so scared,” she whispered, burying her face further into his embrace.

Azriel was grateful that she seemed to find comfort in him, in his touch, his scent. He held her tighter against him, murmuring, “Me too.”

She held onto him for a few more precious moments before pulling back to look up at his face. “I didn’t see the other car when they pulled me out.” Her brows furrowed as she tried to put the pieces together. “Were we in a hit and run?”

“Yes,” he said, brushing his thumb back and forth over her cheek.

Her eyes flicked between his. “Do you think we were targeted?”

He wouldn’t lie to her—refused to, but also didn’t want her to be even more frightened than she already was. “I do.” Az saw that kid look directly at him, his eyes widening in understanding that he was, in fact, not dead, before taking off from the scene. He didn’t recognize him, but if he had to place a bet, he’d say it was one of Frankie’s lower levels who crossed to Elias’s side.

Az didn’t think either of his brothers would call a hit like that. Middle of the day, busy street. It wasn’t their style. But Elias was careless, greedy, and a poor decision-maker. He sighed, brushing his lips to her forehead. “The kid looked me dead in the eye before leaving. He was scared that I was still alive.”

“How old do you think he was?” Elain asked.

“I’d say we have at least a decade on him. Seventeen, maybe eighteen.”

“So, just a kid then.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You say that like it’s excusable.”

She shook her head. “I’m not excusing what he did, but we both know how young kids are trapped into joining those gangs. Through manipulation and fear. There’s a reason you won’t allow anyone that young to be brought in, Az, and you know it. I don’t think I’m going out on a limb to question if it was his idea or he was put up to it.”

His lips quirked up as she spoke like a true Mob queen. “If you had to guess who would put him up to it—”

“Elias, no doubt. We both know he’s been itching to strike at us since he showed up at the hospital. And you said he was trying to recruit kids from Frankie. Perhaps he offered this kid a way out from under Illyrian rule.”

“There is only one way out from Frankie’s Mob,” he told her, letting the words hang heavily between them.

Elain let out a deep breath. “I know. Either way, he’s dead. Elias is likely to kill him for failing, or Frankie and Nick will for attempting to leave.”

It floored him to just how similar her train of thought was to his. She observed and listened and picked up on every single thread laid down. Understood all of the connections and bloodshed as if she’d been a part of it her whole life. He couldn’t say that the revelation was thrilling, but it also made his chest ache. Az never wanted her to be so in tune with his world. Didn’t want her to have to think about the worst-case scenarios and determine ways around them. But here she was, doing just that and not shying away from it.

To think he couldn’t love her any more than he already did.

“I have to agree with your assessment. Elias will not get away with this; with what he’s done to you.”

She didn’t balk at the threat in his tone, simply took his hand in hers and squeezed. “Despite what he’s done, is going after him the best idea? Things could escalate.”

“We can’t let this go without repercussions, love. Others will hear about this and wait to see how I respond. If it’s not a show of force, they’ll think I’ve gone lax and more will come. I need to be aggressive with my actions.”

It looked like she wanted to argue some more, but decided against it, bringing his hand up to her mouth to kiss his scars. “Do you want to go get the others now? I’m ready to see them.”

He smiled down at her, cupping her cheek one more time. “I’ll be right back.” Az pressed his lips to her forehead before he slipped from the room, knowing that that conversation was far from over. But he’d let it go for now. She had been through enough today without him pushing her on it. But this was one thing he would not, could not budge on. Not if he didn’t want to keep her safe. Especially now with their growing family.

Azriel wasn’t even to the edge of the lobby when Nesta shot out of her chair.

“Is she all right?” his sister asked, face drawn with worry.

His eyes glanced to Cassian behind her, cradling a sleeping Sutton in his large arm, Feyre and Rhys next to him. “She’s fine,” he told them, sensing their relief. “They want to keep her here another hour or so, just to be safe, but you guys are welcome to come back with me if you’d like.”

“Does she want company?” Feyre asked, edging to her eldest sister’s side. “We don’t want to intrude—”

“She asked for you all. No intrusion,” Az interrupted her.

Cassian swallowed, his eyes looking down at the small thing in the crook of his elbow. “You know we all heard the firefighter…is the baby okay?”

He had a feeling one of them would ask, but he wanted to make sure Elain was present for it. So, he said instead, “Everyone is fine. We can talk more in her room.” Turning on his heel, he headed back toward Elain’s private room, knowing they’d follow him closely.

Opening the door, he caught Elain looking intently out the window, seemingly oblivious to the world around her. “Love,” he called out to her, making her snap out of her reverie and turn to face him. “Our siblings are here.”

Her smile lit up his entire chest, despite the current circumstances. Gods, she was radiant when she smiled at him like that.

He held the door open, letting their family shuffle in. Nesta and Feyre made a beeline right to either side of her, gripping her in a firm hug.

“Are you all right?” Nesta asked again, cupping her cheeks in her palms.

Elain laughed slightly. “Yes, I’m fine.” Her eyes landed on his at the foot of her bed and he nodded at her, answering her silent question. One small hand swept down over the slight swell of her belly. “We’re all fine,” she added, a bit more shyly.

“I can’t believe you two are pregnant already,” Rhys stated, resting a palm on her lower leg.

Az laughed. “Strong swimmers,” he boasted.

“Asshole,” Cassian muttered. It wasn’t a secret that he and Nesta had struggled a bit to get pregnant. His wife was, apparently, just incredibly fertile.

Elain just shook her head, eyes rolling at the exchange.

“How far along are you?” Feyre asked, interrupting what she knew was going to be another ridiculous argument.

“Fifteen weeks. Or just over,” she answered.

Nesta blinked in surprise. “Do you know what you’re having?”

Her lips quirked up in the corner as she eyed him. “A boy.”

Their family erupted into congratulatory shouts for them both, grabbing them into hugs. Az waited until they quieted down before announcing, “And a girl.”

All four heads swiveled to him.

Silence descended upon their family for a few tense moments before Rhys finally demanded, “Explain!”

“We’re having a boy and a girl.”

He could see the lightbulbs going off above their heads. It was rather humorous to watch them connect the dots.

“You’re having twins?” Cassian breathed, eyes wide as saucers.

Elain chuckled at their expense. “Yes, my husband infested me with his superseed for two babies.”

Azriel barked out a laugh. “You’re one to talk miss fertile as fuck.”

Their family erupted into a fit of hysterics at the exchange and that brought the largest smile to his face. Elain caught his grin, offering him one of her own. Fuck, he loved her so damn much and he couldn’t wait to have his two little ones welcomed into such a loving family.

