#press on that heart button i dare you coward

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 9

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.

Nine.  九

You wake up the next day certain you will be fired. But when the axe does not fall, you relax slightly, going about your tasks. It occurs to you that maybe you should leave–but you don’t really want to, and only part of that has to do with your fascination with Donaka himself. The coming weeks seem almost normal, and you begin to think that Mr. Mark decided to be a gentleman about it all, and pretend it never happened.

What a fool you are. 

Your first inkling of your idiocy comes when you are called into Mr. Mark’s office, after dinner, when usually you are hanging up your apron and calling it quits for the day. 

You approach his massive carved ebony desk with folded hands, feeling all for like a naughty school girl. Donaka Mark sits behind it, every bit the lord and master of the house. He has discarded his suit jacket, the top buttons of his black dress shirt undone, so handsome it hurts. His eyes are sharp as obsidian knives upon you, and a cold chill runs down your spine as you come to stand beside him, as he directs. 

That is when he produces the colorfully-covered journal you usually keep secreted in your underwear drawer, the little book dwarfed in his hands. Your heart does a swan dive–you hadn’t even realized it was missing. 

He does not seem amused. 

Maybe you can’t blame him. In that book, amidst your more pedestrian musings and accounts of your day, you have detailed every torrid little fantasy your rotten brain ever concocted about this man. Scorching alternate endings to all your encounters in which you were too smart, or too much of a coward to actually see through. Not to mention, the completely fictional bonus scenes too. It’s like an X rated love letter that rambles on for pages and pages and dear lord, it’s in his hands.

He throws the book down on his desk with a clap that makes you jump out of your skin. With narrowed eyes he looks up at you, his voice low and dangerous. "Care to explain this?"

Your mouth makes a perfect ‘o’ of surprise, your blood turning to ice in your veins. A flood of unbearable embarrassment washes through you, and you begin to shake like a leaf. Never in your life have you ever been so mortified, or, so angry, that he has that obviously private book in his hand. 

"How dare you read that?"

Rage flares in Donaka's dark eyes, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he grinds his teeth. 

"How dare I read this filth, written about me, in my house? I have every right."

You are quaking, tears in your eyes. The things you wrote about him in that diary...it’s not all filth. Some of it…is foolishly sweet. And he read it all.  Your chest feels like it's pressed in a vice. You feel like you want to throw up...or just die, there on the rug of his office, rather than speak to him further about this. A timely earthquake would be most appreciated; a fissure in the floor to jump into, quite ideal. 

Donaka takes in your reaction to his intrusion of your privacy with secret pleasure; he knows he's got you right where he wants you, completely at his mercy, humiliated and vulnerable.

He leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on your face, drinking in your misery. "I read every single word," he delights in telling you.

You look away, utterly unable to meet his eyes. "Congratulations, Sir," you rasp past the lump of sand in your throat.

Donaka can't help the cold smirk that appears on his face as he watches you look away, unable to meet his eyes. The way you address him as "sir" makes a shiver of satisfaction run down his spine.

“I've got to say, I'm impressed. I never would have guessed your imagination was so...vivid. You seem like such a nice girl.”

A shuddering breath escapes you. You’ve resisted him all this time, taking solace instead in writing in your journal. It was better that way. Safer. But this man is not the type to be satisfied with just words on a page. That's why...he runs a billion dollar corporation, and you...sweep floors.

Donaka watches your defeated gesture, savoring it like a fine dessert. 

“Just what did you intend to do with all this?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” you defend immediately. Dear god, you think. Please don’t let this man think I was planning a ‘Tell All’. 

“This is a lot of energy gone into nothing?” 

He doesn’t have to tell you. “It’s just…my journal. To clear my head.”

“Your journal. Of things that never actually happened?” It sounds pretty stupid when he puts it that way–you feel every pound of pressure he puts in that statement, and you think you really just might faint right there beside his desk. “Do you actually get satisfaction out of that?” He sounds genuinely curious.

You close your eyes, so you don’t have to look at his blazing dark stare boring into you as you nod.

“Just give it back, and you never have to see me again.”

He laughs at you, a cruel little chuckle that pierces you to the core. “No, this little treasure is never leaving this house. And you’re not going anywhere.” 

You can do nothing but shake your head, trembling in your very bones. 

“You’re brave in many ways, y/n,” he tells you, fingering the cover of your damning treatise on The Art of Being Creepy About Your Boss. “But in others? Such a coward.” 

It’s the understatement of the century, and you can’t stand it anymore. You turn on your heel to leave–and a grip like iron encircles your wrist, so tight the bones creak. You get your first real taste of how strong this man is, when he jerks you down into his lap like you are a ragdoll made of straw. A yip of a scream escapes you, as he manhandles you like he owns you.

You feel so small, enveloped by his massive frame, his long arms wrapped around you.

"Let's have story time, shall we?" he says with a wicked chuckle, cracking the journal to a random page, and he begins to read the explicit scene you wrote starring the two of you, against the bookshelves, in the library. You can feel his deep, baritone voice vibrating against your skin as he recites, his arm around your waist holding you tight, preventing you from escaping.

“The strength in his hands makes me weak, those veritable paws gripping my thighs and lifting me, the desperate fury of his kiss pressing me back into the shelves so hard there will be linear bruises imprinted upon my skin. Perhaps I will look upon the souvenir tomorrow with equal parts pride and horror, still unsure if I am a victim, or if I welcomed the beast’s ravishment with open arms. Both feel true. The lush wetness between my legs suggests the latter, and as he explores my center with those long, blunt fingers I embrace the prospect of my ruin, bewitched by his skillful touch… Sweetheart, I’m flattered!”

You are dying in your mortification, your face on fire, your every nerve ending aware of this man. You physically cannot stand it, going feral in his arms, squirming in his lap like a fish on a hook, desperate to get away from this hell of your own making. It’s like pushing on a steel wall; he does not give a millimeter up to you. 

"Forget travel writing, I think your calling is the x-rated romance novel," he congratulates you cruelly when you finally go still with exhaustion. And maybe it’s true–you can feel the bulge of his erection pressing into your behind, and fuck if despite your desperation, you start to ache between your thighs, your unhelpful lady parts casting their usual vote for what is undoubtedly a form of suicide.  

He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Look how you’re trembling. You’ve tried to deny it all along, but you want me."

"I want you to let me go." You push at his muscle-corded arm around you again, fruitlessly. You haven’t resorted to nails or teeth yet–somehow, you suspect you would not like the result of such an escalation. 

Donaka's grip on you just tightens even more, squeezing the breath from you. “You know…something about reading this makes me think that’s not what you really want.” 

Suddenly he stands, dropping you on his desk hard, tossing the little book away so that he can use two hands to pin you down. You might have screamed, had it not knocked the breath out of you. "I liked your ideas about this desk," he growls, taking your mouth in a punishing kiss, pressing you down into the wooden surface with his full bodyweight, his slender hips wedged between your legs. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole, starting with your mouth. 

This. This is what you expected all along. 

"Please, Donaka–" you plead when you are allowed to draw a breath. But his fingers in your hair control your head, pulling your lips to his again. His kiss is fueled by a fierce, primal hunger, his tongue delving deep into your mouth, seeking and claiming every inch of you as his own. His free hand moves over your body, exploring and caressing every curve and contour, squeezing the soft meat of your bare thigh, sliding under your panties to cup your ass.

"I'm not angry that you wrote the words," he snarls against your cheek. "I'm angry that you dared to deny me, lying to my face while you wanted me all along." His eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense. "Your charade ends tonight."

“But I–”

You whimper as he tugs at your hair, forcing you to meet his eyes again. "No more excuses, you little coward," he snarls. "Did you think you were going to tame me with a potato chip?”

"I wasn't playing with you," you protest, on the edge of tears. "I never meant to hurt you!" 

“Hurt me?” His tone is incredulous, but in that moment it dawns on you that that is indeed the root of his fury. He’d offered you sweetness, at least his version of it, such a rare and unheard of thing for him, damn near showing vulnerability–and you’d denied him. So now…you were getting the stick, and despite the flood of arousal between your legs, you weren’t really sure you liked it all that much. There were no straight lines with this man. Everything was a jagged edge, or a shade of grey. 

"You didn’t hurt me, you infuriated me,” he insists, his lips on your neck. “You knew what I wanted, what I needed, and yet you still dared deny me." He returns to your mouth, his lips hovering just above yours. "You wanted the thrill of bedding the bad man, but none of the blame. That’s fine, bunny. I’ll be your villain.”

At hearing that you renew your struggle, trying to worm out of his grasp.

Donaka's grip on you tightens even more as you writhe, his weight crushing the breath from you, his hips pinning you like a butterfly on a board. There truly is no escaping him like this.  “Give it up," he admonishes, his voice a low, dark rumble. "You wanted me to make you. I read all about it, and I’ll give it to you, sweetheart. I'm not letting you go. Fight me, I like it. Or submit, I like that too. Either way, you're mine tonight."

You’ve known all along that he is a dangerous enigma, and that was why you tried to exorcise your desire for him in words on a page, and not play with fire, not taunt the beast and offer him your tender flesh because you knew you would get bitten. 

But deep down...God, you’d wanted it anyway. You’d wanted to know, just once, what it would be like to bare your throat to a man like Donaka Mark, wondering if he might find you enticing enough, worthy enough, to kiss rather than kill simply because he could. 

“I hate you,” you hiss through your tears, but all you win is his dark laughter. 

“You wish that you hated me, baby. I read all about that too.” He kisses you again, almost tenderly this time, though his hold on you is still bruising. He kisses your cheeks, savoring the wet tracks of your tears. “Don't cry. I’m going to make your wicked little fantasies come true.” 