He still had to handle Elias, still needed to confirm who else was involved in the hit on them, but he pushed that aside and focused on this moment with his pregnant wife and their siblings. Az would get his revenge…just not today.

~~~~~

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[callsignspark]

anything for you | part one

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x Rebecca Hermann (fem!OC)

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, implied violence against women/children, discussions of murder (nothing explicit/gory), inaccuracies about hotel ownership, eventual smut, warnings to be added as needed 

word count: 4.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist

note: I wrote and edited this in about eight hours on Tuesday last week and then got my appendix out on Wednesday, so it's a bit later than I said it would be. Some friends and moots are tagged at the end, have a good weekend!

Friday, February 10, 2023 | San Diego, CA | 2100 PST

It was late. Later than she ever worked. But the project was done, the week was over, and now the weekend could be enjoyed. Daydreams of a hot bath and chocolate are interrupted by an alert from her security system.

Someone is in her house.

A quick review of the cameras told her it was one of the idiots that hung around her father – the insignia on his jacket sleeve a dead giveaway – and her heart rate slightly slowed. She would have to find out the identity of the man in her home once she got there. Whoever it was, he was lucky enough to avoid facing the cameras but apparently not smart enough to realize they were there. Maybe she’d introduce him to the baseball bat that had a permanent home in her trunk. Pedal to the floor, she stewed in her anger on the drive home and created a simple six-step plan:

1. Park around the corner to avoid detection. 2. Sneak through Mrs. Klempner's backyard. (Do not destroy the roses.) 3. Review live footage and determine best entry point. 4a. If identity of man is unknown – subdue with baseball bat. 4b. If identity of man is known... subdue with baseball bat anyway. 5. Deal with idiot once consciousness is regained. 6. Suffer consequences from dipshit father at a later time.

As she slips through the gate of her back fence, arms covered in scratches from rose bushes and rage simmering in her chest, she reminds herself to be grateful that her neighbor's overgrown rat of a dog (and her mortal enemy) is already inside. A normal day would find Rufus barking from sunrise to whenever the elderly Mrs. Klempner remembered to let him back in the house. Taking his unnaturally high anger level out at anything and everything from the mailman (who agreed the obese Jack Russell terrier was a spawn of the devil himself) to a leaf that dared to fall within a 50-foot radius of his dog house.

"Never barks at anything actually important, though, stupid four-legged ball of blubber." She mutters to herself as she hides under the dining room window. "Okay, fuck head, let's see where you are."

Flicking through the feeds, she finds the man standing in her kitchen with his back still to the camera, drinking from one of the nice crystal glasses gifted to her by her mother. The nerve of this man!

Stashing her phone away, she peeks through the dining room window, only to find her mystery guest rummaging through her freshly stocked fridge. Her mouth drops when he comes back out with one of the peanut butter hearts she had bought herself as a Valentine's Day treat. I haven’t even had one of those yet! 

She doesn’t recognize the blonde man just from his ridiculously wide shoulders, but she does notice the flex of his arms as he unwraps the stolen sweet. None of the guys in her father’s crew are that broad. That means it’s someone from the Daggers. Which can only mean bad news. Or maybe she’ll get lucky, and the intruder will have news that her father is dead. Then he turns, she can feel the blood drain from her face as nausea creeps up her throat – luck was not on her side tonight. She knows the man standing in her kitchen.

Jacob Seresin. The Hangman.

Using the shadows of her house as cover, she slowly begins to move back toward the fence gate, trying to give her scrambling brain time to think of a new plan.

1. Slowly, quietly move to the gate – keep eyes on the house the whole time. 2. Sprint back to the car. Hit the highway. Head south. 3. At the first rest stop, pull as much cash from the ATM as possible. 4. Buy gas, scissors, hair dye, and as much non-perishable food as possible on a credit card. 5. Repeat steps 3 and 4 two more times. Create a paper trail. Keep moving south. 6. At the third stop: ditch cards, phone, and ID in the garbage on the way out. 7. Continue south for another 10 miles, then swing back to the north. 8. Head for Canada. Drive safe. Don't get pulled over – remember, no ID. 9. Once in Seattle, contact Vinnie for help crossing the-

"Where do you think you're going?"

The next ninety seconds happen fast. In just a few moments, the bat is swiped from her hand, and her mouth is bound with what she can only hope is a clean cloth. Two sets of hands restrain her arms, and a third her ankles. But only after she makes contact with someone’s family jewels. The satisfaction at the sound of his grunt and the thump of him dropping to his knees doesn’t last long as she’s dragged toward her own home. All of her attempts to break free or scream for help are woefully unsuccessful.

The back door opens, the silhouette of The Hangman filling the frame. "Will you get her inside already?"

"Something isn't right, Jake." The tall, bespectacled man on her left grunts, struggling to get the wiggling woman into the house without hurting her.

"She's been fighting us the entire way! Bob, let go; I’m just gonna carry her in." The even taller brunette on her right throws her into a fireman's carry and brings her into the house. "I don't think she knows what's going on."

"Ya fucking think, Bradshaw? Just get her in a chair and make sure she can't move. Where the fuck is Javy?"

A man with a thick mustache chokes back laughter. "Oh man, he took the bat out of her hands, and she got him right in the balls. Direct hit. Took him right down to his fucking knees. He's still out there trying to catch his breath."

"Someone, please go get him." The exasperation is clear in his voice, and even as she fights getting tied to a dining room chair, she can't help but think that the most feared man in the city looks exhausted.

"You don't know why I'm here, do you?"

The question catches her by surprise, allowing the men to finish securing her feet. She hadn't been directly addressed since being grabbed in the backyard. She stares at him, hoping her expression properly conveys the "I can't speak because your fucking goons gagged me, you idiot" that she's trying to project.

"I'm not here to hurt you."

She knows her "yeah fucking right" comes through clearly because he huffs a laugh.

"I'm not. And clearly, your father didn't tell you I would be here tonight, or you wouldn't be tied to a chair right now." The room’s attention is stolen by movement at the back door, "You alright, Machado?"

"I'm fine.”

“Man, she got you good!” A curly-haired man crows at him.

“Garcia! Shut up, all of you!” He hisses at the men trying not to laugh before nodding at his boss. “I'll be okay."

"Good. Would hate for your lovely wife to not get those children she so dearly wants." He crouches in front of her, "Now, back to you. I'm not here to hurt you, so I'm going to take this off, explain why we're here, and you're not going to scream. Do you understand?"

She takes a second before nodding, only agreeing because the cloth in her mouth is starting to make her gag reflex act up. "Alright, lean forward a little bit."

She does as she's told, slightly shaking as his hands come uncomfortably close to her neck. She knows what damage those hands could do; what damage they have done. She closes her eyes, and next week’s headlines light up her eyelids like a Broadway marquee.

Local woman found strangled in her San Diego home. 

Local woman with ties to organized crime found tied to dining room chair. 

Local woman unfairly paying for the crimes of her idiot father at the hands of his boss, city's wealthiest entrepreneur.

“Hey, open your eyes. Look at me, Rebecca.” The command is given gently but firmly. She obeys, not wanting to upset him now that she has no hope of escape. “There we go. Oh shit. Please don’t cry; I’m not here to hurt you. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already.”

“Forgive me, but you’ll have to excuse me for not believing you.” She sniffles, tears escaping without permission, voice shaking even as she snarks at him. “Especially since you mentioned my father.”

“You’re like he said you would be. You know who I am, then?” Amusement dances in his eyes and his smile sharpens when she nods. “Who am I?”

“Jacob Seresin: CEO and chairman of Eagle Hotels and Resorts. But better known around the city as “The Hangman” – head of the Daggers.” Her resolve strengthens, and she vows not to show any more weakness. “How did you get in my house?”

“Very good. You can call me Jake.” His smug, condescending tone brings her blood back up to boil.

“Okay, Jake.” She spits his name back at him. “Why are you here? What did my father do?”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“Six months ago, on my sister’s birthday. How did you-”

“Delilah, right?” He interrupts, waiting for her confirmation. “I’ve met her a few times. She seems like a good kid.”

“She is.” Her words are almost silent, heart pounding from the terrifying knowledge that this man knows who her sister is. “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t reply; instead stands and grabs a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge, “Got any straws?”

“Why are you here?” Her voice is stronger again, more concerned with why her baby sister is part of the conversation than the beverage needs of the dangerous man shuffling through her kitchen drawers.

He tuts at her, “One thing at a time. Where are your straws?”

“Why are you-” She cuts herself off, sighing when it becomes clear that he’s not going to stop until she answers his question. “Drawer to the right of the stove, clear container.”

“Oh, reusable kinda gal, huh? Save the turtles and all that? Rock on.” He grabs a chair and sits across from her, so close that their knees touch, before cracking the bottle and plopping the straw in. “Take a sip. I’m sure your throat is sore from all the screaming.”

She shifts forward, hesitant but willing to drink it since she saw him open it. She thanks him, the manners her mother instilled in her automatically coming out, and immediately scolds herself for being kind to the monstrous man in front of her.

“You’re welcome.” He sets the bottle on the table and leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest. “What do you know about the Daggers?”

“Not much. Why are you here?”

“You’re very stubborn; has anyone ever told you that? Explain how much “not much” is, and I’ll answer your questions.”

“I know how the Dagger Organization was formed. I know you’re the head of the Daggers, a position you inherited from your father, who inherited it from his father, and so on. You have a large group of advisors made up of two smaller groups. One group you trust because they’re your people. I’m guessing the men in my kitchen are part of that group.” She takes a beat, glancing at the five men around her island, pretending not to listen. “The other group, not so much. They were your father’s advisors, and more than one of them is rumored to be the reason you inherited your position. My father is part of that group, and likely the one you trust the least, given how he was your father’s right-hand man at the time of his death. Not to mention the fact that he’s a huge idiot. That’s all I know; I don’t understand how the hierarchy works or anything like that. Why are you here?”

His eyebrows raise – surprised or impressed, she can’t tell. “You know more than I thought you would by your “not much” response.”

“Yeah, well, gotta know your family history, right?” He stifles a laugh at her sarcastic tone. Her father warned of an attitude, but he didn’t mention her sense of humor. “How did you get in?”

“If I untie you, you gonna try to run?” He avoids the question, lips quirking when she squirms at his eyes running up and down her body, trying to assess if she’ll fight him when she’s untied. “Or kick Javy in the crotch again? His wife really is hoping to get a few kids out of him.”

“I won’t run.” She confirms, then mutters to herself, “It’s not like I would get very far anyway…”

He hums in agreement as he moves to free her legs first. “You’re a smart one.”

“I do alright.”

“Rebecca, I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. A bachelor’s degree in mathematics and two master's degrees? Seem pretty damn smart to me.” He moves behind her chair to unite her hands. “How are your wrists, sweetheart? Did Bradshaw do it too tight? I’ll let you take a shot at him if it was too much.”

She forces herself to ignore how her stomach flips at the term of endearment and the way his hand gently rubs her shoulder on his way back to his chair. She examines her wrists and rotates them to check for injury, reminding herself of the games men like him play. It’s not real. He brought up Delilah as a threat. It’s not real. He’s being kind, so you’ll trust him, and that’s when bad things happen. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not- 

“Do your wrists hurt?”

“They’re fine, thank you.” Her voice sharper than she means it to be. Calm down. Don’t give him a reason to make them hurt. 

“You sure? They look a little red.”

“It’s fine; I’m sure it’ll go away soon.” His eyebrows lift in doubt as she rubs her wrists, trying to soothe the slight rope burn she got from struggling.

Play him back, don’t give him the upper hand. “I was sorry to hear about your dad; he was always kind to me.”

“Drink some more Gatorade.” His voice is stiffer than before.

Bullseye. 

She looks up from her wrists, eyes darting between the orange liquid and the man opposite her. When she doesn’t move, he nods at the bottle, a silent order to drink. He continues on after she complies, looking pleased. “What do you know about the Tomcat arrangement?”

She shakes her head. “I know it exists. I heard my father mention it once or twice in passing; when I still lived at his house, but I don’t know what it is. You still haven’t answered my questions.”

“When my great-great-grandfather created the Daggers, he did it with three other families.”

“The Bradshaws, the Kazanskys, and the Hermanns.”

“Yes, as you know, Albert Hermann – your great-great-grandfather – was one of the four founding members. What started as equal power between the four families changed over time. My family ended up as the leaders, and an agreement was made during our great-grandfather’s time. First, so long as there is a male heir to lead the next generation, the Seresins stay as the lead family. The other three families remain at the top of the chain of command. The leader taking their advice and counsel. His most trusted allies. The second part of the agreement is that whenever possible, the heir – the future leader – will marry a daughter of one of the other families. To keep the power balanced as much as possible between the families. As a way of ensuring that the Seresins don’t end up with too much power. And now that I’ve taken over my father, it’s time for me to get married.”

She stays quiet, stomach twisting at the information. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Rebecca, your family is the only family with the right lineage and daughters suitable enough to satisfy the Tomcat arrangement.”

“Daughters? Daughters! My sister is being considered?!” She lunges at him. “She’s eighteen! You vile, disgusting pig! You fucking piece of shit!”

“Will you stop it?” He easily stops her attack, her five-and-a-half-foot frame no match against his six-foot-two body. She struggles against his hold on her wrists, unwilling to stop fighting until she gets a decent hit. “If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to tie you back up.”

When she doesn’t listen, he flips her around, gathers both wrists behind her back, bends her over the dining room table, and uses his weight to keep her in place, “Enough.” 

It kills the fight in her. “She’s only eighteen! She’s just a baby! I was trying to get her out of there. I was supposed to get her out of there! I promised! I promised I would. I promised…” Sobs wrack her body, choking the words in her throat.

The house is silent except for her crying, the sound amplified from where her face is pressed against the table.

“Stop crying. Please stop crying. Jesus, your fucking father was supposed to have explained this to you already.” Jake sighs, resting his head against her shoulder blade. Nothing had gone in his favor today. “I don’t want to marry your sister.”

Her heart skips a beat, and her voice is thick with tears when she asks, “...what?”

“I don’t want to marry her. She’s practically a child. C’mon, take a drink.” He lets her up and grabs a tissue from the sideboard in her dining room. “Per the Tomcat agreement, after taking control, if I’m not already married, I have six months to get engaged to a woman who meets the requirements of the agreement. And then a year to marry her. My advisors reminded me today that I only have two months left to get engaged. Your father ever so kindly reminded me that your family is the only one with women that meet the Tomcat terms. He was quick to offer your sister to me, who I refused even quicker. She’s young enough I could practically be her father. It has to be you.”

“No.” Her answer comes swift and firm. No more playing into her father’s hand.

“If you refuse, he’ll kill you – he’ll do it himself if he has to – and then he’ll force your sister to marry me. And I won’t be able to stop it.”

She scoffed as she wiped at her nose, “You are the most powerful man in the city, probably the fucking state. To say you couldn’t stop it is absolutely ridiculous!”

“I wish that were true, but there’s still too many of the old guard, too many stuck in the ways of our fathers and grandfathers. I refuse, they’ll kill me, and your sister will be forced to marry one of my uncles – for the sake of keeping the Seresin name in power. Or worse, your father will try to take control, and god knows what will happen if he gets a taste of any real power.” He takes a breath, trying to gauge the reaction of his future bride. “I know this isn’t what you want. It’s not what I want either, having these archaic rules forced on us. But if we don’t play along, things will get much worse.”

“I- I… is this really the only way my sister stays safe?”

He didn’t think he had ever seen such sadness before and tried to answer as gently as possible. “I’m sorry, Rebecca, but it is.”

“Can you guarantee that?”

“I guarantee she’ll be safe from harm of the Daggers. You know I can’t promise anything more than that.”

She nods, eyes distant as she thinks before she straightens and looks him in the eye. “I have conditions.”

“I really don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands.”

“I think I am, actually. Sure, if I refuse, I end up dead. But so do you. And my father will make your family’s life a living hell, I have no doubt. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s being a bastard to women. Besides, they’re not demands; they’re… conditions – compromises, really – and quite simple ones at that.”

He grits his teeth, knowing she’s right and wishing she wasn’t quite so smart. “Fine. What are your conditions?”

“My sister is allowed to do whatever she wants. And we’ll pay for it, whatever it is. If she wants to go to college, her tuition is fully funded. If she wants to stay in San Diego, volunteering at animal shelters and surfing all day long, we’ll buy an apartment for her. I don’t care what she does, as long as it’s her choice, and she doesn’t have to live with my father anymore.”

“Agreed. We’ll get her out of there as soon as the wedding is over. What else?”

“She can’t know the circumstances of my agreement. She’ll obviously know why I’m the one you’re marrying – why we’re getting married in the first place, she’s not an idiot – but she can’t know that she was the one offered up by my father and I’m only doing this to save her.”

“Done. What else?”

“I know we’ll have to announce our engagement, but I need a month before we take it public. That’s how long I need to give my notice at work and do a proper turnover so I don’t screw my team over.”

“You don’t have to quit, you know? You can keep working if you want to.”

“I know, but let’s face it, as the wife of one of California’s most widely known men – in good ways and bad – it’d be hard to keep working like I do now. And with your reputation, there would be cries of corruption and protests. I’d end up constantly harassed by press and, honestly, probably my coworkers. They’re not exacting your biggest fans. But I do want to keep working. I can’t be someone who sits at home all day, not having anything to do. I’ll go crazy.”