He kisses you, a deep, punishing lock of lips, and his hand disappears beneath your skirt. When he touches your soaking wet center he smiles against your mouth. You know it is not a nice smile, but still you moan as his thumb circles your clit confidently, as though he knows exactly how to handle you–as though you already belong to him. When he withdraws you watch with horror as he licks his thumb clean, his eyes all for you. 

“Tastes like little liar,” he sighs with narrowed eyes. “But we’re going to fix that.” 

You scream, when he savagely tears open the front of your dress, the black buttons flying to every corner of the room. He ducks to kiss your freshly bared skin, impatiently pulling down the cup of your bra, presenting your mounded flesh for his delectation. When his lips close on your nipple, his tongue flicking, you feel it simultaneously in your throbbing clit. An involuntary moan escapes you, and you know this is the beginning of the end.

“That’s my good girl,” he encourages between ravishing your sensitive flesh, his hips locked against yours. “Tell me all about it.”

“I do hate you.” 

He laughs, a short bark of mirth before kissing you again. You feel him reach down to work his buckle and buttons and zipper, taking himself out with one hand, the other still holding you down. He’s so impatient he simply pushes your panties to the side, his thick tip sinking past your entrance with embarrassingly little resistance, you’re so wet. He growls as he bullies himself inside, lost in the sensation of you, drunk on the heady high of triumph at last.

When you open your mouth to protest he makes the final thrust that fills you completely, tearing a sound from your throat instead that sounds suspiciously like enjoyment. Your head rocks back against the desk as your body adjusts to this delicious invasion.

This is bad. Very bad. But it feels so very good. 

He pauses for a moment to savor it, looking down at you with a smirk, and maybe you invent it out of desperation–but a smoldering warmth in his eyes.

You are so fucked.

“I just knew you’d have the sweetest little pussy.”

He kisses you, moaning in your mouth as he thrusts, losing himself as he wrecks you with his unfairly endowed cock. When his tip hits your cervix you flinch, your body still trying to get away, even while the rest of you has accepted the inevitable. “Too much?”

“Yes,” you hiss, still writhing beneath him.

“Be good then,” he warns you, his voice rough in your ear. “Or I’ll have to punish you.” 

He ducks to your breast again, his tongue wreaking havoc as his thumb slips between you, moving in time with his manhood stretching you to perfection, hitting just the right spot like he was made for you…

“Fuck,” you pant, out of frustration and need and worst of all…the knowledge of absolute defeat. 

You feel him smile against your skin, surrendering to pleasure while he works inside you once more. “Someone’s finally catching on…” 

You let out a growl…but you’re not fighting him anymore, your back arched as you strain for the release that is building in your hips, that maddening promise of euphoria coiled in your loins, the gratification you’ve craved from this man since day one. The tightening of your walls around him wins you another ragged groan, his forehead pressed to your breastbone as he concentrates on making you cum first. A part of you wishes he’d just get off and leave you alone–but he’s not going to do that. There’s no way in hell, you’re in his claws and so you might as well wring every little bit of enjoyment out of it that you can, before you meet your inevitable demise…

“Come on baby,” he coaxes. “Give me what’s mine. From now on, this is where your pleasure comes from, and I intend to keep your schedule full.” 

“This is not–becoming a thing,” you insist, short of breath, because it feels like he’s in your lungs.

He laughs at you, a wicked chuckle that raises your every hair follicle. “No? Do I have to keep you on the edge until you beg me for it, pretty girl? We could do this for days.”

Is it possible, to cum out of spite? You think it might be, as you wrap your legs around his narrow hips in a bid to control the timing of his thrusts. He lets you, caught up in the moment you start participating rather than fighting. You clench upon his perfect cock buried inside you, desperate to indulge yourself before he can torture you by withholding it. 

Your orgasm takes mercy on you, rising to the occasion valiantly. The rapture of it destroys you like a chain explosion, filling your loins before ripping up your spine, hitting so hard you arch and lift him from desk for a few, beautiful moments of ruin. He moans with you, fucking you hard as your needy, turncoat of a cunt milks him, sending him over the edge to spill inside you. He fills you with hot spurts of his essence, his powerful body locked against yours as though to make sure you get every drop. 

For a few long moments he collapses on you, his breathing heavy in the bend of your neck, his lips gentle behind your ear.

“Was that so terrible?” he asks you smugly, sitting up on his elbows to sweep the wisps of your sweat-plastered hair from your forehead. You close your eyes, lulled by the unexpected tenderness in his touch.

“I still hate you,” you sigh unconvincingly.

“Mmm hmm. I can tell. Are you on birth control?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked that beforehand?”

“Don’t be smart, just answer the question.”

You growl, winning that smirk that quickens your heart. He just thinks you’re cute, goddamn him.

“No, I’m not going bear your demon spawn,” you grumble with an eye roll.

“Hmm.” He smirks down at you, his eyes sweeping your face, then lower, and for a terrifying moment you can’t tell if he’s pleased by your preparedness, or contemplating the thought of filling you with his child. The latter scares you more than anything else he’s done so far tonight.

Spitefully you muse, “I kinda wish I had a venereal disease to give you though.” 

Now he narrows his eyes. “Very funny.”

“You’ll find out, I guess...”

He puts his hand over your mouth; it's so big it envelopes the whole lower half of your face.

“Let’s have silence now.” You glare–and you lick his hand, though you don’t make a sound. He looks at it with a frown, then wipes it on your cheek.

“Come on.” He withdraws, righting himself, then you, papers fluttering to the ground as you make your dismount from the desk. Whatever he was working on is surely ruined by sweat…and other bodily fluids. He doesn’t seem to care, for the smug way he smiles at you. 

You might have fallen, if not for his strong arm steadying your shaking limbs. He gives you a moment to find your legs, and as you rest against the solid warmth of his chest, enveloped by the spice of his cologne, you are consumed by the warring urges to kiss him and to hit him. This man. This man could prove to be the death of you through confusion alone. 

He tilts your face up to his, surprisingly gentle now. It’s hard to believe this is the same man from five minutes ago, when he presses his lips to yours. 

You try to button your dress, but it's a lost cause. Maybe it doesn’t matter, because he is pulling you away, towards the door. In the hallway you try to break off in the direction of your room, but he snorts at you, guiding you in the opposite direction with a hand on the back of your neck. 

“I’m not done with you yet, bunny…”

“Donaka…” You only narrowly resist the urge to sob. “You won. Just let me go…” All you want to do is be alone to lick your wounds, and reflect on what the fuck just happened to you. Your thoughts are a complete jumble; you are a walking well-fucked vessel filled with shame and confusion and you hate to admit–total gratification.  It all went by so fast and maybe deep down you wanted it but he just took you and you– 

As though he knows you are trying to pick all this apart and doesn’t intend to give you the chance, Donaka jerks you to him, pulling you into a punishing kiss that melts your bones all over again. You make a small, kittenish sound that betrays your begrudging enjoyment. You swear you feel his smug satisfaction emanating from his pores.

“Don’t you get it yet?” he asks you darkly, a dangerous sparkle in his midnight black eyes. “You’re mine now.”

[insufferablemonsters]

𝔨𝔩𝔞𝔲𝔰 & 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔢 - 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 @xxgotthedevilinsidexx.

his  brows  raise  up  in  utter  surprise  at  her  words,  a  sarcastic  chuckle  emits  from  his  lips.  he  didn't  tear  his  eyes  away  from  her  own,   ❛   are  you  capable,  my  sweet  caroline?  because,  from  what  i  can  observe,  you  seem  to  be  steadily  going  down  a  spiral  you  are  not  prepared  for.  are  you  prepared  to  lose  all  your  friends?  the  ones  you  have  left,  let  me  correct  myself,   ❜   he  replied.  before  he  could  say  or  do  anything  else,  her  hand  strikes  his  face  in  a  booming  slap,  his  eyes  rounded  out  from  this  completely  unexpected  turn  of  events.  he  knew  he  had  been  pressing  buttons  he  ought  to  be  pressing,  but  he  didn't  think  she'd  have  the  gull  to  actually  hit  him.  his  hand  comes  up  to  wipe  away  the  sting,  but  it  was  brief,  gone  in  an  instance.  the  pain  in  his  heart  from  the  assault  still  lingered,  although.  he  never  thought  he'd  see  caroline  like  this;  she  truly  was  lost.

he  growled  at  her  words  and  grabbed  her  by  her  shoulders,  staring  intently  into  her  eyes,   ❛   i  have  never  once  thought  of  you  as  a  coward,  caroline,  that  is  the  last  thing  i'd  ever  make  of  you.  don't  you  dare  put  words  into  my  mouth,  little  vampire   ❜   he  corrected  with  a  low,  scary  voice  of  his  own.  he  didn't  like  being  assumed,  and  he  sure  as  hell  didn't  want  caroline  ever  thinking  he  didn't  admire  her.  she  was  the  strongest  girl  he  knew;  that's  why  he  had  fallen  so  deeply  for  her.  couldn't  she  see  that?  he  finally  let  go  of  her  shoulders  and  leaned  in,  using  his  arms  to  leverage  himself  on  the  bar  behind  caroline.  he  cocked  his  head  to  the  side,   ❛   you're  right.  i  did  come  all  the  way  here  from  new  orleans  in  search  of  you.  i  will  always  come  looking  for  you   ❜   he  began  to  tell  her,  one  hand  tucking  her  blonde  hair  behind  her  ear,  his  eyes  searching  her  eyes  for  any  trace  of  humanity  left.  he  refused  to  believe  the  caroline  he  once  knew,  the  real  caroline,  was  long  gone  as  she  claimed.  the  back  of  his  knuckles  caress  her  cheek,   ❛   my  sweet  caroline,  've  come  t'  remind  you  who  you  truly  are.  you  were  never  a  coward  but,  this  version  of  you,  resembles  one.  come  back  to  me   ...   ❜

[justanamesstuff]

blurb idea inspired by mattys hair… amelia and matty go to the hairdressers together

could be cute assss

Omg, this is so cute and sparked some more ideas around it so...there's more than Amelia cutting her hair hehe

Warning: this is long for a blurb lol

So, I can't really picture Matty going to a place to cut his hair. I don't know why haha...but I can see some stylist-crew member cutting it just before a show because Matty is irritated with his curls hiding his eyes and getting in the way of his sight.