“We’ll find you something at Eagle. Anything you want – the business side, the volunteer and charity team, anything. Or you can start something of your own. We’ll figure it out, Rebecca.”

She breaks eye contact for a second, feeling flustered under the intensity of his attention.“I assume I’ll be moving in with you?”

He nods, “I’d actually like you to do that as soon as possible. You’ve always had a target on you because of your father, but being with me just makes it grow a hundred times. I want one of my people with you wherever you go out in public. Not only will our rivals be a problem, but I’m not counting your father out either.”

“My sister gets a guard too. Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I would do anything to protect her. She is my- our biggest vulnerability.”

“Done. What else?”

“If I’m moving in with you, I’d like to sell this house. And the money from the sale will be mine.”

“You don’t have to worry about money. You’ll have full access to all of my accounts.”

“The money will go into my account that you will not have access to.”

“I’m not going to steal from you.”

“I’m not worried about you stealing. It’s to protect myself… just in case.”

His face softens in understanding. “The money will go into your account, which I will not have access to. I will pay for the realtor and any fees associated with the sale; you’ll get to keep as much as possible.”

“That’s not necessary; I can pay for-”

“I’m sure you can. But I’m going to anyway.” He holds up his hand when she attempts to protest. “You’re not going to win this one, so save it for another fight. What else?”

“Fine.” She huffs an annoyed breath out of her nose. “I’ll need to update my will to account for all of these changes.”

“I was already planning on bringing in the lawyers; we’ll get everything set before the engagement announcement.”

“I’d like my own lawyer to review everything.”

“You have a lawyer? Why?”

“Does it matter?” Her voice is sharp again, but it’s different this time – the word defensive flashes in his mind.

“No, I’m just surprised. Who is it? We’ll get them on retainer, but their office will be solely dedicated to you.”

“Peter Spartz of the Spartz Brothers.”

“Really? He’s good. I’ll have the legal team set up a meeting to get everything in place. What else?”

“I want to manage the size of the wedding. I know between Eagle and the Daggers, you have an obligation to invite a ridiculous amount of people, and they are all welcome to come to the reception. But I want the ceremony itself to be as small as possible. I don’t want to get up there and vow myself to you in front of a thousand of your closest business associates if I don’t have to.”

“We can do that. What else do you want for the wedding?”

“What do you mean?”

Her confusion confuses him. “What do you mean “what do I mean”? What do you want the wedding to look like? Flowers? Your dress?”

“Oh, I guess we actually have to plan a wedding. Fuck.” She looked annoyed at the prospect of having to plan their nuptials. “I really don’t care what we do.”

“You don’t care what your wedding looks like?”

“I- no? Should I? It’s not like we’re doing this because we love each other. Or even like each other. We’re fulfilling an obligation our grandfathers put in place a million years ago so that we don’t end up in shallow graves in the middle of the Mojave. Besides, I don’t know how you would even begin to plan a wedding…” Her voice trails off, slightly embarrassed that she isn’t prepared with this information already.

“That’s fine. We can get a wedding planner. My mom can help, our sisters can too. I’m sure whatever you decide will be fine.”

“You’re not going to help?”

“Oh, I’ll be giving input on the important things. Cake flavor, what’s being served for dinner, of course, the booze, and the honeymoon… But the only thing that matters to me is that we're legally married by the end of the night. I don’t care what it looks like to get us there, just as long as you like it.”

Her face twists deeper, unhappy at the thought of having to make all the decisions by herself. “So, if I make our colors Barbie pink and vomit yellow, force you to wear a kilt that’s five inches long – even though you’re not Scottish – and insist that we decorate with nothing but rare and expensive orchids that you’re extremely allergic to, you’re going to be good with that?”

“I’m fine with all of that.” He smirks at the surprise and annoyance on her face. “Oh, don’t be shocked, sweetheart. Like I said, whatever you want. Happy wife, happy life, and all that. Anything else before I propose, you say yes, and we live mildly ever after?”

“One more thing.”

“Anything for you, my dear.” His teasing tone makes her smile briefly, but it disappears as quickly as it came, her expression hardening.

“This one stays between us,” she nods towards the kitchen.

“Out, now.” His men move immediately, the soon-to-be-married couple watching them file out the back door.

She turns to him once it clicks shut, face made of stone and eyes full of fire. “I don’t care how it gets done. If you do it yourself, if you have someone else do it, it can be messy, or you can make it look like an accident – maybe it looks like a heart attack. I don’t care. But the first time the opportunity presents itself: you kill my father.”

The Hangman appears before her very eyes, his smile sending chills down her spine and making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. For the first time all evening, she truly sees the blonde in front of her as the ruthless, cold-blooded man he’s known to be.

“Anything for you, my dear.” 

tagging:

@bussyslayer333 | @callsignvalley | @gretagerwigsmuse | @hangmanapologist | @hangmanbrainrot | @mothdruid | @mouseymagines | @notroosterbradshaw | @princessphilly | @rhettabbotts | @roleycoleyreccenter | @roosterbruiser | @ryebecca | @theharddeck | @withahappyrefrain

credit for dividers here

[aesteraceae]

Boiling Over

Pairing: Minho/Chan, Minho & Chan

Rating: Gen

Summary: Chan has a nasty habit of throwing his health to the wind, and when his mind finally cracks under the pressure, Minho is there to help him through it.

Word count: 4.1k

Tags under the cut!

Tags: SFW, Age regression, hurt/comfort, stress relief, Chan is overworking himself as usual, Minho has Things To Say about that, angst, little Bang Chan, Caregiver Lee Minho, stim toys, panic attacks, crying, autistic Bang Chan

Also posted on ao3 here.

Notes: This will be part of a series of Chan age regressing because I am contractually obligated to project on Chan whenever I can. This is also for his birthday. No I'm not 2 weeks late shut UP.

Also, this fic isn't explicitly romantic in any sense beyond Chan calling Minho pretty like once, I wrote it with the implication that they like eachother (bc I'm a minchan truther at heart) but you can 1000% read this fic as platonic with no trouble at all.

Tags: @simpracha @sunnyville36 @toastyseungmo @sstarryyoong @decaffedthoughts @bunnypig18 @xcookiemonsteer

This is not going well.

Chan forces himself not to slam the studio door behind him, slumping down into his desk chair and shoving his hands into his hair.

His entire morning was spent talking with department executives and marketing managers and other producers, all asking him the same question; when will the next title track be ready.

And Chan has had to tell every single one of them, multiple times, that no it isn't finished and yes he's working on it and no he doesn't need any help.

It's almost finished, is the thing. He has the guide, tentative lyrics, he's even shown it to the other members, but he doesn't like it.

He's been doing this a very long time, he knows what a good song sounds like, knows what he's capable of making, and this is so far from his best he's terrified to show it to anyone.

The other members said they liked it, of course, but Chan knows better than to take their words at face value. He doesn't think they'd lie out of malice, of course, but they can all see the way Chan has been... Strung a little tighter than usual, lately.

He wouldn't put it past them to just say the song is good to not anger him or stress him out further. And he can't even blame them, really— if anyone said anything about the song to him right now, positive or otherwise, he doesn't know what he'll do.

Break something, probably. Or cry.

He wants to do both right now, but he shoves the urges away and opens up the editing software. He grabs his headphones a bit too hard and knocks over their stand, and he just watches it clatter to the floor, loudly.

He leaves it there.

Maybe kicks it a little, just for good measure.

It's probably not good to let this anger simmer underneath the surface like this, especially if one of the others comes to check on him, but he doesn't have time to go blow off steam in the gym.

Instead, he puts his headphones on and opens the file, shoving his anger into a box to be dealt with later.

· · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

Chan's anger never lingers, at least not when it's because of stress.

By that night, nearing 2 in the morning, all of his anger has fizzled out into bone-deep exhaustion.

His ears ache under the headphones, but he left his earbuds in the dorms so he ignores the pain. Similarly, something in his back keeps sending sharp pains throughout his body every time he shifts wrong, and it's unpleasant, but it fades after a moment so he doesn't bother worrying about it.

He's listening to a new version of the track when he feels the anger starting to bubble up again, except it's decided to show itself in tears this time rather than violence.

He will not cry over a song, he won't.

But it's horrible. It feels like every change he makes somehow makes the song worse, even the tricks he's relied on in the past. He's searched for inspiration, looked at old songs, even rewritten entire sections but it's still wrong.

He claws the headphones off and presses his hands into his eyes until bright colors flash behind them, forcing the tears back. The burn of it forces his brain to reconnect with his body, and he realizes that he hurts all over.

How long has he been sitting here?

Shakily, he reaches for his phone.

There's a few messages in the group chat, an email from the project designer that he swiftly ignores, and 3 missed calls from Minho.

Fuck.

He's trying to calculate the math of how long he's been in here and how he missed his ringtone 3 times in a row when someone knocks on the door.

Chan considers not answering, pretending the room is empty. He can't let anyone else see him in this state, he cant. tears are clinging to his lashes, he's in pain, and he doesn't even remember the last time he slept.

There's a moment when he thinks it will work, if he stays very still, but then the door clicks open.

Minho pushes into the room, placing his key card neatly back into his bag.

He looks like he just got out of the shower, hair still damp and fluffy, cheeks still a bit flushed from the heat. He's pretty, because Minho always is, and Chan almost says so before he gets a hold of himself.

"Minho!" He says, instead, running hands through his hair both to tame the rat's nest it must be and to hide how wet his eyes are.

Fuck, his back hurts. When did just moving his arms over his head start to hurt this badly?

"Chan. It's like 2 in the morning, why are you still working?"

Minho has that disapproving look in his eyes, dark and unquestionable. He must be here to drag Chan back to the dorms, but he can't go back yet, not with the song like this.

"Oh, you know how it is. I, uh, got in the zone, I guess."

Minho shoots him an unimpressed look and reaches into his bag, pulling out a bottle of water.

He must have grabbed it from the breakroom downstairs, and the tiniest sliver of affection breaks through the panic buzzing through his veins.

He doesn't wait for Chan to take the bottle, just uncaps it and forces it into his hand. Chan knows better than to fight when Minho gets like this, so he drinks.

And... Fuck.

The water feels like heaven in his mouth, cool and refreshing and perfect. His head relents in its pounding, and he slumps down into the chair.

Minho passes him another bottle and takes the empty one, and Chan doesn't have to look at him to see his disapproving look.

"How long have you been working in here?" Minho asks, picking up his headphone stand from across the room. Huh, he'd almost forgotten about that.

"Couple hours," He lies, trying and failing to figure out the real answer. For some reason he can't wrap his brain around the numbers, the passage of time — he isn't sure when he even got here, just that it was daytime... Maybe morning? Noon?

"Bullshit. None of us have even seen you today, and you missed dinner. What's going on?"

Chan ducks under the anger in Minho's voice, trying to hide the tremor in his hands.

"Nothing's going on," He tries, "I promise I'm fine. I grabbed something from downstairs a little while ago." It's a flimsy lie, and he knows it doesn't land the moment he finishes speaking.

Minho just clicks his tongue and walks over to the trashcan in the corner, perfectly empty. The studio is immaculate, no trace of a wrapper or package.

Minho is silent for a long moment, only speaking when Chan starts to squirm, practically burning alive with the awkwardness and disapproval. He doesn't know why it's bothering him so much, but Minho looks upset, upset with Chan, and it almost hurts worse than his back.

"I thought we agreed not to lie to eachother, Chan." Minho finally says, and there's a hint of pain, there, under the anger.

Chan honest to God whines, trying to curl in on himself and stopping with a wince. He doesn't want to lie, especially not to Minho. He doesn't want to be a disappointment, doesn't want to be bad.

Minho doesn't like being lied to, he hates it, they've had so many arguments over little white lies that Chan or the others didn't think we're important but hurt Minho deeply. Chan knows Minho hates being lied to, but here he is doing it, without a second thought.

He's horrible.

"M' sorry," He mumbles, twisting his fingers into his jeans. He's being bad, and Minho is disappointed in him, and he has every right to be.

Part of Chan is screaming to correct the issue, but a far stronger part wants to sit in this discomfort, squirm under Minho's pained and angry gaze. He deserves it, Chan thinks. It's a fitting enough punishment, this gnawing ache in his chest that begs for praise forced to receive the opposite.

It hurts, but Chan deserves it for being bad, for hurting Minho.

... Wait.

Chan blinks, vision refocusing on a spot on the wall. Being bad?

No. No no no no no-

"I'm really okay," He says, a little bit frantic, heart rate picking up, because this cannot be happening.

The only reason he'd be thinking like that, thinking he deserves punishment or that he was being bad is if he was slipping, and that cannot happen with Minho in here.

"I'll be back home in an hour, okay?" He says, spinning in the chair so he doesn't have to look at Minho. Something about him being here is making Chan slip, hard, And maybe looking away would solve the issue. He just has to get Minho to leave, then he can handle this on his own and everything will be fine.

"No, you've been here long enough. I'm taking you home."

No.

"Min, I'm not-"

Minho just holds up a hand, pulling Chan's chair away from the desk and back to face him.

"This isn't a discussion. I won't let you weasel your way out of it, either— you've been in here for at least nine hours, that's enough. You need food and sleep."

"I'm fine. I'll grab something from downstairs, alright? But I really need to get this finished."

Minho doesn't answer— he just reaches over the desk to save the file. Chan doesn't realize what he's doing until his hand shifts to the power button, clicking off his laptop.

"Minho!" Chan snaps, trying to swat his hands away, but Minho just closes the laptop and shoves it into his bag, zipping it up tight.

"Are you seriously— Minho, give that back!"

Minho ignores him, grasping his arm and pulling. Chan stumbles out of the chair, and any other day it would be perfectly fine, but his back immediately protests at the movement.

He collapses down to his knees, trying to breathe through the pain and keep himself from crying. He will not cry in front of Minho, he won't.

"Chan? Hey, what's wrong?" Minho is crouched in front of him, anger entirely forgotten in favor of worry.

And Chan tries, he really does, but his back hurts and he knows he's already crying, and he can feel his grip on everything sensible slipping away.

"Leave," He begs, even though he knows it's futile. Minho won't leave him like this because he's a good friend, and he cares, and right now that care is going to burn Chan alive.

"I'm not going anywhere, Chan. I'm right here. You're safe, I've got you."

Chan whines against his will, listing forward, further into Minho's arms. He takes him easily, sitting completely on the floor to pull Chan into his lap. And Chan goes, because Minho feels so much bigger than him right now. He doesn't stand a chance at resisting, and he wants to sit in Minho's lap, wants to cry into his shoulder and know that the world won't end once he's done.

"Min..." He mumbles, wet and pathetic and sad, and Minho makes a noise like a wounded animal.

"Come here, Chan." He urges, even as Chan tucks his head into Minho's neck.

He puts a hand on Chan's neck, gently playing with the hair curling there, and the other slips underneath his shirt to rub massaging circles into the small of his back.

Chan doesn't even stand a chance— he drops so hard and so fast that he has to blink his vision back into focus.

His eyes slip right back closed, though, because Minho is still massaging him, both his neck and back, steadily loosening the knots and aches there.

It's good, it's blissful, and Chan lets his mind go entirely blank.

· · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

The thing with Chan is that he never knows when to quit.

Well, that's not quite true. Most of the time, he's perfectly happy to quit, when necessary; scrapping a song or going back to the foundations of a dance, but sometimes, like now, he gets so caught up in finishing something that he can't even fathom the idea of stopping.

Minho knew Chan was spiraling, he’s known since this morning when Chan refused breakfast and left the dorms in a hurry for a meeting. He knew when he didn’t respond in the group chat, he knew when Chan missed three of his calls in a row.

Guilt settles deep in Minho's stomach as he holds Chan, shuddering and shaking and hurting. He talked himself out of dragging Chan back for dinner because he thought he was worrying too much, but now he cant help but think that he didn’t worry enough. There are headphone marks around his ears, for god's sake.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. Just relax, Chan, I’ve got you.” And god, Minho didn’t think it was possible to feel fondness and fear at the same time, but here he is. Chan nuzzles further into his neck, trembling all over, and Minho has absolutely no idea what to do. Chan rarely cries in front of them, and even if he does the very last thing he wants is to be comforted.

It makes Minho’s chest hurt, sometimes, how insanely solitary Chan gets when he’s upset, but this is almost worse. He’s so far gone that Chan cant help but cling to him. Minho blinks tears back.

“Let’s get you to the couch, yeah? Come on, Channie, it’ll be more comfy there.” Chan whines, unwilling to move, so Minho does something a bit stupid.

He shifts Chan just enough that he can loop his arm underneath his legs, settling the other around his back.

Chan is heavy, but not too heavy for Minho to carry a few feet. He settles them back onto the couch, lying down so Chan can stretch his back a bit. The new position seems to switch something in Chan, and his sobs quiet, somewhat. He slips one of his arms up to cup Minho’s neck, like he’s… Oh. Like he’s feeling his heartbeat. His ear is pressed right over his heart, as well.

God, Minho is going to explode from all of this sympathy one day.

“That’s it,” He soothes, “I'm here. Feel my heartbeat? Try and breathe with me, okay? Can you do that for me?” The words come easy — Years of helping the other members through panic and anxiety attacks make things like this nearly second nature. In any other scenario Minho might feel awkward about speaking to Chan like this — not condescending, exactly, but something akin to it — but right now, anything else feels like a cardinal sin. Chan needs softness, right now; he needs a gentle voice to guide him, to remind him that its okay for him to relax.

It takes him a while, maybe 10 minutes, to completely match Minho’s breathing, but he’s so determined that it's almost cute. His voice hiccups every now and then and Minho can see the frustration on his face, but he just tries again with the same determination.

Minho is besotted. He knows it, and he doesn't really try to hide the love in his eyes as he looks down at Chan, whispering sweet encouragements into his ear as his breathing steadily evens out.

“Good job, Chan,” he whispers, when the last of the tension drains out of his shoulders. Chan hums and shifts to look up at him, eyes wide and glossy and vulnerable, and Minho forgets how to breathe.

“I was good?” He whispers, voice rough from crying but still somehow higher than normal, so sweet that Minho has to take a long, deep breath before he can respond. “So good. Look, you’re breathing smooth again, right?”

Chan nods, settling his head back against Minho’s chest, and Minho almost feels bad for being relieved, but Christ. That look, his eyes, so trusting and soft and loving, its—

It’s a lot.

It’s good.

“Breathing with Hyung,” Chan says, sweet, almost sing-song, and Minho…

Hm.

Minho starts to pet Chan's hair again, smiling when he melts against his chest, and takes advantage of it to think.

Minho knows a lot of things. He’s researched a lot of things, either for Jisung or Felix or Jeongin, ways to deal with stress or handle panic attacks or sensory overloads, anything he might need to make sure he knew what to do if one of the members needed him.

This… Minho thinks he knows what this is.

It would make sense, really. Chan joined the company at 13, barely a teenager and still very much a child, put into a stress-filled environment in a new country alone. It would make perfect sense for Chan to cope with that stress by regressing into a younger age, where he wouldn't have to think about training or producing.

That guilt pokes at him again — Chan has been stressing over this song for ages, and Minho knew, but he thought Chan could handle it, or at least that Chan would ask Jisung or Changbin for help.

None of that mattered now, though. Now Chan needs him, and they can talk about asking for help later.

“Hyung?”

Minho has to bite his lip to keep from cooing at how cute Chan sounds, schooling his expression into something calm and attentive.

"Yeah, baby?"

Chan takes a moment to preen at the nickname, but takes a deep breath and sobers. Minho can't help but frown— the serious expression, while familiar, doesn't seem to suit Chan, right now.

"I'm sorry for lying. 'was mean. I know you don' like it, but I was scared. Sorry."

Minho's heart breaks.

A million microscopic pieces, each and every one sucked into Chan's eyes, big and just the slightest bit teary.

"Oh, Darling. It's okay, I understand. It's okay to be scared." He bites his lip before continuing, but... well. It did hurt, and Minho would only feel worse about it if he didn't even express it.

"But, baby, in the future, you can just tell me what's wrong. I promise, I won't judge or be angry with you for telling the truth, okay?"

Chan nods, crawling up slightly to tuck his head underneath Minho's chin.

"I will, promise."

Minho can't help himself, he presses a soft kiss against Chan's hair. "Thank you for apologizing, baby. You're very sweet."

Chan is silent for a moment, and then—

"Chan?" Minho yelps, gasping a little, because Chan is... sucking on his collarbone?

He jerks back, already babbling out apologies, but Minho pets his cheek to soothe him. "It's okay, it's okay, I was just startled, baby, that's all."

Chan quiets, staring down at his hands in his lap, and there's something in his eyes, a hint of awareness, and... well. Maybe it's a bit selfish, but Minho doesn't want Chan to come out of this headspace just yet. He seems relaxed, less worn down by racing thoughts, more willing to be honest and ask for what he needs.

And Minho wants to provide. He wants to keep helping Chan like this, and maybe it does make him selfish, but Chan needs this, and Minho won't deny him.

"Here, can you hop off of me for a moment, little one?" The nickname does the trick— Chan whines a little and backs up so Minho can move, leaning against the couch like he can't sit up on his own. It's adorable, and Minho moves quickly so he can hold Chan again.

He brought his bag up here because he suspected that Chan would need some things— water, earbuds, painkillers— but there's also a little pocket full of stuff for Seungmin. Noise-canceling headphones, a few stim toys, and what Minho's after now, chewable toys.

Headphones are probably a bad idea now so he leaves those, but he takes out everything else and spreads them out in his hands.

The chewable toys are brand new— they're in the bag for emergencies, but Seungmin is just as overly prepared as he is so they're hardly ever needed — so he opens one of the bags and offers it to Chan.

"You can bite and suck on this for now, okay?"

Chan takes it tenderly, looking awestruck. "But... this is yours?"

Minho puts the other toys on the side table and sits beside him again, suppressing a smile when Chan immediately burrows back into his side.

"They're for whoever needs them, and I think you need them right now. I can... get you something else later, once we've talked about it, but if you just want something to do with your mouth, that should help."

Minho adds a few more things to his list of Things To Talk to Chan About When He's Big Again. Pacifiers, maybe, and Minho specifically caring for him, definitely.

Chan eyes the toy warily for a moment, like he doesn't believe that he can actually have it, but eventually he bites down on it.

His eyes light up.

He doesn't really chew it so much as he sucks on it, but his eyes droop a little and his shoulders slump.

Maybe Minho doesn't entirely suck at this, at least.

"There we go. Is that better?"

Chan nods, eyes slipping fully closed.

"Good. Come on, I'll put on some music, how about that?"

Chan perks up at that, slipping the toy out of his mouth to babble, "Can you sing? Please, Hyung? I'll be good!"

Minho blinks, "You don't have to be good." It comes out without his permission, but he doesn't backtrack. "I don't want you to worry about being good or not disobeying. You're perfect, Chan."

Chan stares at him for a beat, and then he breaks. He whines, high in the back of his throat, and tears flood over his cheeks in waves.

"Whoa, baby, baby, it's okay," Minho is on him in an instant, pulling Chan into his arms and rocking them like he did before.

"M' not, not perfect, not-" He cuts himself off with a painful-sounding hiccup, and Minho's heart aches.

"Shh, little one, it's okay." He says, growing frantic, because it isn't working. Chan is trembling, and instead of hugging Minho back he's covering his face, sobbing into his hands instead of Minho's chest. This is different, this is new, and Minho needs a different approach.

So. He sings.

It starts out shaky, because he's on the verge of tears himself and hasn't sung at all today, but he settles into it easily.

It's a song Chan wrote for him months ago, unreleased because he hasn't had the time to record it. It's short, unfinished, and Minho prays that it'll work.

He's on the second chorus before he notices any change, and it feels like the first sip of water in a desert. Chan shudders, cries quieting, finally tucking his head into Minho's neck.

He tightens his grip, remembering that Chan liked tight hugs, and he breathes.

He sings through the end of the song and Chan finally stops sobbing, just tiny little whimpers against Minho's chest, and he leans them back against the couch.

"I've got you," He murmurs, thinking of the first lines to Chan's favorite song, "I've got you, baby."

· · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

Chan wakes up a few hours later, cheeks itchy with dried tears and more relaxed than he's felt in years.

He's... hm. He's lying on Minho's chest.

Minho is asleep, long eyelashes fluttering as his eyelids shift, and Chan can't help but settle back against his chest.

Minho hums, readjusting his hand to hold Chan a little more securely.

"Go back to sleep, little one," He murmurs, voice thick with sleep and fondness.

Jesus. He hasn't slipped up like that in front of someone since he was a trainee.

Chan flushes pink, hazy memories flooding back. He remembers crying, a lot, calling Minho hyung...

Chan can feel mortification creeping up on him, but Minho must notice that he isn't relaxing, because he tightens his grip. One of his hands comes up to hold the back of Chan's head, guiding his ear over Minho's chest.

The steady thump-thump thump-thump of Minho's heartbeat makes Chan melt, against all his better wishes.

"...thank you, hyung."

[fighterkimburgess]

This was written in 30 minutes but I’m in work in like three hours so I need sleep let’s all just be proud I wrote something ok? The proper full oneshot coming at some stage later today and you can see how my writing changes in editing. Not using my taglist for this.

Finally Kim felt ok to let Makayla sleep alone. Their daughter was safe and secure and home. Mak had asked about Gabby, but Kim didn’t know what to tell her. How to explain.

She kissed Makayla’s forehead tenderly, fingers running through braids for a moment before standing up and straightening her shirt. The conversation she was about to have would not be pleasant. Or enjoyable. Or anything approaching it. But she had to apologise to Adam.

He didn’t deserve her anger and frustration, and she shouldn’t have yelled at him. They were both so angry, so scared, and they let it separate them. And now he was in a sling and on desk duty for a couple of weeks and about to sleep on the couch when all of it was the last thing Kim wanted.

If you didn’t look closely at the rug when you got to the living room you’d never have been able to tell that the apartment was a crime scene that morning. Adam had two bottles of beer on the coffee table, and Kim sat down across from him, picking up the bottle he handed her. It was that simmering tension between them that she knew she needed to address.

“I’m sorry.” They spoke in unison, both letting out a laugh at the realisation. But Adam indicated at her with his good arm, making Kim smile.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. She’s our daughter. Ours. I was scared and not thinking and you were a punching bag for my words. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry, Adam. But you’re part of this family and you’re her other parent. I don’t want to do this with anyone else.”

She took a sip and waited for him to speak, watching his expression closely.

“I shouldn’t have lost my head. I just…she’s your kid and we got to be happy for thirty seconds.”

“She’s our kid. Our daughter. Don’t ever think she’s not. When we were in that van…” Kim paused and swallowed, memories flooding her. “She called me mom. And then she asked if dad was there. You’re her dad. And I should never have belittled that. Ever.”

“I still screwed up.”

“Cause you were scared. One of the things I love about you is your heart. You tell people when you are. I hide away and pretend it’s not happening. Which I shouldn’t do.”

“I was so scared. I thought we’d lose her, I’d lose you. I could see everything slipping away.”

“We still have it.”

He stared at her, and instead of nervous Kim felt powerful in his gaze. She lifted her head and pushed a kiss to his lips, watching his smile grow as she drew back.

“That’s the second time you’ve kissed me in two days.”

“I don’t want it to be the last. Come to bed, Adam.”

She held his left hand in her right as she pulled him to the bedroom, the two curling up together. And when Makayla had a night terror and needed someone, both her parents were in to get her through it.

[egcdeath]

aunt flo

summary: your monthly friend decides to visit you while staying over at steve’s.

word count: 1.5k

pairing: steve rogers x reader 

warnings: periods (so blood as well), awkward situations

a/n: this is definitely inspired by the *ahem* cycle that is currently plaguing me. it also hasn’t been thoroughly edited as this was the first time in a while that i’d written something, and i wanted to share it with you all as soon as possible! i hope you enjoy <3 

Sleeping over at Steve’s apartment was never a bad experience for you. He seemed to always be completely prepared for what the night would entail, whether it be a plethora of snacks, or your favorite scent of lotion.

However, when you woke up in what felt like a pool of your own blood, saying you were alarmed was a bit of an understatement. You mentally cursed at yourself for not realizing ahead of time that your cycle was set to start any time that week, and the fact that you’d bled all over your boyfriends sheets.

You attempted to slip out of Steve’s grasp and out of bed to assess the damage done in both your underwear, and on the bed. Once you were finally standing on the floor and gawking at the red spot in bed, you rubbed your forehead exasperatedly. While it wasn’t as bad as you’d expected, it certainly wasn’t good. The quarter sized blood stain seemed to be glaring back to you, and you decided to glare back at it before heading into the en-suite.

Before plopping yourself down on the toilet, you searched through cupboard upon cupboard for some sort of period product. Behind the mirror: aftershave, Advil, bandaids, a random bar of soap, nothing you could use. Under the sink: Epsom salt, your favorite body wash, an extra bottle of shampoo, but not a tampon in sight. Above the toilet: a few rolls of toilet paper, yet nothing even resembling a pad.

Seeing as Steve seemed pretty prepared for anything related to you, you were more than a bit surprised that he hadn’t considered that you were a menstruating human. You huffed as you sat down on the toilet, then assessed the damage control you’d need to do. First and foremost, you needed something to protect the rest of Steve’s apartment from your uterine lining. After you figured that out, you desperately needed to get that stain out of your boyfriend's sheets before he’d notice.

Maybe you could order some pads from a grocery store to his apartment. That seemed like a safe bet, but Steve would probably become concerned if he realized you’d been in the bathroom for 45 minutes. Perhaps you could just leave without a word to Steve. But that raises the issue of a random blood stain, and possibly, an upset Steve.

“Think, Y/N, think,” you muttered to yourself. You attempted to brainstorm more options for yourself, but ultimately ended up dozing off, and waking up to the soft rapping against the bathroom door, along with the sound of Steve’s voice.

“Sweetheart, everything okay in there? You’ve been in there for a while, and I saw some blood on the bed. Did you hurt yourself?”

You mentally cursed at yourself, at least now you’d only have to worry about obtaining a pad, and not addressing the mess on the bed.

“Oh yeah, I’m completely fine. Actually, I should probably head home,” you attempted to sound convincing, but didn’t exactly hit the mark.

“Are you sure? I thought we were gonna get brunch together this morning.”

You could’ve sworn you heard the frown in Steve’s voice. “Oh, uh, I’m not super hungry right now.”

“Okay, that’s fine. But about that blood, what happened? Are you alright?” He questioned.

“I’m fine, Steve.”

“Did the headboard scratch you? Did I sleep fight you or something? Did you hit your leg on the nightstand again?”

“Jesus Steve,” you scoffed a bit at the overload of questions. “I just started my period. And you have nothing I can use here, so I need to go home. That’s why there’s blood in your bed, and that’s why I’ve been in here all morning.”

“Doll, you should’ve told me! I’ll go get you something, okay?” He opened the door just a crack, and blew you a kiss. “Just stay right where you are. I’ll be back quicker than you can say period. There’s medicine behind the mirror, and I can grab you my heating pad before I go. Maybe taking a shower would help t-“

“Steve,” you giggled. “That’s plenty. Now go get my shit so I can stop bleeding all over the place.”

“Got it. I love you,” he smiled warmly at you before closing the door softly, and heading out.

—

Steve basically sprinted to his nearest convenience store, getting lost in the feminine hygiene section, then finding himself completely at loss with what he was supposed to buy. There were just too many options. He considered calling you to ask what you need, but he didn’t want to bother you more than necessary. Plus, you could be standing in the shower right now, and what if you heard your phone ringing, tried to get out of the shower to answer, and slipped? The thought of you hurting yourself made Steve shudder.

He ended up settling on three different varieties of pads and tampons. If you didn’t need them, he could always donate them to a local shelter. He then stopped by the candy aisle to grab you some dark chocolates (he’d heard in passing that it was good for menstruating women), along with a package of panties that looked like they could be your size, before hopping in line at a register.

In the midst of Steve’s menstruation mania, he failed to notice a random customer snapping a photo of him with the over abundance of women’s hygiene products. He was much more busy with checking out and getting back to you as fast as humanly possible.

——

Once Steve made it back to his apartment, he found you still in the bathroom, surrounded by a light mist of fog from the shower, and clad in an oversized sweatshirt with a faded SHIELD logo.

“I didn’t know what to get you, so I got you everything,” Steve blushed at his own unpreparedness, then passed you the bags of period products. “I’m gonna go change the sheets. When you’re ready, just meet me in bed, okay?” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before leaving the bathroom, letting you handle your business.

——

A breakfast-in-bed and movie marathon later, you were still cuddled up in Steve’s bed, his massive body giving you an extra level of warmth that was soothing your cramps like nothing you’d ever witnessed before. You were probably more comfortable than you’d ever been. Except for the incessant vibrating of your phone on the bedside table.

You’d finally reached out for it, and were pretty shocked to see all of the messages you’d received. You opened the first message from one of your closest friends, and your eyebrows raised as you read it.

LMAO read this right now bitch

enews.com/caps-pad-problem

Curiosity got the best of you, so you opened up the article.

#Padgate?

If you've been anywhere on the internet in the last few  hours, you’ve certainly seen the word “padgate” trending. The reason why is more interesting than you’d think.

Early this morning, Captain America, America’s sweetheart was spotted buying out the entirety of the feminine hygiene section of his local convenience store.

From this, a huge question rises. Is he donating? There’s certainly enough pads and tampons to keep an army of women satisfied for a year. Is he seeing someone? She must be some lucky gal.  Either way, when we thought this man couldn’t get any more lovable- he did!

You blushed while reading the article, not exactly sure how to feel. After letting it simmer in your brain for a second, you began to giggle, deciding that more than anything, it was pretty damn funny. You texted a quick message back to your friend who’d sent the article, then finally began to speak to Steve, who was giving you a bit of a confused look at your giggling.

“Steve, you goof. Someone took a picture of you buying all of that period stuff, and now the internet has gone wild.”

“What? Let me see,” he reached for your phone, and you gladly passed it to him. He skimmed over the article, then furrowed his brows. “Tony and the PR department are never going to let me live this down,” he groaned.

“Don’t be so dramatic, maybe something good will come out of this!” You chided, giving him a mischievous grin.

——

As it turns out, the word good is subjective.

It’d been about a month post-padgate, and you’d been strolling through the store with Steve, working on getting your groceries for the week.

As you entered the wellness aisle, you looked at the shelves containing menstrual products, knowing that you needed to restock sooner than later.

When you first saw what you saw, you had to do a complete double take. Your eyes must’ve been deceiving you.

A Tampax box stared back at you, a logo with a shield containing a star clearly defined on the box, along with the text ‘Captain America approved!’

“No way,” you actually laughed out loud at the sight. “Steve!” you grabbed onto his sleeve, and pulled him in the direction of the box so he could see what you were seeing.

“No way!” He reprised. “Oh my God. I’m really never gonna live this down, am I?”

[august-bleeds-red]

You could make my request from Slashers with S / O being affectionate and cute ... Imagine a scenario where Slachers (Michael, Jason, Brahms and another killer of your choice) is stressed or grumpy for some reason and S / O the find them and makes your voice affectionate and cute something in the sense "Honey! I need a big hug and kiss from my beautiful man!"