Anyway, one day, waiting to get on stage, he sits on a chair ready to get rid of the extra hair with a very little Amelia sitting on his lap. At first, she looks in awe how the crew member flies around her father's head, moving like a cartoon inside the tv. Everything is fun until his curls --the ones she loves to pull with her tinny hands-- disappear one by one.

"Mel-mel, what's wrong, baby?"

Y/n who rushed closer to them as soon as Amelia started crying, spoke for the two of them, "We're mad about daddy's decision, aren't we, sweets?" she coos at her two-year-old.

Amelia's under lip still wobbles even when she stopped crying. Meanwhile, Matty couldn't help to roll his eyes at his girlfriend's comment.

"It'll be the same in two weeks time, my loves." he reassured them, which takes all of Amelia's attention. "You're just like mommy, aren't ya? Obsessed with daddy's hair?" the little girl giggling with the tickles her dad provides.

*******************

Ohh, but the story is very different when the three kids of this family grow up.

During the adolescence, it's very common to change hair and clothe styles. It is reasonable when you're trying to find the one that says "here I'm...this is me". The children took the process very seriously.

The stories are many but the most important of each are these:

Amelia

She's the sweetheart, the tender one of the family. Always sensitive and very introverted. So when during a pyjama party some mean girls dare to cut her very long --it almost reached her waist-- she can't say no to them and agrees with it. They cut it closer to her shoulders, making her look like a totally different person when she looks at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Amelia calls Y/n in a total crisis. Her mother rushes to pick her up and tries as best as she can to hold her reaction.

"I look awful." Amelia says between broken cries.

"That's impossible, baby. You're the most gorgeous girl in the world!" Y/n protests.

"I'll hide for the rest of my life inside the house, inside my room."

Y/n reaches for her hand in a very motherly way, "Mel, this is fixable, okay?"

She looks up at her, with tears trying to scape them. "Really?"

"Yes!! 100%!" Y/n continues, "We'll go to the salon tomorrow...and I'll let you dye it if you wa-"

"Would you really?!" Amelia screams.

And how can Y/n say no when that would cheer her baby?

Y/n nods, gaining a big hug from her daughter.

Amelia ends up getting a good hair cut and she decides to dye the ends with a soft pink that the entire school end up admiring --even the mean girls-- because she rocks it.

Arthur

There's a moment, a period, in his life when he's 13 or so that Arthur becomes obsessed with Matty's past styles. His dad looks so cool, and he wants exactly that. So he tries to recreate one of his most iconic looks: the mohawk.

One day, when his parent left with Ruth and Amelia is too engrossed with her paintings, Arthur sneaks into Matty and Y/n's bedroom. He manages to steal the razor Matty has in one of his drawers and runs towards his room.

His heart is pounding hard inside his ribcage when he plugs the thing.

Arthur tries pressing a button and the razor comes alive in his hand. He's so scared that he almost drops it but manages to turn it off again.

"Don't be a coward." he whispers to himself.

So, he tries again. He gets comfortable with the buzzing sound, walking to stand in front of his mirror.

Arthur strategically placed his phone with a picture he found on the internet.

"Okay, first this side." he speaks as if someone can hear him.

The young man inclines his head to the left side, bringing the razor closer and closer. Quicker than expected he looks towards the floor how part of his hair fall on it.

Arthur's eye go directly to his reflection, finding another one.

His head whiplashes back, looking at his dad standing on his bedroom door.

"Dad, I can expla-" he tries, but Matty smile gets wider.

Arthur watches his dad dismiss his apology and holds a hand in front of himself. "Do you need help, Archie?"

----------

Y/n listens a pair of steps coming from behind her head. She doesn't turn, but she starts speaking. "Where were you, Matty? I thought you went to check-" she continues, this time turning around. "What the fuck?!"

"Y/n! Language!"

"Oh shut the fuck up, Matthew! What have you done to him?" she screams.

Matty can't help to laugh uncontrollably.

"He was doing it by himself...I just helped him a little." he explains.

Y/n stands up, going to hold Arthur's head. She turns him from side to side, taking a good look.

"What? Do I look bad?" the vulnerable question brings Y/n back.

"What? No, baby...you- You don't look bad at all. It's just-" Arthur only understands when his mom adds, "You look exactly like your father a few years back."

Matty's smirk adorns his entire face.

"That was the idea!" Arthur exclaims, happily, and his dad places a strong arm around his shoulders.

The boy looks up to him, warming Y/n's heart in a way that brushes away every anger inside it.

Ruth

I love the three of them but I stan Ruth in a way I can't explain. She's the rock star of the family. Her story is a bit different from her siblings.

All the children inherited Matty's type of hair, the only difference was that with time Amelia and Arthur got some characteristics of theirs mother --long, straight and soft. But Ruth's hair copied exactly the transition Matty's hair did during his life. Her hair got curlier and curlier to a point she hated it.

After the hundred treatment she tried, Ruth is beyond annoyed.

"This is not working, guys." she said to her parent.

"She just called us 'guys'?" Matty asked Y/n, dropping a plate he was drying.

Y/n nodded. "She did."

"Hello?! I'm talking to you."

"And we're listening, Matty." her father mocked her with the nickname she hates.

"Fine, forget it."

"Ruth!" Y/n screams after her but it's in vain.

The girl rushes upstairs, not even mad for real with her parents, just determined to complete the idea inside her head

-----

"Done. Problem solved." Ruth stands in front of Matty and Y/n.

Y/n throws her head backwards, saying, "Your kids are going to drive me crazy, Healy."

"Do I have to remind you who brought them to this world?" Matty follows the joke. "You look good, Ruthy!"

"I know!" she shows her shaved head around. "Mom?"

"I love your curls." Y/n tries to protest. "But if someone can rock that hairstyle is you, baby."

"Thanks mommy." Ruth goes to hug her.

*******

Hair is a big issue in this family haha

[blossom-hwa]

what if i want u to strangle me and bring me back to life to kiss me on the fucking mouth huh lina have u ever thought of that 😤😤 anyways i know nothing about little women but u know what im just gonna request choi san as choi do-il tyvm AND CONGRATS ON THE LATE 5 YEAR ANNIVERSARY - your one and only baker anon <3

hey so um you're dead to me :) so very dead to me :) how fucking dare you request this I'm going to go INSANE

5 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/TXT/Golden Child/Ateez/The Boyz member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

(this is one scene of a longer fic that I’m trying to write for little women specifically - not an idol x reader story, but choi do-il x oh in-joo. for the purposes of this version, of course, it’s idol x reader though!)

REQUESTS OPEN!!

~

Title: A Small Storm (Excerpt)

Pairing: San x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: n/a

~

"You're a small storm, Ms. Oh. No matter where you go, you change the flow of the air, although you don’t seem to notice it." - Little Women

. . . . .

Tropical Storm. That's what San had your name saved as in his phone before.

That’s what he saves it as again when he gets his new phone.

The old one had been damaged. Screen cracked, back cracked - if he wasn’t careful, bits of glass would sometimes try to pierce his skin. When he reached Greece, the first thing he’d done was pull out the SIM card, snap it in half, and toss it in a dump. The phone he kept. Sentimental purposes, or something.

He’d memorized your number. It was a given in case they were ever separated, in case his phone was out of commission and he needed a new one. When he gets his new iPhone, creamy white in contrast to the previous sleek black, he types the number into his contacts and presses save with a trembling thumb.

He hovers over the call button for a while, one minute turning to five, then seven, then ten. In the end, he turns off the phone and puts it away. 

Choi San is not a coward. He worked with the Russian mafia. He worked with Park Jae-sang and his insane wife. He’s laundered money, murdered people, gotten himself in and out of terrifying situations without so much as blinking an eye, and he’s made it out alive and in one piece. 

Still, as he closes the drawer with the phone inside, it’s hard not to hear the voice in the back of his head screaming coward. 

. . .

He takes the phone out the next day. There are no new notifications, at least not important ones, and San has to fight down a twinge of disappointment. But disappointment at what? It’s not like he told anyone he’d gotten a new phone. He didn’t even tell anyone when he’d get one - all he’d said to you was a vague eventually. It’s not like he told anyone he was keeping the same number, either. 

Still, though. It hurts. Even though he was the coward who didn’t press the call button in the first place. 

Then the phone starts ringing. 

He jumps. Looks around to see who saw him jump (no one, he lives alone and only his co-workers and parents have bothered him anything in the past six months) and looks back at the phone. 

Tropical Storm

For all the anxiety you give him, maybe he should go ahead and change your name to Hurricane instead. 

His hand automatically curls around the phone, thumb immediately accepting the call. “Y/N?” 

(He’s bizarrely proud of the way his voice only barely shakes.)

A sharp gasp, almost a scream. San’s heart leaps into his throat. “Y/N? Hello?” he repeats, nails of his free hand biting into his palm. 

Silence. 

“Y/N?”

He’s got one hand on the doorknob, has already begun twisting it open when he finally hears your voice. 

“Sorry.” It’s warped, garbled, and it sounds like you don’t have enough air. San knows that voice - it comes when unexpected things happen, when something shakes you to the core and you don’t know how to react. The door is open and he’s recalling the route to the airport, praying he can make the next flight to your country, when you speak again. “Sorry, I’m fine.”

Then you end the call. 

San looks at the phone in his hand, dumbfounded. You hung up. You hung up -

He calls you again. And again, and again, and again until the number in the call logs beside your name reaches seven. 

You decline every single one. 

San closes the door. Turns. Automatically packs a bag of the barest essentials, then searches up the next flight back. It leaves in three hours. The trip to the airport takes one. 

He shoves the phone back in his pocket. He can make it there in half an hour. 

. . .

San doesn’t break into your apartment. It’s one choice he considers, but his flight touches down at three in the afternoon and from what he’s dug up about you over the course of the plane ride, your job at the florist two streets down from the apartment your grand-aunt left you will let you off at around five. And though he’s ascertained that you aren’t in trouble, at least not yet, San thinks there are better ways to make sure of this than by entering your apartment when you aren’t home. 

The florist is called Green Garden. It’s a cheerful little place, even to his critical eye - lots of customers bustling about, one or two employees dressed in green aprons to help them out. But when San looks through the glass doors, only the cashier’s face catches his eye. 

You don’t look up when he comes in, not at first. Someone’s just finished calling your name in the back and you say something in response, not that San is paying any attention to it. Instead, as the door shuts behind him, all he can process is how the air changes in your presence, shifting and swaying and whirling about you in a small tempest, drawing him into the eye as he wavers on the edge -

You’re looking at him. You’re looking at him now, and that’s the only thing San needs to step fully into your hurricane, meeting you in the eye. 

“Hi,” he says, stepping up to the counter. Your mouth has dropped open and San lets himself smile at it, resisting the urge to tip up your chin and close it himself. 

You close your mouth abruptly. Open it again. San watches your throat bob, the endearing expression of shock still on your face as you try to find your words. He wonders what you’ll say to him. Will you yell? Shout? Will your voice remain steady and low? Will it shake? Will it rise to the shrill screech you adopted when no one told you about the plan?

As it turns out, you do none of these. 

Instead, you burst into tears. 

. . .

“You’re an asshole,” you finally hiccup when San has gotten you out of the flower shop and back to your apartment, your bundle of things held in his hand. “You’re an absolute piece of shit, San.”

“I know. Sorry.” He brushes a line of tears from your cheek, smiling to hide the fact that his eyes aren’t exactly dry, either. 

You fumble with the apartment keypad, pressing in a string of numbers that San will pretend he doesn’t already know. The door swings open and you herd him inside, still wiping tears from your face. 

He drops your things where you point by the door, then puts his own bag down next to them. When he looks up, you’re already looking at him, eyes trained on his. “What?”

Quick as a flash, you step forward and slap him across the chest. 

“Ow.” He looks down at his chest and then back up at you. “What was that -”

“How did you find me?” you snap, cutting him off. “How did you know where I work? And - oh my god - how did you know where my apartment was without me telling you? Were you stalking me?”

“I didn’t stalk you,” San replies, not bothering to dim the smile on his face. It would be too hard to hide the way his heart is buzzing with warmth at the sound of outrage in your voice, the voice he didn’t realize he missed as much as he did until now. “I found you.”

“That’s stalking!” You swat him again, and this time San doesn’t bother to hide his laugh, either. “Stop laughing! You didn’t text, you didn’t call -”

San takes the hand that just swatted his chest, still laughing. “I did call,” he says, squeezing your fingers lightly. “Seven times. You didn’t answer any of them, so I came.”

(”I tried my best to come up with a plan. But I couldn’t, so I just came.”)

You look down at your joined hands, then back up at him. Something shifts in your eyes, a questioning breeze flitting across your pupils before something solemn settles in them, a spot of calm in the storm. 

“Why?”

He swallows. Contemplates answers. He could say he thought you were in trouble, that he thought you needed help. That would be the safest answer. But there are holes in that response, and in those eyes of yours San can see you wouldn’t let him stop there. Wouldn’t let him take the cop-out. 

For the first time, San allows himself to wonder if you may have missed him as much as he missed you. 

“Why?” he repeats, words soft. “Because you’re a storm, Y/N.” He steps forward and you don’t pull away when he takes your other hand in his, bringing himself into the swirling winds of your tempest eyes. “A small storm. Wherever you go, you change the flow of the air.”

Your eyes flash with a memory, a memory of the words he spoke in the car so many months ago. 

“I’ve been caught in your storm,” he says quietly. “And I’ll follow it, wherever your winds blow.”

He presses his forehead to yours. Your eyes close for a moment, hands still gripping his. 

“I want to be with you,” he whispers. “Forever, until the day I die.” He swallows. “Will you allow it?”

Slowly, you squeeze San’s palms. Your fingers weave between his, settling against his skin. Altogether it probably only takes you a second to respond, but there has never been a more excruciating second in San’s entire life. 

“Yes,” you whisper, your breath a ghost against his skin. “Yes, San.” 

Your eyes glitter into his, the calm in the middle of a storm. Dazedly, San thinks his name has never sounded more like music from someone else’s lips. 

“I will.”

[songzhong]

@zorkaya  🎭🔶

He is not one to share a bed with someone so quickly, before he doesn’t get to know them on a deeper level... but when someone catches his fancy ? He can fun, definitely. Although instances of sharing passion with a mortal were extremely few and far between, Zhongli was no stranger to matters of pleasure.

The secretary of the Aurora Borealis theatre was a dangerous person, he had no doubt that there was so, so much more underneath those cold eyes. She was not only a charismatic and beautiful lady, the depth he could see in every inch of her person told a long story... and it was terribly attractive.

With the both of them keeping decorum, he was more than receptive to her advances, and she was more receptive to his. However, the difference between them was that she played less of the long game and was going for what she wanted right away... with such an admirable character he had grown to see so much passion and allure in, the consultant thought to himself that this lady was more than welcome to be humored.

He was being given a tour backstage of the auditorium where they’d play and he’d narrate, each movement and word they spoke echoing in the large, empty room... same when she was looking at a list of props after they had exchanged clear innuendos, and he had slid behind her, gloved fingers caressing her sides and stomach, before moving down her thighs as her touch encouraged him to continue further.

He gently pressed her so she’d bend down on those heavy cloth covered crates, the consultant’s thin lips caressing her nape in raspy sighs, while he was patient, still feeling the more modest details of her form under his fingers, so both her body and soul would be appreciated the way they deserved.

She was his equal, he’d worship the privilege of sharing this moment together while it lasted the most he could, as his movements were gently asking for permission to touch her further as she leaned into her back to him. Though when she started to be more and more obvious that their desires were shared, he made his intentions clear while he had been moving his hands up her thighs, raising her dress above her hips while she was still slightly bent over.

A rough, hard spank was given to her buttock. Once. The impact echoing through the theatre, and pushing her whole weight against what she was leaning on, pushing the heavy crates dangerously a few inches forwards.

All his gentleness needed to not be mistaken : he desired her, on the most carnal level.

A strong figure leaned against Zarina’s back, muscles tensing against her while the consultant kept softly kissing against her, slightly undoing the slider of her dress so he could praise the lines of her shoulder and shoulder blades, her elegant spine, pale skin, and every single mark he could find. While his gloved hand was gently moving up and down between her thighs above the thin fabric of her lingerie, exploring the outer curves of her modesty. Zhongli’s fingers gently spread, putting pressure against Zarina without intruding, just enough so the pressure would gradually stimulate her intimacy, only promising the incredible sensation direct caresses would procure.

The funeral parlor consultant didn’t necessarily care about his own, personal bodily desires right now, what he sought after, what he was currently panting in his raspy voice for between his kisses of worship, were discovering this woman’s intimate ins and outs. What made her melt, and which beauties only a select few would be able to see, because this wasn’t about the ones who shared a bed with her... it was about those even rarer individuals who’d make her wreath in pleasure, leave her panting and breathless as they’d reach so deep within her pleasure her complex mind would have no place for other thought than the overwhelming sensations going through every inch of her.

He was a patient man, moving in slow, circular motions before gently pressing against her for more direct stimulation, with only the dexterity, care and lust of one who wanted to have his partner truly lose it for him.

Only when she’d truly, truly start to beg for more, be it through breaking the silence or forcefully grabbing onto his wrist, would he push aside her underwear, and his still gloved right hand would start to caress her, finally, finally giving her the knee buckling ecstasy and satisfaction his direct touch would give her.

He just needed one hand to explore her intimately. The rest was observation, adaptation... anyway, it was too late for her to regain composure, what had happened beforehand seemed to be enough. How long had it been since she had shown this part of her ? Had someone have her stay back and enjoy herself, lose herself in such intimate sensations ? Zhongli wondered.

Soaked gloved fingers kept rolling around and against her clitoris, before caressing her lower lips again as she shivered, always keeping the same motion long enough until she started building up more pleasure as his muscles felt her body relax and tense under him, before stimulating the other area he felt she was leaning more onto to keep his momentum... he was, after all, an expert at reading others, and she’d only get the best from him...

... although when she was about to cum, he entirely stopped, unable to hold a grin as he did, although she couldn’t see him from this angle... certainly, a wise lady like Zarina could tell he was. Was his hand and wrist tired ? How long had they been there ? No. He was just doing it on purpose.

It took only a moment, however, and one finger was roughly shoved between her inner walls, sliding in so, so easily with how dripping wet she had been this whole time... and there’d be no delicacy this time around. The consultant’s muscles tensed against her back, as he pulled his gloved finger in and, making gentle circles as he teased her most sensitive spots. It didn’t take much time before another finger was slid in to satisfy her body’s urges when she’d ask for something more. Wet caresses were replaced by soaked spanking every time Zhongli’s raw strength would push into the artist against the heavy drape of the crate, mercilessly roughing her up in pleasure as he’d abuse her body that was pleading for more.

... and when they heard the auditorium room open while they were still backstage, he didn’t stop. Instead, his left hand covered her mouth to stop any noise, and his fingering only fucked her even harder, ring finger and thumb pinching her slit tightly so the whole of her intimacy would be stimulated at once, inside and out, with no escape. He continued, even as the casual voices held a conversation, and footsteps would draw closer, before going away, and then even closer again, with the two people seemingly visiting the place.