How would Slachers react to this behavior of your S / O? And they will succumb to the cute voice of their S / O and lose that maumor or stress; or are they going to ask for time alone and are going to dispense with S / O?

Michael –

Even without the seven-inch carving knife he’s repeatedly stabbing into the tabletop, you can tell Michael’s in a bad mood. The tension in his broad shoulders, the white-knuckle flexing of his fingers, the way his head jerks to the side when you close the front door. Your stomach drops a little – of all the men in this godforsaken world, you had to fall for the most dangerous one there was.

 “Hey,” you say softly. In any usual relationship, a partner might use pet names to soothe a bad mood, but not with him. The only time he allows you to call him anything other than his name is after sex – and even then, the choice is limited.

 “You know, that table used to belong to my grandmother.”

 The glare he shoots you tells you he doesn’t give a rat’s ass, but he slams the knife down on its side, nonetheless.

 You sigh, dropping your bag and coat on the couch and sitting down in the chair adjacent to him. He shifts his gaze to meet yours, long hair obscuring most of his face, but those dark, fathomless eyes still stay fixed on you.

 “You wanna talk about it?” you ask, placing a hand gently on his wrist, risking a smile. “Come on – where’s my handsome guy?”

 Within half a second, the fingers of his other hand are on your throat, not choking, but squeezing enough to remind you that he could kill you in less than a heartbeat. Now’s not the time to be cute.

 “Okay,” you whisper, brushing the fingers pressing on your windpipe with your own soft caress. “I’d like you to let me go, please.”

 Slow as moving granite, his fingers relinquish their hold on you, dropping to rest at your collarbone. You stand and move toward him, taking his head in your hands and resting his forehead against your chest. His hands find your elbows and cup them with surprising tenderness.

 “There he is,” you close your eyes and breathe in the familiar scent of his hair. He’s a psychopath, but he’s your psychopath.

 Jason –

Jason is pissed.

 The moment you heard the sound of industrial machinery, you knew shit was going to go down. Bloody, ruthless, machete-to-the-face shit. So many years spent living in the forest surrounding Crystal Lake gave Jason a deep attachment to it, and any defiling was deemed punishable by mutilation.

 Jason Voorhees – eco warrior.

 You find him wiping the excess blood from his machete with a dirty rag, the disembodied head of a deforestation worker wedged in a bush some twenty feet away.

 “Jason,” you sigh. “We talked about this.”

 You understand it’s his modus operandi to hack people into pieces, but it makes some aspects of your relationship a little difficult – like maintaining a little peace and quiet for more than three days in a row.

 He huffs and hunches his shoulders, removing his mask briefly to wipe the worst of the bloody smears from the yellowish-white surface. He never used to take such care of his appearance. When you first met, he had blood stains three fingers thick on his clothes, and then last week you found him scrubbing his shirt in the bath with a bar of Dove soap.

 “Would you remove that, please?” You nod towards the head staring at you with a look of such surprise it’s almost funny. Almost as funny as the way Jason picks it up and lobs it into the trees like a football. You can’t hold back your giggles, but Jason doesn’t join in your mirth. He sits down heavily on a felled log, elbows balanced on his knees and staring into the grass.

 “Jason?” You kneel beside him, resting a hand on his arm. “What’s up, big guy?”

 Lifting his right hand to his chin, he forms a claw with his fingers and drags them downwards.

 Bad mood.

 “Oh, sweetie,” you shift position to crouch between his knees. “Look at me.”

 The hazel eyes trapped behind the eye-holes flit upwards to meet yours.

 “Want a hug?”

 He doesn’t reply, simply folds you into his arms. Seems even the undead can have bad days, but you’d always be there to brighten them up again.  

Brahms –

You have never known anyone to throw a temper tantrum quite like Brahms Heelshire.

 Surveying the scene of carnage before you, you lean against the doorframe and bump the side of your head against the wood. You’d just cleaned in here two days ago.

 “Braaaahms,” you call to the sprawling mansion at large. “Your presence is required now.”

 As you start clearing up the dozens of books – many priceless first editions – that litter the library floor, you hear the subtle creak of a floorboard behind you followed by deep, even breathing. He knows you’re angry, his large hands twisting together behind his back, milking the sorry little boy act.

 “Why, Brahms?” you sigh in sheer exasperation, brushing off the cover of Great Expectations. “I’ve told you a million times – there’s nothing going on with me and the damn grocery boy.”

 You can practically see the scowl blooming behind his mask.

 “You laughed.”

 “What?”

 “I saw you,” his voice is fluctuating between childish resentment and dangerous possessiveness. “He was talking, you laughed.”

 You throw up your hands. “Oh, heaven forbid!”

 He flinches and moves to escape back into the wall. You sigh. “Sweetheart, wait.”

 Shoulders hunched, he waits for you to reach him, clasping your fingers tightly when you offer them.

 “Who’s my handsome boy?”

 He softly taps the centre of his chest and you smile. You know later he’ll reinstate his ownership of you in a much more adult way, but for now he’s playing it cute.    

 “I’m sorry,” he whispers, though you can never quite tell if he means it.

 “That’s alright,” you nod. “Just . . . please don’t kill this one, okay?”  

 Bo –

“God fucking damn it!”

 The ear-splitting bang of the door jerks you violently out of the nap you were taking on the couch. Bo is standing in the doorway, one hand clutching his shotgun, the other pressed to a wound in his shoulder.

 “Oh Jesus,” you rouse quickly and grab the med pack you’ve taken to keeping under the couch. “Honey—,”

 “Don’t fuckin’ ‘honey’ me, you dumb bitch!” he snaps, pushing your concerned hands away and stomping to the kitchen. He throws open the refrigerator and grabs a beer, cracking the top off on the countertop edge.

 “Bo,” you venture a caution. “You know that’ll only make the bleeding worse.”

 He ignores you completely, chugging back the alcohol and dropping the empty bottle in the sink. Taking a deep breath, you come up behind him and place a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

 “Come on, let’s take a look at that.”

 He allows you to steer him to the couch, sitting down heavily. His forehead is damp from perspiration, the curls at his hairline sticking to his skin. Very carefully, you roll back his coveralls and assess the wound.

 “It’s not that deep.”

 “Whoopdy-fuckin’-do – still hurts.”

 You select some clean gauze and clean the bloody mess surrounding the puncture. “How’s the other guy?”

 “Blew his damn head off.”

 You roll your eyes, but don’t let him see. “Vincent will be thrilled.”

 “Fuck Vincent.”

 You shrug. “Well, if you insist. Didn’t think you liked sharing.”

 He snorts despite himself, gripping tight to your wrist as you disinfect and patch up his wound. He’s still glowering, the rage simmering just below the surface.

 “Hey,” you brush the sharp line of his jaw with your fingers. “Beautiful Bo.”

 At first, he’d found the nickname nauseating, and told you so repeatedly, but nowadays it seems to calm him a little. A reminder that, for all the fucked up things he does, the things he says, you’ll never walk away from him. He lays a soft hand on your waist and rests his forehead against your chest.

 “Sorry I called you a dumb bitch,” he mutters.

 You stroke the back of his head and press your lips to his crown. Perhaps you are dumb, or just plain crazy – why else would you stay with such a man as Bo Sinclair? He pulls back and gazes upwards into your eyes, his baby blues pouring words of gratitude you know he’ll never say aloud.

 Right – that’s why.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Filthy Tease (Eugene Roe x f!reader)

I meant for this to be a spicy Roe piece but it kinda of took a different route than anticipated... oops? Anyway, i wanna dedicate this to @saritanotserena for giving me the idea but also cuz she is amazing! (sorry if this is awful, i still think i’m terrible at smut) also, not super edited cuz we die like men, alright?

Warning: sexual content- teasing & fingering & my poor attempts at dirty talk

Words:3700

Tag list: @happyveday @saritanotserena @sydney-m @evelynshelby

 There were many things most people were not aware of in regards to Easy Company's Eugene Roe. For example, he was terrified of bees. But instead of running away screaming, he would freeze and not move, barely breathing until he felt safe enough to move. Also, the man was obsessed with strawberries. He would pick them any day over chocolate or any other kind of dessert. When alone, he enjoyed quietly quoting poetry. He never did it in front of the men, for fear they would mock him. The biggest secret that would surprise people though?

 Eugene Roe was a filthy tease whose lips dripped sin and hands brought you to heaven with their touch. 

 And you were well acquainted with this side of him. 

 In Albourne, the replacements had begun calling you 'mama bear' shortly after you punched a Sergeant from a different company, who was picking on one of Easy's replacements. You also had the habit of checking up on them and trying to teach them extra things that training left out. You did not mind the nickname. Honestly, you thought it was sweet how all the boys took to you so. Since most of the Toccoa guys did not want anything to do with the replacements, you stepped up. 

 Unfortunately, all this extra attention from the replacements seemed to spark unnecessary jealousy from Roe. In the quiet moments you two managed to sneak away, you always tried to remind and show him how he was the only man who caught your eye. You would shower him with words of affection, hold him close and kiss him until he forgot his worries. You both hated that you had to keep your relationship a secret. You tried to remind him that this was only temporary. One day you could kiss and hold hands in public. One day you could stand before him in a white dress. One day you would make others jealous with the overwhelming love you had for each other. 

 But that was not today. Or in any sense of the foreseeable future. So you kept your relationship secret and tried to keep your affections on a slow simmer as to not alert the rest of the company. 

 After you started gaining more attention from the replacements, after you started spending more time with them…. Roe changed his tactics in reminding you of who always stole your breath and made you feel like a goddess on earth. 

 And that was how you learned he was a filthy tease. 

 It started off with simple things. He would walk past you and let his hand caress your ass for a fleeting moment before moving on to avoid drawing notice to the pair of you. Or if you sat next to one another to eat, he would place his hand on your knee or thigh underneath the table, giving you an occasional squeeze. If your hair got in your face, he would tenderly tuck it behind your ear or adjust your cap if your hands were full. It was sweet how tactical he was. Always seeking for a way to subtly touch you. 

 Then one day, you were walking with a couple of replacements back from the firing range, having been helping them with their accuracy. You saw Roe approaching, hands in his pockets, his eyes focused on you. He commented how he needed your advice for something and so you innocently followed him towards the small aid station set up in Albourne, having waved goodbye to the replacements. 

 As you passed a huge stack of empty boxes next to a brick building, he pushed you off the road and behind the boxes. You slammed against the brick wall, shock making you unable to cry out or demand about his actions. He had never been rough with you before. Concern and anger warned in you, unsure if something was wrong with him or he was being an asshole. When you leaned back, ready to demand what was going on, your words were cut off by his mouth covering yours and his tongue slipping between your lips. His body pressed against you, pinning you between him and the brick wall behind you. His mouth and touch dominated you, bringing you to the brink and turning you into a puddle of desire. Just as a whine left your throat, desperate for him to touch you where you needed him most, he pulled back. Through the haze of lust, you could see his lips swollen, eyes dilated, and chest rising and falling rapidly, matching your own. 

 "What…?" You stumbled out, your mind and body quaking with need. 

 "That's so ya don't forget." Even his voice was affected, more husky than normal. God, it sounded delicious and you wanted to taste it from the source again. 

 "Forget… forget what?"

 "Who makes ya feel good. Who can please ya… and who always wants ya." He stepped back, a smug smirk tugging on his lips. "See ya later, chéri." Then he walked away, back onto the road, hands in his pockets as if nothing had happened. As if he had not left you aching in need and obscenely wet. 

 You stayed there against the brick wall for longer than you would ever care to admit. Your heart hammered in your chest, the ache in your belly at an almost painful level, your breathing heavy in anticipation for what you thought was to come. But now you stood there… alone… and horny. 

 You thought maybe this was just a one-time thing. He had never done anything like this before. 

 Oh, how wrong you were. 

 A couple days later you sat in the back of a lecture room, Nixon at the front talking about something very important. But you could not hear a word he was saying. Oh no, because Eugene Roe was sitting next to you, whispering in your ear about all the dirty things he wanted to do to you in quite explicit terms. Half the stuff he whispered, you wondered where he even got the ideas. Soon enough, his words seeped into your mind as he painted such lewd images of the two of you. You had to press your thighs tightly together to deal with the growing ache. Something you were positive he noticed and delighted in. At one point, he even drew his finger slowly up from your knee to your hip as he whispered about sneaking into Sink's office and letting him fuck you over the man's desk. Once the lecture was over, Roe just gave you a wink and easily got up to walk away with the others heading out. You had to sit there for several minutes, taking long, deep breaths to try and will away the flush over your skin and suppress the pooling desire in your belly. 

 You could not decide if you loved or hated this new side of Roe. 

 Another time he asked for your help, that he might practice a new technique he read about in one of his medical books. You laid down on one of the beds in the aid station. The quiet chatting of a couple of the other medics behind the half-wall curtain filled the otherwise silent air from the other side of the station. Roe snuck a quick kiss to your lips making you giggle quietly and the two of you easily fell into a light-hearted conversation about a party being set up for the enlisted. Though as you two kept talking and he practiced wrapping and unwrapping various parts of your body, his hands began to…. wander. His fingers skimmed up your thighs, moving teasingly close to your groin then darting away. 

 At first you thought it was an accident and paid no mind, but after a couple times, you realized he was doing it on purpose. When you called him out on it, he pretended to have no idea what you were talking about. Then he told you he needed to practice working on a chest wound. Next thing you knew, he had the top several buttons of your army-issued jacket open, and he was laying a bandage on your exposed skin. His hands roamed across your chest, brushing your breasts with firm strokes. At one point he murmured something about giving you morphine and pretended to jab a syringe into your thigh; but as his hand moved back up, it grazed over your sex, leaving a fiery trail up your torso and back to your chest in its wake.  

 "Gene…" you moaned, unable to take it anymore, wriggling underneath his touch seeking friction. 

 He hushed you, wicked eyes glancing towards where the others were in the aid station. "Ya gotta keep quiet, pretty lady. Can ya do that for me?"

 You nodded but it was only half-hearted, your mind already drawing in the euphoric hunger he induced in you. His hands worked you- skimming, fondling, cupping and teasing- in all the ways that soon left you a quivering mess, biting down on your hand to keep the lascivious moans at bay. 

 The whole time he complimented and whispered to you, saying things that only seemed to heighten the experience. "Doin' so good, mon chéri, look at ya. Beautiful." Or "gotta keep quiet, pretty lady." Or "just imagine when I do this to ya, but with my tongue… I know ya taste so damn good. How's that feel, darlin'?"

 Finally, you were toeing the edge, body desperate to fall off that cliff. Your body vibrated with maddening want. "Gene, please…." You begged without shame; the desire, the need too great for you to care. 

 "Shhh...can't let 'em see ya like this." He cooed, one hand cupping your cheek while the other fondled your breast. "This is for me only, yeah? Say it, chéri."

 "Just you… just you, Gene."

 "Mmm… good girl." Then he finally slipped his skilled hand into your pants and pushed you off the edge. Your body drowned in bliss, mind hazy with pleasure. 

 This went on for weeks. Any opportunity he could pull you into a dark corner, push you against a wall, touch you, or drive you wild… he took full advantage of. 

 To everyone else, he still remained the quiet, slightly reclusive medic with a heart of gold and healing hands. 

 But to you… he was a fallen angel with the sole purpose to tempt you with that delightful Cajun accent and take control of you with those sinful lips and magical hands. 

 ***

 The atmosphere in the pub was jovial. Glenn Miller played in the background from the radio. The many voices of the paratroopers filled the pub, overshadowing the famous artist. The place reeked of beer, cigarette smoke and testosterone.  

 Buck, Luz, Toye and Heffron played darts in the corner. A few of the other Toccoa men heckled them and laughed at their own jokes, ignoring the replacements scattered about. The divide between Toccoa men and replacements felt like a terrible chasm. You tried to bridge it though. Floating between both parties, you laughed and cracked jokes with everyone while sipping on your beer. 

 This was the first time you had worn your WAAC uniform in months, reviving fond memories at its feel and look. You had started in the WAAC but then threw a series of unexpected encounters and circumstances, you eventually found yourself at Camp Toccoa training to be a paratrooper. Now, it felt odd to be wearing a skirt, stockings and kitten heels. You had become so used to your dirty ODs. Tonight though, you donned your skirt and heels, even going so far to put on some red lipstick. Who knew when the next chance you would have to dress up would be?

 "Come on, just one dance." Simmons was begging from the seat beside you, his boyish charm on full display, enhanced by the dimples in his cheeks. 

 You laughed, more amused than annoyed by his persistence. "No, if I dance with you then everyone else will expect a dance too."

 "Give it up, Peter." Burkle chuckled. "Mama bear ain't going out there."

 You pointed a finger at the dark-haired replacement across the table. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Frank."

 "Ya hear 'bout the man who got caught joy-ridin' the other day?" Ralph Nestor changed the topic thankfully, leaning forward against the table, ready to spread the latest gossip. 

 Taking another sip of your beer, you listened but scanned the crowd around you. It was about time for you to move on to the next group. 

 As if sensing a pair of eyes burning into you, you swiveled your head trying to locate the gaze. It did not take long for you to meet the eyes of Eugene Roe. He sat with Spina and a few others at a table on the other side of the bar. He subtly tapped the empty spot next to him after he caught your eye. A warmth filled you. It was stupid since you knew he loved you but even here amongst a crowd, he wanted you by his side. 

 "Well, I'm off, fellas. Don't get too drunk tonight please… and if you do, make sure to keep all your clothes on. I'm looking at you, Private Burkle." You teased, watching the young man's face redden at the reminder, while the others laughed. Standing up, you brushed your skirt down, still unused to the feeling after so long. 

 "Yes, mama bear." A couple of them chorused. 

 You smiled. As you reached forward to grab your half-full beer glass, a hand slipped into yours and spun you around into a solid chest. "What?"