Only, and only when the archon felt his partner shake and tremble euphorically, with drool sliding through his left hand, and every bit of her pulsing against him in ecstasy as she came simply because of his hand, did he let go of her... The next second, he was promptly zipping the top of her dress back up, and grabbing onto her sides as he brought Zarina back on her feet without any ceremony. He shoved the to-do list back in her hand and, in one swift motion, straightened her dress back on her form as the consultant turned around with his soaked gloves behind his back, all of this in a flash : because the two theatre troop individuals were, at this very second, walking in.

Immediately, the consul gave a polite smile, his expression showing no other sign but decorum.

“Greetings to you both. I am honored to be invited to join your production for your time in Liyue.” He purposefully stepped closer so Zarina would be out of their direct sight, wiping his fingers discreetly behind his back. “I hope my amateur skills in the art won’t hinder you. Lady Zarina was showing me around the premises.”

“Are you alright, Mr. Zhongli ? You seem a bit unease. If you are sick, you do not need to join us right away.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine. The summer weather is just a bit...” He straightened his tie. “... hot, lately.”

[iwishtobeastorm]

Congrats on 200!!! Can I p’ease have “on my lap. Now.” with Din 💕

A/N: Thank you so so so much for requesting, Padi! It means so much to me. I hope this won't disappoint!

Feathers - Din Djarin/Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, meantions of someone trying to hurt reader, fluff, innocent reader

Words count: 1500+

Celebration | Masterlist

Din didn't want it to go like that. It was supposed to be an easy job. The bounty was some wealthy kid, running away from his parents, who wanted him back and hired Din. He didn't want to take you with him, but you begged for it so sweetly he eventually subdued and that was a mistake. He should've known you'll be a distraction, he should've known his feeling for you will get in a way. You two waited for him to appear at one of those shady bars, which made Din uncomfortable since the first moment you two stepped in. All the people were gazing at you as if you were a peace of meat. He wanted to turn around and lead you back to the ship, but you gave him one of your little smiles, assuring him everything is okay, and it gave him comfort, at least for a while. Until he went after the kid into the back of the bar, leaving you on your own. He almost had the boy, when the scream echoed through the whole building, and Din knew it was you. He let the kid run away, storming back into the bar, his heart thrumming wildly in his chest. What he was met with when he entered, made him see red. This huge man was dragging you out of the bar, kicking and steaming, the Baby crying in your arms from distress. Din moved before he knew it.

"Let her go," he uttered through clenched teeth, pointing one of his blasters to the temple of the man's giant head. "Or what, tinman? I can take you down anytime," he chuckled, yanking you closer to him, making you fight against his hold again, but it was hard when you had to hold the Child too. "I said, let her go. This is your only warning," Din felt his blood boiling at the sight of your teary eyes, opened wildly in fear, while the baby clutched to you, hiding from the man, who dared to put his dirty hand on his clan. That's not something he could get away with alive. And he didn't. Din gave you a nod, which you understood, pressing the baby closer and closing your eyes. What happened next played through your head for hours. The sound of blaster shooting, a choked grunt and heavy thud, as the man collapsed to the ground, his big hand finally releasing you. You opened your eyes again, just to find Din, rushing into his arms, hiding your face underneath his chin. He pulled you close tightly, stroking your back, while whispering softly to you to comfort you, his eyes scanning the room, sending a clear message to anyone who was inside, staring at the three of you with unhidden surprise. Do not mess with Mando's clan. You've been unusually quiet on your way back to Razor Crest, darting behind him with the baby, who was already back to his coos and babbling, waving his arms and tugging on your hair. Din wanted to do something to make you feel better, but he was always so lost when it came to offering you comfort or any sign of affection in general. You were the one good in that. You always knew what to say and what to do. Not him. So he stayed quiet and when the hatch closed behind you, he hid in the cockpit like a coward. He was desperate. He wanted to do something, pull your close and assure you that he'll never let anything like that happen to you again, that he'll always protect you, but he knows he won't be able to get the words past his throat. Every time he's in your presence, he somehow loses his ability to speak. You enchanted him ever since he first met you, hiring you as the baby's caretaker. You are everything he isn't. Sweet, gentle, bright and innocent. You bring so much light into his life by just simply existing by his side. Your laughter warms his heart every time he hears it, the songs you hum get stuck in his head until he's humming them under his breath too, your touches burning at his skin for hours, driving him crazy. But you're not his. He would love it, Gods know he would. Just the thought of it makes him delirious. But there's no way a girl like you could ever want him. Or at least he persuaded himself that's true a long time ago. Maybe that's why he ignored all those glances you give him, all those wannabe brief touches, all your need to be close to him and please him. You don't have

enough courage to confess your feelings for him and definitely not when you think you know he doesn't feel the same. You would lose everything if you did, you're sure about that. Din and the baby are the best things that ever happened to you, there's no way you'll let yourself ruin it.

You two avoid each other for a few hours, until you calm yourself down enough to face him again, climbing up the ladder to the cockpit, your nervousness and anxiety growing, making your chest feel too tight, while your heartbeat thunders in your ears. You slowly step closer, until you stop a few feet away from his seat. He's casually sitting there, facing the white tunnel of hyperspace, pushing some buttons on the control panel. You bite on your lower lip, clasping your hands in front of you and squeezing tightly to control your nerves. "Uhm- Din?" You murmur, trying to get his attention, which works immediately as he turns in his seat towards you, his dark visor meeting your gaze. "What is it, mesh'la?" He can't help but worry. Your expression is full of anguish and turmoil, which squeezes on his heart with need to comfort you. "I- I came to apologize. I should never go on the hunt with you, I'm sorry the bounty escaped because of me. And- I- I apologize for all the troubles I bring your way. I-I-," you take in a shaky breath, trying to hold back your tears, head tilting down to hide your flushed cheek, embarrassment coursing through you. "It was stupid to think I could ever handle it. I just- I wanted to be by your side. I- I get lonely here on the ship with the baby while you're away, you know? And I thought that- you said it'll be an easy bounty so I thought I could just be there with you and watch but I- I ruined it all for you. I'm so sorry," you whisper, hot streams rolling down you pretty cheeks and Din could scream. This is not what he wanted. He didn't mean to make you feel bad about his own mistake. You were attacked by some di'kut and now you're apologizing for things that are not your fault at all. How could he ever let it get this far? "On my lap. Now," he mutters and you tense, not sure if you've heard it right. "What?" You murmur, wiping away your tears. "Come here, cyar'ika," Din says, patting his knee. Your nervousness could match his anytime as you approach him. You look up at him for confirmation, when you stand right in front of him and once he gives you a gentle nod, you straddle his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders. You gaze at him through the visor of his helmet, your eyes meeting his as always. He puts his hands on your waist, pulling you closer,  the blush on your cheeks mirroring the one Din hides underneath the helmet. "You did nothing wrong, ad'ika. I'm sorry I left you there alone, I should've known it was a dangerous place for you. But please, don't blame yourself," he states, cupping your cheek, making you lean into his touch as you close your eyes. "So you're not mad at me?" You assure, voice little, making Din's hand squeeze tighter on your waist. "I could never be mad at you, mesh'la," he states, making you smile, as you wrap your hand around his wrist, planting a kiss to his gloved palm. It makes Din's heart do a little jump, the print of your lips setting his body on fire. You open your pretty eyes, looking at him, before you let go of his wrist and your hands find his shoulders again, pulling yourself flush to him, your forehead meeting his helmet, making Din hold back a gasp. "Thank you for saving me today. I don't know what I would do without you," you whisper, closing your eyes and biting on your lower lip, your heart racing in your chest. "I will never let anyone hurt you again, cyar'ika, I promise," he says, his baritone rumbling through your body, making your insides tingle. "Okay," you murmur with a smile, making Din smile softly too. You both yearned to be like this for months, dancing around each other like two feathers in the air, until you finally collided, ending up in the safety of each other's arms. Neither you or Din could be happier, because even though you both want so much more, you know this is just a beginning of something amazing, something greater. So even though Din didn't want it to go like that, he won't complain about it now.

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

Tag list:

Thank you so much for your support!

@rosi3ba3z @lovelylostminds @lokigirlszendaya @pintsizemama

[pastelwitchling]

Michael visits Alex in the middle of the night.

Michael was drunk. That alone should’ve told him that this was a bad idea.

The second warning? That instead of knocking on Alex’s front door, he’d pushed it open with a flick of his wrist. It was easier, he realized, much easier to use his powers when he was angry and in despair. He worried what that meant for him, but it was at the back of his mind. Right now, all he could think of was Alex.

After he and Max had parted ways for the night, after he’d made sure that his brother was sleeping in bed and his vitals were normal, he had fallen. He’d gotten back to the bunker, realized he was too sober to do any work that reminded him of his father, so he’d had bottle after bottle of acetone, hoping that it would help narrow his focus to the schematics and star alignments and old files without worrying about the peripheral stuff, but with every passing minute, he found it harder and harder to think of anything but seeing Alex.

He found it harder to want anything but Alex.

A few sentences, a carefree and sure smile, a light in his eyes as he promised Michael he would burn the world before he let anything happen to him, and everything in Michael shifted. All this time, he’d thought defying Jesse Manes should’ve been easier for Alex to do. All this time, he’d secretly thought of him as a coward for running, for fighting as hard as he had when it shouldn’t have taken any fight at all.

Now he understood. And he hated that it took him finding out who his own father was to understand the courage and strength Alex had had. The same kind Alex seemed to so easily believe that Michael had himself.

He needed that surety again, now, and if that meant breaking into Alex’s house in the middle of the night to see him, then so be it.