 Simmons held your hand as he placed his other on your waist. "Come on, one dance. I'll even keep my hands to myself."

 "Your hands wander at all, there's at least thirty men here who will rip your hands off for me if I ask."

 "Oh believe me, I know." He squeezed your hand, a cheeky smile on his face. "Please?"

 "Simmons, give it up!" Nestor said. "I see your platoon Sergeant looking over here."

 That got Simmons to freeze, glancing over his shoulder to see Guarnere with eyes narrowed at the two of you. 

 You laughed, pushing away from the replacement. "Better not piss your platoon Sergeant off. I'll be back for my glass." Swiftly, you moved in the direction of the bathroom, sending a wink Guarnere's way and receiving one in return. 

 The women's bathroom was small and cramped with two stalls, barely room to move, and a small counter with a sink. Either women did not frequent this pub much or this was awkwardly small to discourage women from lounging and socializing in here away from men. In your mind, it could go either way honestly. 

 After you finished your business, you stood at the sink washing your hands. The cool water soothed your skin after the heat in the pub. Looking up in the mirror, you saw your lipstick had faded and was slightly smudged. Most likely from the beer glass. Carefully, you tried to fix it using the tip of your finger. It seemed absurd, with everything you had been through- the training and combat you had seen- for you to be standing here worried about your smudged lipstick. Perhaps it would not have felt so odd if you stayed in the WAAC instead of joining the paratroopers. 

 Behind you, the bathroom door opened which surprised you. You thought you had been the only woman at the pub tonight. Maybe a few local women showed up? You looked up into the mirror, prepared to greet the woman. After the person stepped through, your jaw dropped and eyes widened. For it was not a local woman in a pretty dress that stepped in.  

 It was Eugene Roe. 

 "What are you doing in here, Gene?" You looked at him through the mirror. "Is the men's bathroom full?"

 Instead of verbally responding, you watched him latch the simple lock over the door. Your movements stilled as you realized what he just did. 

 "Gene?"

 In a single stride, he came up behind you, putting his arms out on either side of you, caging you between the sink and his body. 

 "Darlin'," he crooned in your ear as his lips left a trail of sweet heat along your neck. "Ya look too damn sexy out there. I see ya legs in those heels and skirt and all I can think about is how good they feel wrapped around me as I pound into ya."

 Your skin felt feverish as the heat radiated off his body. Even through all the layers between you two, your body soaked it in like the parched ground after a thunderstorm. With the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin and his filthy words, your womb clenched from that alone. 

 "Then I see that boy with his hands on ya… shit, it took everythin' for me to not rip him off ya."

 "He didn't mean anything, Gene. I promise."

 "Don't matter. I hate it." His hands gripped the hem of your skirt, slowly pulling it up and bunching it around your hips. He began laying open-mouth kisses along your neck, the whole time his eyes holding yours, as you watched him in the mirror. "I need to 'ear ya sing, pretty lady, I need to 'ear ya gorgeous sounds."

 "Gene…" you moaned out, your eyelids fluttering. That delicious warmth, that only he could fuel, began growing in your belly. "We can't right here." 

 "Shall we find out?"

 Without preamble, one of his hands slipped under your skirt, the other still bunching the fabric up around you and out of the way. You hissed slightly as he touched your bare core, unable to completely hide the smirk on your face as he gave a slight groan. 

 "Mon chéri, where ya skivvies at? Ya been out there this whole time with no underwear on?" 

 "I wanted to surprise you… I thought you might try something."

 "Fuck!" He bit your earlobe and ground his hardening cock against your ass. "Ya tryin' to tease me? Mmm?"

 Before you could retort something smart back at him, you gasped as he slipped a finger into you, finding you already wet for him. 

 "Look at ya, sweetheart, so fuckin' beautiful right now." He murmured, eyes not having left yours in the mirror this whole time, pining you even more so than his body still caging you. 

 With one hand, you grabbed the sink to anchor yourself, your legs turning into jelly beneath you from the onslaught of pleasure coursing through your veins. "Gene, please." You begged. 

 Eyes boring into yours, he pulled his finger out of you, drawing a whiny whimper from your lips. With a salacious smirk, he opened his mouth and placed his pointer and middle fingers in his mouth, making sure to swirl his tongue around them then pulled them slowly out. 

 "Holy fuck…"

 Still smirking, he reached down and slipped both fingers into you. They plunged in and out of you, the wet sounds lewdly echoed in the small bathroom. Roe continued to grind against you from behind, timing it to match with the thrusts of his fingers. You wanted to close your eyes, to sink into the heat bubbling in you. But you were unable to for Roe watched you with a heated, heavy gaze in the mirror. Your gazes locked as he brought you closer and closer to your climax, moans and sighs slipping from your lips. 

 "Good girl, mon chérie, so beautiful. Look at ya."

 He continued to whisper in your ear in between leaving open-mouth kisses and bites on your neck and jaw. 

 "Ya close, sweetheart? I can feel it, so close."

 "Oh God, please, Gene…. Don't stop. Please."

 With a dark chuckle, he gave one last flick to your clit and pushed you over the edge. As you opened your mouth, he slammed his mouth over yours, greedily swallowing your cry of bliss. You floated on waves of ecstasy; your eyes closed to soak in the sensations. Eventually you opened your eyes, even if the movement felt sluggish and your body limp. 

 "There's those gorgeous eyes." Roe nuzzle your temple. "Ya back with me?"

 "Mmm… I think so."

 He chuckled. "Think ya can stand?"

 That was when you noticed he was practically holding you up between an arm now wrapped around your waist and you still pinned between him and the sink. 

 "Sorry." You mumbled, standing up on shaky legs. When you noticed his cocky smirk, you languidly swatted at him. "Shut up." Slowly you turned around to look at him. It did not escape your notice his… um… large problem he was sporting in his trousers. 

 "You know… the couple I am billeted with, they left this afternoon for a weekend in London visiting family."

 "Oh? Well, that is interestin' news."

 "Uh huh. What's the likelihood we can sneak out of here unnoticed?"

 He leaned down to press his lips against yours, drawing a soft sigh from you at the sweetness in the kiss. "Very likely… Guess we'll find out though."

 "And what's the likelihood we'll actually make it to the house before you try to get under my skirt again?"

 "Less likely."

 You laughed, pressing a hand to his chest to push him back. Running a hand over your skirt, you tried to smooth it out as much as possible and hide any evidence of your tryst. 

 "Ready?"

 "Always."

 The two of you somehow managed to sneak out of the bathroom and out of the pub without drawing notice to yourselves. As you stepped out into the night, walking quickly down the street, you both were giggling like teenagers having snuck out of your parents' homes. He snagged your hand and pulled you along, almost jogging down the silent road in Albourne. 

 Before you even made it halfway to your billeted house, Roe pulled you into a dark corner, just off the road. You laughed before his mouth covered yours, silencing you and turning your laughter into moans. 

 You did not mind too much. 

[thewheezingwyvern]

ProHero!Shinsou x Female!Reader

Summary: You had been dating Shinsou for a while now but his hero work constantly kept the two of you apart. For the first time in weeks you two get to have your date night and Shinsou is feeling more than a bit mischievous. 

Rating: E (smut ahoy!)

Word Count: 6.3k

Kinks: Edging, Quirk Play, Teasing, Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Public fingering, Voice Kink, Dirty Talk

Notes: Banner edited by me! Image used from Unsplashed by this photographer. I hope you guys enjoy this! I worked really hard on it! >////<

Tagging: @joyousandverywarlike​ for beta reading this fic! You gave me a lot of help! This was based off a request that was sent by @arrestingaphine​ that got way ahead of me! @animewh0re​, @tomurasprincess​, @secondhand-trash​, @redbeanteax​

                                             𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 

The sun was crested on the distant horizon when the knock came at your door, bleeding over colors of red and orange, dissolving to a hazy pink as it sprawled out over the city. You had been eager for this night, practically oscillating with anticipation in your skin as your work week dragged on. A little too enthusiastically, you jerked your door open, feeling a bit breathless before you even saw him. But when your eyes fell on him, you felt your breath hitch in your chest.

Shinsou was already an attractive man; his work as a Pro hero into his early twenties had left him heavily defined. Power had always radiated from his form and muscles whenever you saw him. But today, his physique was even more heavily emphasized, a white button down clinging to him, accentuating his shoulders. The sleeves had been rolled up to just below the elbow, showcasing his forearms for you to drink in. His right hand held a jacket slung over his shoulder casually, dusting across his back and the hem of his dark jeans. Jeans that also showed his well-formed thighs. 

You eyed Shinsou appreciatively, slowly licking your lips at the thought of sinking your teeth into that later. Or the thought of him sinking his teeth into you. Indigo eyes swept over your own form, following the way the fabric of your dress clung to your curves. A quiet smile quirked at the corner of his mouth and you preened. You had spent a while trying to make sure you looked drop dead gorgeous for your date night. The first one in a long while.

“You look nice,” he told you, husky voice sending shivers down your spine.

Anytime he even spoke you could feel yourself grow weak. It didn’t seem to be a big stretch of the imagination to think that he could simply read a dictionary to you and your knees would still buckle. You couldn’t wait for that same voice to whisper dirty things to you later, a raspy growl vibrating against the shell of your ear. Lightly you shook your head as the fantasy tried to take root in your mind. You had the real thing in front of you, needed to enjoy it.

“I know,” you informed him with a grin, “I brought out the nice dress for you.”

“I can see.” Shinsou leveled a playful smirk at you. “Come here.”

He didn’t wait for you to move, instead he darted out a hand to yank you to him. It was swift and left your world spinning but his muscled arm clamped you against him, heat radiating through his shirt. You could feel the tantalizing tone that lay beneath his shirt, tempting you to touch, explore with your hands and mouth. But you never got the chance. Dipping his lavender head, the pro hero pressed a hot and needy kiss to your full mouth, a soft groan thrumming in the back of his throat.

“I’ve wanted to do that all fucking week,” he whispered to you when he pulled away.

The sound of his voice, his natural rasp mixed with simmering lust sent a bolt of heat lancing through you. Gooseflesh raised in its wake, pebbling your skin beneath his hand smoothing over your right shoulder. It was almost embarrassing how wet you already were from hearing him talk but damn did he have a sexy voice. Indigo eyes noted the goosebumps rising rapidly on your skin before leveling you with a smirk. Chuckling, he pressed his mouth to your ear.

“Do you like it when I whisper into your ear?”

Oh god. He was trying to ruin you and the two of you hadn’t even made it to dinner yet! Shivers raced down your spine, quaking through your bones and nerves in desire. Your face heated, as if a furnace had been lit behind it. Fuck, if he kept talking like that, you weren’t going to want to go to dinner! You gave him a playful shove, which did nothing to dislodge his hold on your waist.

“I like it when you feed me,” you told him with a laugh. “Come on, Shinsou, your girl is hungry!”

“It was a yes or no question,” he told you, squeezing you tightly against him. “Do you like it when I whisper into your ear?”

The last sentence was punctuated with a low rumble, a growl even, along with the cool nick of his teeth on the shell of your ear. The sensation earned him a low and quiet moan, your lips quivering softly with your own need. And that sound caused him to laugh, low and sensual into your ear. It was a filthy chuckle laced with promise, a promise sealed by his head dipping to press a hot, open mouthed kiss to your neck.

“Answer me, kitten.”

That pet name brought a whimper bubbling over to your lips. Fuck, it wasn’t fair when he talked like that. And it definitely wasn’t fair when he used that nickname. Or wore that stupid white button down shirt that emphasized every powerful muscle, etched into him. You swallowed thickly.

“Yes…” was your breathy reply, your skin still pebbled with gooseflesh.

To your disappointment, he pulled away. There was a gaping emptiness left on your waist where he had held you, his warm heat gone. But Shinsou took the time to level a wicked smirk at you, reveling in your dazed expression, desire pooling in your belly. He traced a knuckle along your jaw sensuously for a moment before taking your hand.

“Good. Are you ready to go?”

You nodded enthusiastically, ready for a hot meal and a night out with your boyfriend. The boyfriend that you barely got to spend any time with the past few weeks. Honestly there were days where it just felt like villains had a queue of people ready to appear and stir up trouble. And because of that, it was impossible to describe just how much you were aching for his touch. Any drop of intimacy you were starved for both sexually and romantically. Tonight was the first time in weeks you two had any time together.

The drive was around twenty minutes, reasonable for the city, but it only served to wind your anticipation and sexual frustration even tighter within you. Shinsou couldn’t whisper in that criminally seductive voice while he was driving, but his hand could trace maddening shapes along your leg. He seemed to be pleased by the hem of your dress riding up to reveal the smooth, freshly shaved skin for him, teasing his fingers dangerously close to your inner thigh. Shinsou chuckled when you squirmed, swatting his hand away with a whine.

“You’re impossible!”

“I figured you’d like it.”

You cast him a playful glare. The tone he spoke with said he knew exactly what he was doing and knew exactly what it would do to you. And there was not even a drop of remorse to be found for it. Despite him tormenting you, you couldn’t help but smile, gripping his hand in yours to lift it to your mouth and press a kiss on his knuckles.

“You know I missed you, Shinsou.”

His smirk softened into a smile, “I missed you too, kitten.”

“Think things will lighten up with the hero biz?”

“I hope so. We’ve all been run ragged lately. It’d be nice if it slowed down for just a bit.”

A wide smirk played across your lips, “just be careful and don’t throw out your hip again.”

“I got thrown from a building—” 

“Yeah and then threw out your hip.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Probably not. But I can pretend to think about it for you.”

Indigo eyes swiveled to the side to look at you before a smirk of his own appeared. You didn’t like the look of that smirk. Shinsou gave a low hum of thought, fingers back to tracing swirls on your skin. Tantalizing, teasing, it sent a fluttering up your nerves, your heart nearly skittering in your chest. Shaky breaths shuddered in your chest, his fingers drifting closer and closer to the cleft of your thighs. When the car rolled to a stop at a light, his hand jerked up, fingers rubbing your aching slit through your underwear. The sensation earned a startled squeak, then a low and filthy moan.

“That’s generous of you,” he noted slyly, mouth still curled into a wicked smirk. Shinsou leaned over, voice dropping to a sensuous timbre near your ear, “generous enough that I might just fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

Clever fingers pressed firmly against your clit, pulling a whimper past your lips. Your hips bucked on their own to gain more friction, but the Pro hero quickly pulled away and resumed driving. The loss of his touch made you whine, aching and needy, thighs quivering at the memory of his fingers. A pout twisted on your lips, your eyes trailing over to his hands which were traitorously on the wheel and not between your legs. The desire you felt for him was astronomical, the two of you had been unable to see each other in weeks because of his hero work. You needed relief.

Casting a glance at him to make sure his attention was on the road, you slipped your hand between your thighs, slowly working your sex. The sensation was decadent, though you knew it would only be a matter of time before Shinsou noticed. The intense pleasure humming through your nerves left your breathing haggard despite your best efforts to keep it measured and controlled. It did not take long for you to hear a chuckle from your boyfriend.

“What are you doing over there?”

“Ah! Um noth—”

Your head was abruptly filled with fuzz, a pleasant calmness settling over you. It was like you were floating, drifting along within your own skin, your thoughts becoming malleable to suggestion. Shinsou’s rumbling laugh sent delicious tingles sliding inside of your skull, ready to receive your order from him. Rough knuckles stroked the line of your jaw and even through your daze, it felt nice to have his touch on your skin.

“Are you touching yourself without my permission?”

“Yes,” was your dazed response.

He clicked his tongue at you. “What a bad girl you are. Since you want to be impatient….Edge yourself for the rest of the drive. Don’t you dare cum unless I tell you.”

Your fingers worked your sex with renewed vigor, stroking along your aching slit. As your right hand busied itself between your legs, your left hand slid slowly, sensually up your front to squeeze your breasts through your dress. The sensation sent a sigh slipping past your lips, shuddering out into the air. Hooded eyes roved over to Shinsou, tracing the curve of his smirk that quirked mouth as he drove along.

“Moan for me. I want to hear you pleasure yourself.”

That command sank deeply into you and chased away your silence. Soon lewd moans and whimpers were escaping from your parted mouth, lips quivering as you traced little tortuous circles around your clit. Heat flushed along your skin, blooming deep in your belly as you continued on, knowing that Shinsou was listening to your solo performance. Eager, probing fingers pilfered beneath the hem of your panties, running along your slick sex.

The feeling of your own fingers against your bare pussy rocketed a bolt of heat through you, a desperate little cry tumbling out of you when you sheathed two fingers inside of your core. Hips twitching, you settled into a slow rhythm to chase your pleasure. Pebbled nipples pressed against your bra, aching to be touched, so you pinched one through the fabric of your outfit. It was maddening how much you needed him. But you continued to pump your fingers inside of yourself as you were commanded, obscene groans filling the car.

Your climax was rapidly approaching, hips bucking wildly as you desperately tried to chase it down. The icy air of the car blasted against your feverish skin, sweat dotting your forehead as you continued to thrust, writhing in ecstasy in your seat. Whimpers were your uttered prayer, your enthralled begging, desperate for a release, your body tightening in preparation for your fall over the edge of your orgasm.

And then your hands withdrew promptly, halting your progress right on the precipice of your relief. You whined loudly, twitching your hips against the air, straining to get more pleasure. The car coasted to stop at another light, Shinsou turned and gripped your right wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth. Eyes wide, you watched enthralled, his mouth closing around your two wet fingers. His tongue was wet and warm and so delightful as he licked you clean of your desire. The taste of you had him groaning, a hoarse rumbling in his throat as he lapped you up.

“Aw, did you want some relief, kitten?”

His voice cut through your haze, a bolt of desire going straight to your core. You uttered a weak cry, bucking your hips up into the air to be met with nothing. The sight of your twisting and writhing had him chuckle, releasing your wrist to trace his fingers along the lines of your fevered body. The feeling reduced you to needy whimpers, your body arching into his touch.

“Yes!” you groaned out, full lower lip caught between your teeth, “Oh please!”

“That’s too bad. You were a bad girl. You’ll have to wait to cum until I’m ready to let you. Now, keep edging yourself. Feel free to beg if you get the urge.”

His hand left you to return to the wheel, the car accelerating when the light changed. Your body was still too wound up so you roamed your hands over your body, following the curve of your hips, gliding up to knead your breasts. Tipping your head back, a warm palm slid up along your throat, fingers tracing the shape of your full and panting mouth. It was divine, an act of slow worship, but was not enough. This was but a mouthful of bread to a sumptuous feast. If Shinsou was having you work yourself like this, you knew he had plans to ruin you later.

“Oh—Oh Shinsou, please! Please I need to cum~”

“Fuck,” he growled out, “you are so sexy like that. Sitting over there aching for me. I bet you want my fingers inside of you don’t you?”

The Quirk induced haze compelled you to answer, “Yes. God I need you, Shinsou! Please touch me!”

“I don’t think so. You need to be ready for me. Keep going, kitten. Purr for me.”

A shaky gasp graced your lips when you plunged your fingers back into your tight core. Fuck, it all felt so good. The heat boiling within you simmered your desire to the surface, fingers exploring your wet sex as you nudged yourself closer to your release. The release you knew would have snatched away again. But the daze you were left in had you pushing forward, moaning and whining as you bucked and thrusted, tightening that coil of desire in your abdomen. It swelled and grew until once again you were right there on the edge of your release and then your hands pulled away.

“I—ah—Please,” was your breathy whimper, “please I need to cum.”

“You will,” he told you, parking in the parking lot of the restaurant. “Later.”

You whined, twisting again in the car seat. Rotating smoothly in his own seat, Shinsou leaned over to nip at your ear, a large hand squeezing your breast. His kisses were slow and tantalizing, hot tongue sweeping out to taste your skin. The idea of his mouth on other places made your pussy clench tightly in anticipation.

“Now be a good girl. I’m going to release you from my Quirk and you’re going to listen to me. Do you understand?”

You nodded, feeling his influence immediately fall away from your mind. The pro hero tipped your head back in his direction, sealing a rough kiss to your mouth, hot and brimming with his own ache for you. It was deep and nearly bruising but he pulled back quickly, careful to not lose himself too soon. Indigo eyes hovered inches away from you, boring into you with a brilliant intensity.

“I can’t wait to throw you down on the bed and take you. But first I’m going to taste that pretty pussy of yours. I bet you’re dripping right now, aren’t you?” he whispered.

Hoarse and husky, his voice was absolutely divine. His rasped promise made a shiver roll down your spine, chills racing along your skin to reveal gooseflesh. Your breath hitched in your throat, pink tongue darting out to wet your lips. Helplessly, you nodded, summoning another smirk to his face. Careful, calloused fingers traced the outline of your mouth slowly before he leaned back in his seat.

“Let’s go get our dinner.”

You soon found yourself inside the restaurant, tucked away in a corner booth, crowded up against Shinsou. Even through his clothes you could feel his hard muscles, carefully crafted lines from his physical work and training. The feel of him against you quickly invaded your thoughts, drifting to how wonderful it was going to feel when he pinned you down on the bed and pounded into you. Having been away from him for weeks, you were positively famished for his attention and touch.

“Now, sit real still for me,” he rumbled into your ear, a hand diving between your legs. “Shit. You’re soaked, kitten.”

The public location left you biting your lip, desperately trying to keep your voice trapped in your throat. But the shameful moan was bubbling, fighting to get free. Peppering quick kisses on your jaw, he easily slipped two fingers inside of you. Your breath came out in a shuddering gasp, pussy clenching around his fingers. He chuckled in your ear.

“Dirty girl. Did you like it when I used my Quirk on you? Had you work yourself into a frenzy only to pull back just before you could cum?”

“Hi—Hitoshi…”

He thrust his fingers into you, your eyes rolling in intense pleasure. No one around seemed to notice what the two of you were doing and whenever a waitress walked by your table, the risk of being caught made you clench around his fingers. It had never occurred to you before that Shinsou would try this with you but the idea of him teasing you, tormenting you in public with people walking by set a fire in you. And the thought of a powerful hero like him, working you, trying to make you a mess in his hands only pushed your arousal higher.

“What would they think if they caught you like this? It’s pretty shameless isn’t it? Just look at you, you’re getting all aroused with my fingers inside of you. Someone could see you like this at any minute…”

“Oh~”

The moan that escaped you was tiny. A fluttering thing that nearly vanished into the air but Shinsou heard it.

“Heh. You’re really into this aren’t you? I bet you’d cum right here at the table if I’d let you.” He crooked his fingers inside of you, pulling in a ‘come here’ motion. “Fuck you’re clenching so tight around me. I’m going to fucking ruin you when we get home.”

“I—ah— You’re so mean Hi—ah!”

“I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you through those filthy moans of yours.”

God having him whisper and groan into your ear was leaving you hanging by a thread. Minute quakes racked your body, feeling his fingers continue to curl inside of you beneath your dress. You were about three naughty whispers away from demanding he fuck you right on the table. How was he able to rile you up so easily?

Eager to touch and explore, you snaked your own hand out to grip him through his pants. The motion made him hiss in pleasure, his cock rock hard through his pants. You already could imagine the tip leaking salty pre, throbbing in his underwear. God, you wanted that inside of you. Just when you were about to stroke him, Shinsou gripped your wrist, pulling your hand away from his firm length.

“Did I tell you that you could touch my cock?” he growled out, his fingers growing still inside of you. “I don’t think I did, kitten.”

“Hitoshi, just fuck me already!” you whimpered.

“Listen to you, ready for me to take you right here in a restaurant. You really are shameless, aren’t you?” Blunted teeth nipped along the column of your throat. “But you’ll just have to wait. You’ll get my cock later, now behave. Our food will be here soon.”

A plaintive whine slipped from you when he pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you empty and aching. Indigo eyes burning with amorous intensity, he gripped your jaw in his hand, ensuring that you were looking right at him. The smirk he gave you was devilish and wicked, two drenched fingers lifting up to show you just how wet you are. Shinsou slipped those two fingers into his mouth, noisily cleaning off your essence before laughing softly.

“Just a little appetizer for me. I’ll have the real thing later.”

You were embarrassingly wet, pussy clenching tightly at the gravel in his voice. That uttered promise had you squirming against him as he held you against his side. The thought of his face between your legs, lapping at you, suckling on your clit until you were thrashing was intoxicating. You could already imagine his hands holding your hips down, strong fingers gripping your flesh tightly as he tasted you like a man starved.

“This is payback for all of the nudes I sent you while you were on patrol, isn’t it?” you grumbled, your face flooded with heat.

A single finger traced slow circles on your shoulder. “That might have something to do with it. But you also make it really fun to torment you.” Shinsou shot you a sidelong smirk. “It’s really hot to watch you get so turned on you can barely control yourself.”

Even though you weren’t admitting it, you also found it incredibly arousing when he tormented you to the point you nearly felt shameless. You had asked him to fuck you right at the table, for fucks sake! But you hadn’t been touched by anything but your own toys and fingers in weeks! To say that you were parched would be an understatement.

“You’re terrible!” was your weak protest, shoving his solid shoulder.

“Oh? Maybe I should show the waitress that sexy picture you sent me this past Tuesday? The one where you were in that lingerie and collar? Legs spread to show just how wet you were at the thought of me?” The smug smirk only grew when you whimpered. “I could show her what a little slut you were.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Shinsou chuckled, “Don’t worry, kitten. No one else is allowed to see you like that. You’re just for me.”

By the time the meal arrived, you were so hot and bothered that you could barely taste your food. You wanted to throw everything in a to-go box, drag him out by his shirt, and demand he fuck you before you even left the parking lot. But oh no, Shinsou insisted that you stay for the entire meal and he even ordered dessert. A small cup of oreo mousse just so he could lap it up suggestively at you.

“You are completely evil,” you folded your arms over your chest, icy air blasting through the vents of his car onto your bare legs. “Evil.”

“Am I? You’re the one who started this. Sending me all of those dirty photos when you knew I was on patrol.” Warm knuckles trailed along your jawline to slip down to your neck. “Or how about those texts? Where you were telling me how you wanted to suck my cock so bad? I think it’s only fair that you get what you gave me, don’t you?”

“Ok, but I didn’t do that in front of a waitress!” 

“No, but one of those pictures came in right when I was with Eraserhead and he nearly saw it.”

You ducked your head in embarrassment. “Oh... Sorry.”

“It’s too late for ‘sorry’ now, kitten. You wanted my attention and now you’ve got it. So that means you’re going to have to face the consequences.”

The idea of the ‘consequences’ gave you delicious shivers. Shinsou could be damn intelligent and devious when he wanted to, so your anticipation was brimming. You licked your lips slowly, ready to kiss him until you couldn’t breathe or he couldn’t breathe. And his right hand tracing teasing shapes on your thigh definitely wasn’t helping.

“You never did answer my question,” that husky voice finally stated, shattering the brief silence that had settled over the two of you.

“Oh?”

“Did you like it when I used my Quirk on you?”

A surprised sputter escaped you. “I—uh, what?”

“You heard me. Did you like it?”

Burning with embarrassment, you looked down at your lap and uttered in a quiet voice, “Yes…”

The smug satisfaction that rolled off of him was intense, smirk still twisting at the edges of his mouth. Shinsou was disarmingly attractive when he held such a cocky look, it made it impossible to resist him. And considering the hot slick that had gathered between your thighs, dampening your underwear, there wasn’t going to be any effort to even try on your part. Hunger glinting in your eyes, you pulled your lower lip between your teeth.

“Want me to do it again?”

You swallowed thickly, voice catching in your throat, “Fuck… uh, yeah. Yeah I do.”

“What was that?”

His attempt at lulling you into the embrace of his Quirk was ham-handed but also appreciated. It was not the first time that it was used in your foreplay and you had given him permission to use it, provided he didn’t cross your hard limits. A smile curled at the corners of your mouth at his caution. Shinsou couldn’t see the playful expression on your face because he was driving but if he could, he would see you staring him down with all the confidence in the world.

“Yea-”

That pleasant fog settled over you again, a warm embrace that cradled you closely to your arousal. All thoughts had stilled and you were open, ready for your boyfriend’s command. A pleasant chuckle filled your ears, only driving your arousal higher. It was like you were wrapped in nothing but his voice, thrumming, caressing your ears, eager for him to tell you what he wanted.

“Touch yourself. But don’t cum. Only I get to make you do that tonight.”

Instantly your hands pulled up the hem of your dress, slipping up your thighs to dive into your underwear. When you drew slow circles around your aching clit, you gave a piteous moan, shuddering with intense need. After all of the foreplay, you were feeling dreadfully sensitive. And swathed as you were in Shinsou’s quirk, it was a sensation that swallowed you. The whimpers and whines that rose from your parted mouth were downright musical to the pro hero. Helpless to the pleasure, you bucked your hips against your own hand, aching for more friction. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot moaning like that,” he growled. “Tell me what you want, kitten.”

“You!” was your immediate answer, fingers sinking deep into your slick core. “I need you to fuck me. I wanna cum screaming your name! Hitoshi, please!”

The sound of you begging made him want to pull over and fuck you right on the hood of his car, not at all caring who saw. Heart hammering in his intense arousal, the pro sucked in a sharp breath as he reigned himself in. It was another five agonizing minutes before his car rumbled to a stop and he killed the engine with a turn of his wrist. There was a hum and suddenly your mind was clear again but with your desire so potently overpowering you could feel yourself shaking minutely. Your thighs were smeared with your hot slick, ready to be fucked into oblivion.

“Get inside. Now.” 

You did not need to be told twice. On wobbly legs, you stumbled up the stairs, fingers fumbling with your keys until you both staggered into your apartment. The motion to kick off your shoes was clumsy and haphazard and Shinsou barely took the time himself to do the same thing. He was upon you nearly instantly, strong hands shoving you up against the wall with a loud thump. A thick and well muscled thigh slotted between your legs, fingers tightening in your hair to tilt your head back for him. 

The kiss he gave you was searing, wild and filled with hunger. Cool teeth nipped at your lower lip, tongue plunging forward to plunder your hot and eager mouth. With his free left hand, Shinsou started hiking the fabric up to gather around your waist, revealing your lower half to him. A calloused finger traced along the waistband of your thong, before diving down the front. The tide of his kisses was enough to smother your moan when his fingers discovered your aching clit, pinching roughly. 

You clawed at his shoulders, shuddering and crying out against his bruising kisses. Feeling impatient to have his bare skin against yours, you shoved him back and pushed at his jacket. Shinsou chuckled, voice hoarse with desire and shrugged out of his jacket. Unceremoniously he let it drop to the floor, dark fabric pooling into a puddle, forgotten. When he pressed a hungry kiss to your mouth again, your fingers drifted up to slowly work through the buttons of his shirt. A pleased groan emerged from him when you parted the shirt, hands glazing over his torso.

Open mouthed kisses trailed down to your neck, Shinsou eagerly biting and sucking at the column of your throat as you guided the shirt off of his shoulders. You basked in the heat of him, raking your nails across his back when his fingers slipped back down to toy with your clit, a fire burning beneath your skin. The bolt of pleasure shot straight to your core, hips bucking blindly to gain more friction. You yanked your own dress up and over your head before tossing it off to the side, uncaring where it landed. 

Shudders wracked you as you arched your back to take off your bra, fumbling clumsily with the clasp. But it was worth the effort for as soon as you freed your breasts, Shinsou dipped his head to latch a mouth around a nipple. Pleasure boiled white hot in you, desperate pleas tumbling from your mouth as his tongue flicked across the pebbling bud. You were so stimulated and needy that you felt light headed. 

“Hitoshi, pleaaaaase,” was your plaintive whine, “I need to cum!”

“Fuck!”

Rough hands yanked down your thong, his powerful form dropping to his knees before you. He guided you to lift a trembling thigh onto his shoulder before casting you a lewd smirk. Then he leaned forward, closing his mouth around your throbbing clit. The raw wave of pleasure wiped your mind of all coherent thought, only able to feel him suckling on your needy pearl. Lolling your head back, you felt it thud against the wall behind you, grinding against his face to push yourself closer to the release you needed so badly.

“Ah—Ah! ‘Toshi! God, fuck! Please! Please! I need to cum, I need to—!”

At your frantic begging, blunted teeth raked over your sensitive bud, fingers slipping up to tease your entrance. The evening had left you wound tightly in your core, ready to teeter over the edge with just the right push. The feeling of his teeth raking across your clit was just the one you needed. White spots danced in front of your eyes, bucking helplessly through your orgasm. A loud cry was pried from your throat, shaking as Shinsou lapped up your weeping slit.

Bonelessly, you slumped against the wall, feeling his shoulder flex beneath your thigh. You had expected for your boyfriend to get up and carry you to the bed or table or couch or anywhere with a reasonable surface that you could lay on so he could pound into you. But no. Instead he renewed his licks, noisily slurping up your essence. Thick fingers spread you wide, allowing him to push his tongue into you. 

“I—ah—Hi-Hitoshi!”

You felt weak, arousal quickly and easily building again within your belly even as your leg strained to hold you up. God, you wanted to just crumple to the ground, a mess of limbs and arousal, and let him pound into you but all you could do was thrash your head beneath his assault. Shaking fingers threaded through his hair, gripping and tugging as he devoured you. But as he continued, lapping, sucking, and probing, your grip tightened. You felt so sensitive you almost wanted him to stop! At a particularly lewd moan, Shinsou growled against your pussy, hands squeezing your hips to keep you still.

“Just fuck me already!” you moaned, writhing in his grip.

Normally, he would take that opportunity to taunt you. Maybe tell you to ask nicely and he might oblige. But based on the outline of his clearly erect cock in his pants and the nearly feral growls coming from him, he was far too gone to play any kind of games. Lifting his lavender head, he licked away the film of juices coating his lips, blazing eyes boring into yours. Though no words came from him, the look reflected at you in those deep indigo pools spoke enough; you would not be making it to the bedroom.

With startling swiftness, Shinsou stripped himself bare, cock swollen and flushed, twitching in anticipation of entering you. Hard, cut muscles moulded against your own figure, heat simmering brilliantly against him. He guided one of your thighs over his hip, gripping it there as he sheathed himself in your wet heat. The pleasured hiss that slipped between his gritted teeth was enough to make you mewl with need. His girth stretched you to a pleasant fullness, reaching deep inside you where your fingers could not.

The pace he began was a brutal and rough one, hips jerking forward to rut inside of you. A warm, calloused hand lightly settled over your throat, keeping you pressed tightly to the wall as he fucked you. Shinsou became your rock against the rushing tide of your rapidly approaching orgasm, winding your arms around his neck so you could cling to him. His cock dragging along your walls was pure decadence, despite his desperate rhythm pounding into you.

Growling, he dipped his head to press a bruising kiss to your open mouth, tongue eagerly exploring you. The hand that had been at your throat slid away, gliding down to palm at your breasts, savoring the feel of your skin beneath his touch. Sweat dotted both of your brows from your exertions, tendrils of passion blazing within you. With how the two of you had been teasing and taunting throughout your date, it did not take long to push him near the edge of his own release. 

“Come on, kitten,” he growled out, “purr for me. Let me hear you scream.”

His hips stuttered against yours, dexterous fingers stealing away to draw tight circles on your clit. You groaned his name over and over, a shaky prayer to keep you anchored against the tidal wave of release that you knew was coming. Shinsou cursed roughly, dropping his mouth to the side of your neck to bite down, sending you careening over the edge of your climax once more. You threw your head back and let out a pleasured howl, one that would surely make the neighbors complain. The sight of you coming undone and whimpering pathetically was enough to send him over with a strangled groan. 