He expected to find Alex in his living room, working on files, unable to sleep like the inevitable insomniac he was, but work at the base must’ve been harder than he’d thought because the lights were off and Alex was curled up in bed, the window pouring in moonlight on his sleeping figure, and shining off his hair and cheekbones like light off water.

Michael froze at the doorway. Looking at Alex like this, up close, he felt something stirring in the pit of his chest. Something that lodged a lump in his throat and burned his eyes and made his fingers itch to reach out and touch.

He missed Alex like he missed breathing, and he had no idea how long he’d been suffocating until he got that fresh air now.

Trudging his way to the bed, Michael reached over, let his fingers hover over Alex for just a second before he dared push them through the strands, brushing Alex’s hair back.

A breath of relief escaped his lips. So he hadn’t been dreaming that encounter the other night. Alex really was back, here, safe and sound and in front of him.

He leaned down, resting his brow against Alex’s temple, his hand coming down Alex’s back and around his waist, pulling him in.

“I missed you,” he rasped out. “God, I missed you.”

Alex stirred beneath his touch. Michael heard a gasp. “Who . . . Guerin?”

Michael couldn’t move away, wouldn’t move away. Alex smelled so good, and he was so warm, and his hoarse voice sent shivers down Michael’s spine that he hadn’t felt in years.

Alex started to sit up, but Michael moved in closer, his eyes shut tighter. “Don’t,” he pleaded, “don’t move away from me. I need you close, Alex.”

“Hey,” Alex sounded confused, but he held Michael’s face like he always did when he was trying to get him to see him. He didn’t realize that when he was around, Michael couldn’t see anybody else.

Michael should’ve been tougher than this, should’ve smirked and made some joke about just being here for sex, but he thought of Max and Kyle’s words and knew there was nothing he wanted less than to lie to Alex now.

He whimpered despite himself and leaned down until he was curled in next to Alex, his face against Alex’s neck, his arms clinging to Alex and keeping them pressed together.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” he breathed, the lump growing and making it harder for him to speak. “I’m so sorry.”

He had no idea if he was making any sense, if Alex knew what he was sorry for – making him feel like crap for who his father had been, fighting him and his feelings all these years, leaving Alex for reasons that never made any sense to him but made the worst kind of sense to Alex – but Alex seemed to realize it was for all of it and more when he wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulders and held him tight.

“It’s okay, Guerin,” he murmured into Michael’s curls. “Just go to sleep.”

There was no fear in his voice, no hesitance. The biggest shock may have been having Michael actually come to him, and Michael hated that, but Alex held him so tightly anyway.

Michael buried his face in Alex’s warmth, his scent, his lips pressed to Alex’s sensitive skin. “I love you.”

Alex shivered and Michael wrapped his arms tighter around him. “Just go to sleep, Guerin.”

Michael couldn’t think of anything else to say before sleep overcame him, comfortable, for the first time since Alex left.

Michael woke to an empty bed and warm sunlight pouring in instead of moonlight, bathing the room in gold. He sat up, bleary-eyed, and looked around. Where was he? This wasn’t his bedroom . . .

Memories of last night flooded in. The acetone, breaking into Alex’s house, getting into bed with him, his confession . . . His eyes fell shut and he nearly fell back down.

Oh my god . . .

Michael took his time washing up and looking for his boots which he had apparently thrown off last night. He thought it might’ve been in his best interest to sneak out the window, but the very last thing he wanted to do with a raging headache was get away from the one person who helped him feel any better.

So he padded into the living room to find Alex curled up on the end of his couch, his laptop in front of him, a mug of coffee on the table. He had his earphones in and Michael could hear the tinny voice of some rock song playing. He imagined Alex usually listened to music out loud in the morning, and took care not to this time so that he wouldn’t wake Michael. Michael’s heart may have swelled.

At the sight of him, Alex calmly turned off his music and took out his earphones.

“Morning,” he said, and nudged his chin at the doorway to the kitchen. “Made you a cup.”

Michael looked over his shoulder, nodded, not knowing what else to do, then went to get his mug. He tasted chocolate and had to refrain a smile as he sat down in the armchair closest to Alex.

He tapped his mug, then said, “Sorry I broke in.”

Alex smirked, clicking a few more buttons on his laptop before he shut it and set it aside. He took his own cup and shrugged a shoulder. “If anyone’s going to invade my privacy, might as well be you.”

Again, Michael had to refrain a smile.

Alex rested his chin on his palm and studied Michael. It never felt scrutinizing, not like other people’s stares. It never felt like he was looking for the bad, only admiring the good. It wasn’t a look he ever got or wanted from anyone else.

“Why are you here, Guerin?”

“I needed to see you.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to.”

Alex tilted his head, waiting. Michael swallowed and looked down.

“What if I . . . what if I told you that I don’t want to give up? That I want to keep fighting?”

Alex said nothing a moment, and Michael dared a glance up to see him smiling with something like fondness and pride and something so much more that made Michael want to curl against his side and stay in his safety and warmth.

“I already know that, Guerin.”

This time, Michael allowed himself the half-hearted scoff. Alex so easily believed in his strength. He loved him. He loved him, he loved him, he –

“And if I told you I love you?” he blurted.

The words were barely louder than a whisper, but like an echo against cavern walls in the silence between them.

Alex held his mug to his lips and smiled himself. “I know that, too.”

[shurisneakers]

shut in [2]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Gender Neutral Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied violence, drama kings, and stupid tv show references

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: ayeeee, we’re back for part two. i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

Hours were spent on the road in thick silence. 

The both of you had been driving around for a while now. You were a considerable distance away from the mansion and Pierce, but you didn’t dare to stop.

Initially you had only put the pedal to the metal without solid plan. Get the fuck away from there was the only objective you cared about. 

Hours later a signboard registered in your frantic thoughts. Familiarity struck a chord, and all of a sudden you had a vague idea of where you could go. You were unsure if it still existed, but it was a risk you were willing to take.

Darkness still coloured the sky, but the roads were deserted. No cameras along the highway was a welcomed feature. You eased your foot off the accelerator, carefully assessing the path you were taking for your exit. 

You saw a small clearing near the highway, taking a deep breath before pulling the car into a sharp turn off the road and into the woods.

“Where are you going?” your companion jolted up when the car swerved abruptly. 

You didn’t answer; just kept your eyes peeled for the structure. You didn’t have a backup plan if this didn’t go right.

It took much longer than you anticipated before you found it, pulling the car to a stop. You were deeper into the woods than you would have liked. 

You stuck your head out of the window to confirm you were at the right place. It looked like you were.

“Where the hell are we?”

“My summer vacation house,” you murmured, unbuckling your seatbelt. You stepped out of the car to assess the damage. .

Another door opening and closing told you that he had gotten out of the car as well. However, he trudged ahead, leaving you behind. 

The car was pretty beaten up. The metal gates hadn’t done it any favours.The question was whether it would still work if you needed it to.

Probably would, but not for too long.

You looked to the side to see where he went. He was standing in front of the house, arms crossed over his chest as he ran his eyes all over the building.

You trekked past him, walking up the two steps to the door. Pulling at what looked like a doorbell in any other scenario, you tugged off the outer shell to reveal a small scanner underneath.

You pressed your thumb to it, tapping your foot impatiently as it gave a beep of approval. The door gave a soft click. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, twisting the handle to let yourself in. 

“You’re kidding right?” he asked incredulously from a distance behind you.

“Hey, man, stay outside if you want. Suit yourself.” You were sure he could fashion a bed out of leaves and twigs if he was that desperate.

Fumbling for the light switch, you sigh in relief when the room is illuminated.

“Whose safehouse is this?”

“Ransone’s.” You shrugged nonchalantly, moving ahead to inspect the place.

“I have every single one of his safehouses committed to memory.” His voice was becoming fainter as he planted his feet firmly at the doorway, refusing to move. “This ain’t one of them.”

“He’s sneaky. Once watched the next episode of Desperate Housewives without telling me.” The house wasn’t as dusty as you thought it would be, clearly being maintained once in a while although not regularly. “Broke my whole heart, he did.”

“Whose house is this?” he asked once again, tone hard as steel.

“Best that you don’t ask questions, buddy.” You looked at him wearily, a slo warning in itself, ending the conversation there. “Or else you’re welcome to leave.”

The entrance opened directly into what you assumed was the living room, or a sorry excuse for one. It had a couch facing an old cable television set, mounted on a small cupboard.

In the same space was the kitchen, with a microwave, a sink, and shelves lining the wall. A small mini fridge sat atop the counter.  There was a dining table with six chairs for a family, almost like a sick joke. You found yourself letting out a short exhale at it, moving onto the next room.

It was bare except for a shelf pressed against a well. Opening it, you found yourself looking at multitudes of what looked like burner phones, microphones, cameras, some as small as a button. Regular security cameras and monitors to go with it, trackers, anything you needed was available in those four drawers.

You pocketed a burner cell to use for later, moving to the room on the opposite side of the hall.

However, unlike the rest of the rooms you had seen so far, this one was empty. Not even a shelf decorating it.

The next door you opened was a bathroom, the final being a bedroom with one bed in the centre pushed up against the wall. A wardrobe in the corner contained numerous t-shirts of black and grey of every size, tactical pants and other necessary items of clothing.

You eyed the last door at the end of the hall before finally deciding to pursue it.

It opened to the patio in the back, two steps leading down from the house into the wooded area. Pillars held up the corners of the roof. It all looked picturesque, meant to blend in as a normal house.

You stood there for a second, taking in the silence around you. Nothing could be heard for miles, so if something were to happen-

You shook your head, forcing your imagination to stop running wild. You shut the door behind you, steadily making your way back to where the guy was.

It appeared that he had caved. He had moved from the doorway, instead taking a seat on one of the dining chairs. He was observing you, eyes keen as you took a seat opposite to him.

Dropping the burner phone on the table, you looked at him expectantly. Silence ensued until it dawned on him what you were implying. 

“I’m not calling him,” the guy said, leaning on his palm. Coward. 

“Fine.” You pulled it back, snapping it open to dial the number.

You let it ring all the way until the very last second.

“Hello?” the low voice resonated from the other end.

“Ransone.” You rolled your eyes at his tone, somehow letting your exhaustion tear down any kind of filter you usually had while in conversation with him. 

“Y/N?” His voice jumped two octaves higher to his usual pitch, dropping the facade immediately. 

“Did you set us up?” You ignored the small glance you got from the guy at your name.

“What?”

“Did you set us up?” you repeated brazenly.

“What?”

“Oh, cut the shit Ransone, was this a trap?” The guy next to you exploded impatiently.

“Wilson?” Great. A name to the face.

“Answer the fuckin’ question, Vincent.” The mention of Ranone’s first name had you surprised. No one dared to call him that.

“No, Sam,” came his response almost mockingly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sam Wilson. It sounded familiar. You’d heard it tossed around a few times at the organisation.

“Why were both of us on the same assignment?”

“I told you, I wasn’t sure if Wilson was going to show up.” You could hear his chair faintly creak in the background. “This was his mission first.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” you interjected. Faint memories of a passing comment he made during your briefing were beginning to surface. 

“It means,” Ransone emphasised. “I called him first. He was being a bit… difficult. So I sent you as a backup.”

You looked at Sam. He dismissed you with a wave of his hand, as if to say to ignore what he was saying.

“And you didn’t think it was important to tell me that you were sending someone else?” If Ransone had told you, he should have mentioned it to him too.

“Oh, grow up.” Ransone sounded irritated, a tone that he seemed to reserve for Sam specifically. “You’re not children anymore. You can handle a few miscommunications.”

“Bullshit. You and I both know this isn’t an accident,” Sam retorted, dangerously good at not giving a shit. 

“You better watch yourself, agent.” Ransone snarled. “I don’t like being questioned.”

“Like I give a shit about what you like or not. We were outnumbered 8 to 2. You tellin’ me you had nothing to do with this? That the stars just aligned to royally fuck with us?”

“Yes, I waited until Mercury was in retrograde to plan this hit,” he drawled sarcastically. “Don’t you for a second forget what you owe me, Wilson. You’d be stupid to believe I’d let it go so easily by having you killed.”

His voice was ice by the end. Sam’s eyebrow furrowed as he leaned back, crossing his arm over his chest.

“Then what about me?”

“Y/N,” he sighed, instantly sounding softer. “I didn’t think he would show. That’s it.”

“You’ve never been unsure of anything.”

“Which is why I sent you in. Pierce had to die one way or the other. Don’t care how.” It wasn’t what you were talking about, but it brought up something else. 

You looked at Sam. Should you tell him that Pierce was dead before you got there?

You decided against it, not knowing what his reaction would be and too tired to gauge it over the phone. If someone else had gotten to Pierce before you, it meant that Ransone didn’t get a chance to deliver a dramatic end to his life, which would tick him off endlessly. 

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Sam broke the momentary pause.

“You don’t.” He paused. “Distrusting me is the wisest thing you could do.”

You scoffed at his stupid Game of Thrones quote. How he was this obnoxious at a time like this was beyond comprehension. 

“Give me your location.” He couldn’t sound less interested, like a parent forced to pick up their child. “I’ll send someone to come pick you up.”

Sam’s finger tapped at the table, drawing your attention to him.

He slowly shook his head, mentioning to his ear then drawing his finger in a circle indicating his surroundings.

Disclosing confidential information over the phone wasn’t the wisest idea. You had no idea if anyone was tapping into Ransone’s calls, listening for sensitive information. For all you knew that’s how they got to the mansion before you. 

“Forget it. We’ll figure it out,” you told Ransone, eyes still locked on Sam.

“All right, stay low for a while. Keep me updated.”

You cut the call without another word, removing the battery and tossing the phone onto the table.

“What now?”

Neither of you said anything for a while. The silence rested uncomfortably between you as you stewed over what to bring up. 

“Did you kill Pierce?”

“Christ, we still on this?” he scoffed.

“It’s a yes or no question.” 

“No,” he stared at you. “I didn’t.”

“Did Ransone send you to spy on me?” It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened, although you thought he had moved past the need for that years ago. 

“No, I was there for a mission.”

“You got any proof?”

He rolled his eyes. “Scout’s honour.”

He lifted his hand up in a mock-salute. A wince flashed across his face; barely, but enough for you to catch it. His arm dropped back down again.

You examined him silently, searching for any hint of a lie or bluff. You found nothing, only an adamant set of eyes staring right back at you.

Your chair creaked as you pushed yourself away from the table. You could feel his gaze following you as you walked down the hall to the bathroom. Shuffling through the shelves for something you were sure was there, you soon stepped back out.

You had no idea why you were doing this. You didn’t even know the guy.

He had his sleeve pulled up to his shoulder, examining the wound from the bullet graze. Dried blood streaked his forearm, partially covering his tattoo.

You tossed the first aid kit onto the table, watching it slide across to where he was sitting. Sam glanced at the box, then up at you.

You just turned around silently, walking back down the hall and towards the bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

__________

Sleep didn’t come that night, and predictably so.

Whether it was the survival instinct guarding you from the stranger in the house, the adrenaline from the mission or even the anxiety of not knowing what exactly was going on, you were sure that you didn’t catch even a bit of shut eye.

Morning came around after what seemed like days rather than hours. You still stayed in bed well past the sunrise, pulling at the hem of your pillow. Your knife was still strapped to your thigh and your gun found a place on the nightstand, just in case.

When you heard the opening and shut of cabinets down the hall, you finally pulled yourself up, stretching to get rid of the weariness in your muscles. You decided against the gun but left the knife strapped to your thigh as you shifted off the bed.

You paused at the doorway, hand on the knob. Shoving aside your hesitation, you opened the door quietly. You could handle it, easily.

Walking towards the kitchen, the volume of his ruffling and filing through the kitchen only became louder. You stopped at the entrance, watching as Sam slammed a cabinet door shut.

“C’mon man,” he groaned before turning around to lean his body weight against the counter. There was a small bump under the sleeve of his arm, different from the curve of his muscle. You assumed he had bandaged the bullet graze the night before.

He was still wearing the same thing as yesterday. Dust was slightly settled on his shirt and one knee of his pants was ripped slightly.

“Mornin’.” You quickly looked back up at him, not realising when he had seen you. “Get any sleep last night?”

You wordlessly shook your head and he shrugged in understanding. 

“Did you?”

“Oh yeah. Out like a light.” He pushed himself off the counter.

“Really?” You watched as he pulled out a chair for himself, taking a place at the dining table, same place he was sitting the night before.

“Sounded like the reasonable thing to do.” He had an unnatural amount of faith in the fact that you wouldn’t murder him. Although you couldn’t judge if he was simply putting on a show, having stayed awake just as you had. 

“I'm stuck in a safehouse with a stranger, forgive me for being a little careful,” you muttered defensively, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Hey, never said you were wrong.” He lifted his hands up. “But just to make sure; are you going to kill me?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “No?”

“And I’m not going to kill you. I’d say that’s enough reassurance to get at least a nap in.”

“Give me one good reason to believe you.”

“If you killed me, Ransone would blow the roof of this place with you still in it. I’m one of the best he’s got.”

“Bullshit.” You scoffed, walking around the table to go see what you could find to eat. Ransone wouldn’t do that for anyone, and he knew that.

He didn’t bother responding but you could sense him tracking your movement.

The first cabinet you opened consisted purely of jars of peanut butter, stacked together neatly. The one beside it had jelly arranged in a similar fashion, jar to jar and taking up the entire space. Adjacent cupboard had loaves of bread, probably the most you’d seen together in a house ever.

The next cupboard was... empty.

“You have got to be fuckin’ with me,” you cursed under your breath. “Is there nothing else here?”

Save for a few plates and cutlery, every other shelf was empty. Your frustration only grew with each drawer you opened and shut, finding nothing but the same three components over and over again.

“There’s some soup on the top right, behind the bread.” His voice came from behind you. You checked where he mentioned, finding multiple cans of tomato soup. “I hope PB&J is your favourite, ‘cause that’s really all we got. I checked twice.”

“We won’t be here long anyway. It’s fine.” You walked a few steps towards where the TV was, sitting atop a small cupboard. If you weren’t getting gourmet meals, hopefully it would be compensated with some entertainment.

Rummaging through it didn’t prove to be a major hassle since there were only three DVDs; Die Hard, Notting Hill and Megamind. Beside it sat two books, American Gods, and Pride and Prejudice. That’s all. 

“Really made sure to cover all demographics with those movies. There’s only one local news channel, everything else is static,” Sam informed you, unmoving from his position. You sighed, tossing the DVDs back and shutting the door.

“There’s a room over there with some basic shit. Burners, mics, cameras. Clothes are in the bedroom drawer. Should probably take a shower while you’re at it, I can smell you from a mile away and it’s giving me a migraine.” You pushed yourself off the ground, pointing towards the rooms as you walked down the hall. “Backyard’s all heavily wooded. If we try hard enough, I’m sure there are a few trap doors or crawl spaces or whatever around here.”

You could hear him follow you as you gave him the tour of a place you were sure he already had examined thoroughly before you greeted him this morning.

Pushing open the door to the suspiciously empty room, you stepped to the side, allowing him to observe. The both of you had the same thought process as you split up, sticking close to the walls, running your fingers across the plaster to look for any major differences.

“Got it,” he called out. You spun on your heel to face where he was standing. A small chunk of the wall was missing, a small button in the centre of the cavity he had created.

Pressing it lightly, the mechanical sound of sliding doors filled the air as the entire side of the room gave way to shelves upon shelves of weapons. Guns, knives, ammunition, bulletproof vests; enough material to last you years.