He pulled out of you, ropes of sticky white splashing onto your abdomen, his fist working his shaft to ride out the rest of his release. Shinsou slumped against you, panting into your neck, sweat lining his body. You were equally out of breath but incredibly satisfied, the afterglow washing over you with a pleasant hum. Idly you found yourself threading your fingers through Shinsou’s hair, relishing in the feel of their silky texture as you both came down from your fevered pace.

“I missed you, have I said that to you yet?” he rumbled into your neck.

“You’ve mentioned it but I don’t mind hearing it again.”

He chuckled before easily cradling you to him. “Alright then, how about one more? I really missed you.”

You gave a happy hum and pressed yourself against him, nuzzling deeper into his embrace, “Tell the heroes if they keep hogging you to themselves, I’m going to stage a kidnapping mission to get you away from them.”

“Devious. What if I turn the tables on you?”

“Well I win either way.” You pressed a tender kiss to his hair. “Can we shower now? And then cuddle after? Oh and watch a movie?”

Shinsou returned the gesture, kissing your hairline softly. “Whatever you want, kitten.”

As he guided you both to the bathroom to wash off, you felt incredibly content. Life for you two was never going to be normal, but for the time being you were satisfied. It wasn’t perfect and you knew it was never going to be the white picket fence dream that others wanted. But this was enough for you. Even if it was just moments between the storms.

[potentialproblem01]

Minor Acts- a Jan/male reader fic

For @thesunflowersutra You wanted some fic, I have delivered. A week late but who’s counting.

Also posted on my AO3 if you prefer to read it there, mark for later, etc, whatever. 

Minor Acts- 1.6k E-rated pwp smut

Jan looks at you over the cherry of his burning smoke. You'd been planning this for a while now, pouring out papers and schematics across the floor of his room. The work was finally coming to fruition. 

Tension had been growing since you’d levered yourself off the floor earlier that day, nearly slipping on a stray paper before hauling Jan up too, ending up pulling him into your space. There'd been the hum of tension and anticipation as you packed bags and gathered supplies. 

The plan was solid and it worked. The two of you watched the bomb go off from across the bay hidden by the night and old ocean-swept trees and distance. Coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other behind matching smiles watching the flames catch, shockwaves echoing across the water. The collapse of the human anaesthetic of TV. 

You turn to him, euphoria of a well executed plan simmering and transforming into something a little more wild and further untamed; less satisfaction and more hunger. The discipline of the fight slinking out of you as you catch his eye, trailing over his nose and his scruff. 

He sees you looking and like always, it’s a battle of who gives in first. You chuck your cigarette aside.

You’re never really sure who wins or loses these games but you lean in first, catching his bottom lip. The night stretches unlimited by possibility as you push him over on the blanket, climbing on top and sitting across his hips as you feel his interest start to grow. He can feel yours assuredly as you press him down, ribcages preventing you from getting closer. 

The wind had died down from the day and the peace of starlight and calm water tempers the flare of need you have despite the carnage across the bay. You go slow, enjoying his taste; nicotine and the sweet remnants of the joint from earlier, cheap wine from lunch, the salt and freedom of the sea. 

He gets his hand under your shirt, trailing over your abs and toying with the band of your jeans. His eyes glitter in the dark, full of mischief with the promise of indecent misconduct. His hands move back up, across the thin lower ribs and brushing against your nipples as they push up, encouraging you to lift your arms and discard your t-shirt. The worn out cotton lands in the grass and you move your hands back down to him, getting one hand in the longer hair on top of his head and a forearm to the side to keep from smothering him. His arms come around your middle, digging into the soft muscles of your back. 

You give him another kiss before peppering his face with them: cupid's bow, tip of his nose before dropping them across his beard line. He lets out a soft sigh and grinds up against your ass, using his grip around you to lift himself into you, being his usual needy self. You press down with your hips, angles of your bones clicking with his, your arousal trapped between you. He still struggles with trying to create some friction but you don’t let him. 

You latch onto his neck, nibbling and sucking to bruise, pulling his head back to give you space to work. Torturing him when he so clearly needs you. You pull on his hair a little more, not to hurt but to tell him to behave. 

You sit back and pull him up a little, letting go to get his shirt off too. His rough skin tastes like the sea as you lick at him. Down over the soft swell of his pec to lavish his nipple in reward for a job well done today. He mewls so pretty, soft chest fuzz sliding against your afternoon coarseness. 

You nose along his skin before crossing over to the other side, giving the same reward to the other nipple. He moves his hands to your hair, dragging fingers across the shorn velvet part at the base of your skull before tugging on the longer strands. You resist his insistence to hurry as you back down his body, savoring his impatience as you kiss down his linea alba, playing with the hair there. 

You hook your fingers into his waistband, sliding them around to undo the button and pull them down and off. You stand up to shuck your own jeans off too, reaching for the backpack. He props himself up, watching you halo orange in the firelight. The night air is cooling you faster than the draining remnants of danger. 

You packed the lube in the side pouch. 

You settle back between his legs popping the cap and squeezing the cool liquid across your fingers. Tracing down the seam, pressing the soft skin before skipping down and pressing gently into his hole. He’s still a little open from the morning and your finger sinks in so easy. He’s wiggling, begging for another and you oblige; he did so good today, he’s earned it. 

You dip in a second finger, pushing at the heat of his ring before hooking up and pressing gently at his prostate. He lets out a soft shout, not prepared for you to get to him so quickly. You usually take your time, but you have no patience for that tonight as your work burns behind you. There’s something driving you to skip the foreplay and get right to being close, like a final closure to the plan. Like spending the stolen cash. Like hanging the stolen art.

The papers in the morning will speculate about an accident but the evening editions will display the note he left about TV being the opiate of the masses on the front page. 

You dip in a third finger, pulling at his ring teasing and lilting. Feathery touches to his thighs and the cut of his hip bones. He’s a squirming mess beneath you, so beautiful in the dark and smelling like the remnants of plastic explosives. 

You withdraw your fingers and pull him in by the hips, grabbing the lube again and drizzling some over your cock before spreading it over yourself. You grab his hips to line yourself up before pulling him up your thighs to get close enough. You angle his hips with one hand and guide yourself to his hole with the other before pushing in, the resistance light as you enter him. 

His face makes the most exquisite scrunch as you stretch him open again. You fit yourself in and let go of his hips to drag a slick hand up his stomach, lube sticking to his happy trail. You tweak a nipple before leaning in to steal a kiss. He kisses back with a whimper, chasing your lips as you pull away and grip his waist. 

You thrust slow and sure, his heat incredible in the night air and you want this to last. 

His skin is warm against you, sticky with the ambient salt, his hair stiff with it. When you run your hand through the strands, they stick out in every direction, softening him in your eyes. Here, under you, he’s hardly just a hard-eyed revolutionary, he’s one of the most beautiful people and minds you’ve ever met. You’re pretty sure the image of him spread on your cock as a satellite station burns behind you casting long orange shadows across the salted bay will stay with you forever. 

You keep thrusting in with easy and slow strokes until he looks so fragile he might cry. You like when he cries but now is hardly the place to put him back together after. You pick up the pace, changing the angle by getting further under him. 

He soon starts to shake, tightening around you. You’re not near enough to the edge to come at the same time but you think you’ll have plenty of chances to synchronize in other aftermaths. With another drag across his prostate, he’s coming, ropes painting his stomach and reaching up his chest. Some hitting you. In his blissed out state, you fuck into him with abandon, seeking your own release until you find it burning through your core and burying deep inside him.

You stay there, buried in him, panting. He’s starting to come down to earth himself, looking at you with hazy brown eyes. Your breaths eventually even and a calm settles over your little beachy cliff. The stars are obscured now by the smoke and light of the flames but you can feel them up there, twinkling away because everything is as it should be. 

You pull out of him, cock soft and wet with lube and come. You back away to wipe off with the edge of a blanket and lean in to look as your come dribbles out of his ass. It’s one of your favorite sights. You plant a kiss on both his thighs, licking up some of his cooling come before wiping the rest away with the blanket too. 

He lets out this beautiful sigh and you know he’s about to pass out. You’re safe for now. Content. Something bordering happiness crawling up the base of your brain stem. You hate to think it’s love but if the bomb detonates...

He falls asleep after he comes like he usually does, exactly in the position you left him in. His arms are splayed on the blanket, legs pushed out from his hips where you cleaned him off. 

You let him sleep for a while. The sirens have only just started blaring, red and blue lights not yet flashing across the water. He’s gorgeous when he sleeps, looking much less angry with the world. He’ll have another idea when he wakes but for now you bask in the heat of the flames and his love. Tomorrow will be another plan.

After all, what’s a minor act of terrorism between lovers?

[cavvaje]

Hearth and Rime | Ch. 1

Pairing: M!Eivor x Reader

Summary: Eivor has had a rough day and you make him feel better :)

Words: 1600~

Genre: Fluff, Comfort?

Warnings: Spoilers for end of Cent Arc! | Somewhat suggestive fade to black

Note: Still a bit new to writing fics, so sorry if its a bit rough around the edges!

I actually finished this in time for valentines but just kept editing it and being too nervous to actually post it? Then decided to retake all the photos lol... 

This is also a continuation of the first fic I put up, BUT you don’t need to read it to understand (it was like 200 words). Here’s a link!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The home is modest for its outwards appearance. According to Eivor, the last occupants were runaway Saxons, who fled the day after they saw him in the area. They didn’t leave much behind, but it’s serviceable.

“Smells good!” Eivor stands by a cooking pot in the corner, setting down the bright torch in his hand. He turns to you with a cheeky look.

“Here,” He says, untying his cloak. The Viking comes to you as you stand in front of the doorway. His cloak needs to go over, and so you squeeze your head through the hole. “This should help you warm up.” 

Gentle arms reach around your shoulders, and instinctually, your arms begin to trace his waist to his back. Adrenaline surges in cold shivers: from your arms through to your spine. Your face is practically buried in the nook between his neck and shoulder. You hold each other a moment, checking off an imaginary checklist of things that make him real. His warmth, his scent, his breath...

A tight tug wakes you up; the cloak has been set, albeit loosely. He lets go of the embrace. Even as he leaves, the cloak maintains his warmth.

“It smells like blood…”

He chuckles lightly, “Does it now?... Surprise?” he flips his axe in one hand, starts drying the rainwater off the metal, then sets it down. He motions towards the steaming pot. “Can I dig in?”

You stare at him as he pulls off the bracers and his hidden blade. He looks back a moment later, puzzled.

“I missed you, Eivor.” You say, plainly.

“Ah…” he pulls you in for a proper hug this time; his arms hold you tight. “I missed you too.” 

“Mmm… what’s bothering you Drengr?”

You feel the sigh heavily from the movement of his chest against yours. “Please, let me eat…”

“Of course! Sorry. Must’ve been a long trip...” 

“No no, don’t be.” He lets go, but locks his eyes on yours, and gives a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I’ll explain, I won’t be like Sigurd.” 

“Like Sigurd?” 

His weight falls heavy on the stool, as he grabs a bowl. 

You pace towards him slowly, a hand gentle on his left shoulder. “...Did you find him?”

“Not exactly.” 

You feel his rage beginning to simmer on your hand, but it sizzles down quickly. You wait for a few minutes as he ravages his stew, and then places the empty bowl down calmly and precisely. 

“We found an arm.” 

“Shit…”

“Aye, shit.”

He turns to you suddenly, his eyes focused. “Don’t tell the ravens. Please.” He scans your expression. “Can I trust you to this?”

You nod.

“..Thank you.” He sighs and slumps down onto the table.

You stand idly, unsure of how to proceed. The silence fills the room like a cursed fog.

“Perhaps we should talk more in the morning? After you’ve rested from your journey?” you perk up, sitting down next to him. Your hand moves to the Viking’s back reassuringly, and he arches to greet it. “For tonight, let me take care of you, ok?”

He stifles a small chuckle and looks at you earnestly. “That sounds great.”

You smile and get up from your seat. He follows, holds your hands, and leans in close. “Thank Freyja I found you…” His eyes meet yours. You put your hand up to his scarred cheek and… after a moment of hesitation, kiss him. He tastes like a paradise gritted by blood and steel, or maybe it’s the venison... A kiss that feels like a surging tide effortlessly enveloping you. His hands move to wrap around your waist and the back of your neck, and as you break the kiss, it moves back to fall on your cheek. 

He lets out a satisfied breath and slowly removes his hands as well, instead moving them to hold yours. “I needed that.” His voice barely a whisper, yet still raspy and impassioned. 

You coyly move away, tracing your fingers over his own as you leave. “Come… get comfy. Let me help you away with the stresses of your life, Wolf-Kissed.” You begin to move towards the other end of the room.

“Are you just telling me to take off my clothes, lover?” he returns, just as coy, but begins to remove his top anyway. His now shirtless figure is darkened against the light of the fire.

“And you? It’s only fair…” His voice and eyes gleam with a newfound playfulness.

“Ah… but my cloak is so heavy…”

He quickly moves to uncloak you, then slower to unclothe. His lightly calloused hands ‘accidentally’ feel your stomach and arms as you two connect in this growing heat. Both of you a little more exposed, you sit on the bearskin by the bed, absorbing each other’s presence. 

“New scar?” A faded but deep red streak across the top of his wrist into the forearm. He smiles and shrugs. You feel it… still a bit fresh. “It looks good on you.” 

He traces it with his other hand in empty thought, while you grab a nearby satchel containing medicinal herbs. He tries his best not to wince as you apply your treatment... he doesn’t wince once. He’s simply watching you in admiration. 

“What’s that look for? Something wrong?” You ask, knowing the answer.

"You are stunning. Like a painting, framed in a lantern-lit gold. In comparison to you, even its fire seems dull and cold...” 

You shove his shoulder playfully and he laughs, but his eyes stay on you to look for your smile, and he finds it, blushing. He looks proud of himself. Bastard. 

You get behind him and slowly begin to unbraid his hair. It’s matted in parts, likely from blood and dirt. You move him to an empty spot in the room and begin to wash his hair with a nearby water basin, trying not to get him too wet...

“Mmph, you treat me too well…” He mumbles.

“Only what you deserve, and well, much more than just this,”

“...Why’d you say that?” his voice is sweet and innocent. You laugh in surprise.

“What? Eivor, you’re the leader of our clan! At least until Sigurd comes back...” You watch as his head swoops down in thought. You place your hand on his shoulder cautiously. “Hey… what’s this about?”

He doesn’t respond, and you continue to work through his hair. Eventually, though, you decide to break the silence. 

“Why exactly… did you want to meet away from Ravensthorpe?” 

You think back to the letter you got, Synin being a talented messenger bird. He never mentioned why you were to meet here, except that he wanted to meet first for a romantic getaway before he was whisked off elsewhere. At first, that was enough, but now...

“I just wanted to see you, is that too much to ask for?” he retorted.

“Eivor…”

“Fine. Why do you think I asked then?”

You pause. “Honestly, I thought you were gonna have a private issue that needed taking care of, one that needs my particular skill set…”

He looks at you with wild eyes and a smile about to be broken into laughter. “Well! I suppose that too!” he laughs. 

“What? No! I mean if you needed someone, you know...” You imitate a neck being sliced. He laughs again. You slap his shoulder.

His laugh slowly trickles out, and he returns to his thousand-yard stare after a moment, but his mouth moves. “I think… I just needed a break from it all. Just for a moment.” He looks back at you. “With you.”

…You resist the urge to defuse the moment and hug him tightly from behind. “Well if you need anything else, I’m all ears.” 

He shakes his head and gives a quick kiss on your cheek. “Let’s save that for tomorrow...” 

He pauses. 

"Because tonight..." He turns to you and puts his arms over your shoulders. His face slowly approaches yours— and you make eye contact, your face clearly anticipating the worst. He nearly laughs but quickly turns to whisper into your ear. "I have other plans..." he smiles, and lightly nibbles on your earlobe, pulling it ever so slightly. This is not what you meant by ‘all ears’. The actual sensation is nice enough, but the sudden waves of euphoria that washes through your headspace is what makes you a little dizzy. 

"H-hey, I'm nearly done with your hair..." You manage to say, barely. He smiles both warm yet seductive, then turns around to let you finish.

As you finish up with his hair, he gives you a sweet look followed by a grateful kiss. It was a... mostly calming activity. As you get up, he childishly hops on the fur bed with a thud. You turn away to tidy up. However, a shuffling sound catches your attention.

He’s striking a pose... one eyebrow raised. He extends forward his hand and winks at you. 

“Come… play with your Drengr, love…” he recites dramatically. 

You stare at him, incredulous, then laugh in protest when he grabs your arm. He yanks you in... you fall, barely lit by the low lantern light, into your love dance.

~

Sleeping next to him is a warmth you always regret not cherishing more. Just his presence makes this cold and dangerous land feel safe. His fingers trace your arm ever so slightly— not enough to wake you, but just enough to send tingles rushing through to your brain. You return the favor and he smiles surprised, but welcome in his half-sleep. 

…Time passes immeasurably through the night, as it always does. So when all you feel is a vacuum of cold air rushing in, you aren't sure what time it is. You try to open your eyes... you see him, barely.

But your eyelids hang heavy, and you fall back asleep.

Note: haha get it “barely” I hope this was ok and the warnings+genre were accurate! I didn’t wanna put earlobe nibbling as a warning so lmao. Also I hate small cottages and I’m never taking photos in them again.

If anyone has any advice/feedback I’d actually really love to hear it! Especially about how to make Eivor’s voice feel more accurate, or if the Reader character has too much personality. No pressure though!