The doors slid shut when you pressed the button again, not until you had a mental note of what was available in case you found yourself in a situation where you required them.

“That about covers it. Don’t think we’ll be here long so just think of it as your three day long staycation.”

“I’ve had a better time at funerals than I’ll ever have in this shithole.”

________

“What do you mean they escaped?” Their voice was booming, dripping with slow rising anger. “Someone explain to me how the fuck that’s possible.”

“They took the car and left.”

“They took the car and left,” they said mockingly in a high pitch. “I know that, you fucking imbecile. I’m asking how they were alive long enough to do it?”

“They teamed up. Took out nearly everyone,” the agent was monotone. His arm was in a sling and his partner stood beside him, thick bandages around his midsection.

“They shouldn’t have been there together. They shouldn’t have been sent together.”

No one said a word, not even daring to breathe loudly.

“This wasn’t supposed to fucking happen. We killed Pierce. Everything was perfect,” their voice dropped as they spat out the last word. “So then how did this fucking happen?”

“Boss, we’ll-”

“I want them dead.” They interrupted, casting silence in the room. “I don’t care how you fucking do it. I want you to find them and rip them to shreds. Both of them.”

“Yes, boss.”

“And if you even fucking think of coming back without a proper update-” they brought their hand down harshly on the table. “-I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

The agents just nodded, faces pale as they shuffled out of the room silently.

“Fucking idiots.” They nursed their forehead on their palm, calming the nerve that was menacingly visible on their temple. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Part 3

[moonlit-djarin]

To Be Desired

Paring: Din Djarin x Reader 

Warnings: so much softness, a hint of injuries mentioned. 

a/n: I took this quote and ran with it. Thanks to @forever-rogue​ for pushing me to actually write something! This is the first thing i’ve written in a long time, please be kind

Word Count: 2k

                                           Stars, hide your fires:

        Let not light see my black and deep desire:

                                                                 - Shakespeare, Macbeth

The presence of another is hard to get used to after spending years alone.

The presence of another creates change. It disrupts the normal pattern of life. The body is on high alert, more aware. Fine tuned to notice any movement, even in its peripheral vision. Focusing on the foreign feeling of seeing a figure in its field of view, rather than what’s ahead. Each sound makes the body tense and examines its surroundings. As if there was danger nearby, even when there was only unspoken love. There’s a consciousness of the space around that wasn’t there before.  Everything is too bright or too dark. Clean or dirty. There was an unspoken effort of achieving comfort. An unfamiliar sense of taking care of another. Even if it wasn’t asked or sought out for. The presence of another creates a heightened awareness of everything.

The biggest change?

Space was no longer so silent. No longer as cold. No longer as still.

No longer lonely.

The Mandalorians throat was dry. Trying to find something to say as the two of you sat in the cockpit in silence to your next locations. Something to fill the stillness while the endless sea of stars flew past. He couldn’t think of a single way to break the silence without feeling as if he had ruined the moment or disrupted the stillness. Yet, there was this desire, one that plagued his thoughts. The desire to get to know you. To know you with your armor off, your weapons forgotten. To know the true you. 

You didn’t know what to say either. How to break the silence that was seemingly written so carefully in the stars. The desire was there too. The desire to know the man under the helmet. Under the weight of the Beskar. Without the weight of his given mission. To know the true Din Djarin. 

The silence was comfortable but lingered. It was understood that Din wasn’t a Mandalorian of many words. Only speaking when necessary, or to check the whereabouts of the child. Maybe it was just a habit. So used to fending for your own lives, trying to survive alone that the more words left unspoken, the better. Even if the desire was there, it was too bright. Breaking silence wasn’t a well mastered skill for you or Din. 

It had taken a long time for Din to get used sitting next to anyone in the cockpit. Let alone get used to someone calling him by name, his real name. Entrusting you with that was a big shift in the dynamic of the relationship. He was visibly less on guard after that. Allowing himself to relax while you sat in the cockpit with him, next to him on a mission or when he left the child with you when he would go eat. 

        “Mando, the child-” 

        “It’s Din” 

        “What?”

        “My name is Din.” 

          “Din. I like that. The child- the child ate four of those frogs”

You were pulled out of your thoughts when the silence was broken. The child, who was now sitting on your lap, had made his way from his seat to you. Cooing and whining, his little hand reaching and leaning for the shiny gear knob fixed onto the dashboard of the Razor Crest. One that he routinely tried to play with and the one that Din routinely told him that it wasn’t his. Eventually giving into the creature and handing it to him.

Your hand went to reach for it absentmindedly but it met a gloved hand already there.

Both of you froze. Neither of you dared to look up at each other. This had never happened before. Sure, you had helped him patch up wounds when he was injured and vise versa. That was done out of necessity and trying to keep the other one awake. But this? This was different. This was out of a motive, the same motive. To care for the child. Not out of necessity of survival, but of comfort. 

Before either of you could say anything. He removed his hand quickly and pressed a few buttons before it went back to resting awkwardly on his knee. Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, as you unscrewed the ball and handed it to the child who giggled happily. Taking it in his hands and sitting back in your lap. Slowly exchanging a look long between both of you in the suddenly stiff silence. 

“You should rest. We won’t be landing for another few hours or so” He said. Breaking the silence. It was the first thing he had said to you since the bounty had been encased in carbonite an hour prior. You went to respond but before you could he stood up, putting the ship in autopilot and leaving you and the child in the cockpit alone.

He couldn’t stand the silence anymore. At this moment, he was a coward. Unable to let go of the habit of hiding his heart behind his beskar. Leaving the room, even if his heart was pounding against his chest asking to be set free. He longed to hear you laugh, to hear you coo and play with the child. To hear you speak of anything but the bounty or the great task ahead of them. To hear you speak about the stars, the planets and places you’ve been, the ones you long to see. 

His armor hit the floor with a weight, a long sigh drew from his lips. Releasing the tension in his shoulders. The job wasn’t easy. Especially when he was no longer alone. He was tired. He could handle being tired on his own. Maybe it was the fact that he was no longer alone that made him hyper aware of how tired he was. Did your arm feel the same pain he did when getting shot? Did you brush off your injuries as much as he does? Were you this tired? You had to be. 

What would happen once his quest of delivering the child back to its own kind was over. Would you leave him too? The comfort he once found in the thought of loneliness was no longer there. The thought of returning to the way things had been before the child burned in his mind. He had never been this warm in his life. The ship was never this clean, or had as many amenities before the two of you had come along. Now, being on this ship alone felt wrong. His thoughts spiraled as his hands held the edge of his helmet. 

He didn’t hear you enter the room. Carrying the dozing child, exhausted yourself. Your shoulders carried the same weight his did. 

“Din are you okay?” Your voice pierced the silence. When he looked up you stood next to him looking at him concerned. Suddenly he felt so vulnerable being this close without his armor. His hand dropped from his helmet and straightened his back. Your eyes searched hopefully for his under the helmet. 

“Of course, cyar'ika” He said, his voice low and full of exhaustion even the modulated helmet couldn't disguise. At this moment he was thankful for his helmet. Disguising his flustered appearance for one deep in thought. You hummed, accepting his answer. Knowing there was more to it, but speaking as you could see the exhaustion practically dragging him down. You thought it best to let him sleep. 

Softly brushing past him, you set the child down in his makeshift bed sling. He babbled sleepily as you tucked him in. The child was asleep almost instantly. 

As you straightened, you looked back to where Din stood. You wanted nothing more to put your hands on the Mandalorians shoulders. To tell him that it is okay to relax. To tell him that he is doing his best. To ground him in the moment and remind him to not think so far ahead into the unknown. 

He had gone before you could do so. 

He left his armor on his mattress. Shedding the weight of your own. You crawled into bed. The exhaustion of the day called you and you gave in easily, knowing the child and Din were safe. 

The two of you danced around your quiet desires for the other in the solitude of dark. 

              Stars, hide your fires: 

The presence of another is hard to get used to after spending years alone, but it is made comforting by the right person.

Spending endless time together, still not saying more than a word or two. It had become a ritual almost. To sit in the cockpit with the child. Sitting in silence, watching the stars burn past at light speed. 

Fleeting touches, stolen glances and nods of approval slowly became the silent love language between the two of you. A brush of his bare hand wiping the sweat of your forehead as he patched up a blaster wound. A small moment frozen in time as you cupped his bare hand whilst grabbing the bowl out of his hand to pass to the child. Ever more frequently you began to notice your reflection in his helmet. If it was him looking at you while you held this child thinking you weren’t paying attention, or if it was you stealing glances at him from across the cantina, or next to him in the cockpit. It didn’t matter, the dance continued. The desire was still hidden from the stars. 

        Let not light see my black and deep desire:

The soft cries of the child woke you up. 

Groaning as you shifted out of the small space. You made your way over to him in the dark, not wanting to turn on the light in the change that you might disturb your other sleeping a few feet away. The child had dropped the ball and now was teetering over the sling in attempts to reach it. He cooed as you picked it up and placed it back in his grip. 

As you turned, you saw Din’s armor still sitting there, untouched from hours before. Your curiosity and concern got the best of you and you made your way to the ladder, climbing into the cockpit. Doing your best to not disturb the child’s sleep. 

You found him there. Sitting in darkness. Asleep or deep in thought you didn’t know. You made your way to the seat next to him. Watching a lone star illuminate his helmet in your peripherals before disappearing in the vastness of space. 

The darkness of a starless sky surrounded you. Sitting in comfortable silence. Effectively hiding his desire. The desire to reach out to you. To pull you close. To not be alone anymore. If a light shone above it would bear witness to his gloveless fingers stretching out to you. Stretching out to break the distance. Almost as if the darkness had given him the courage to act. But instead he pulled his hand into a tight fist by his side. 

Light eventually shined over you. In bright fires of stars. The distance between the two of you had diminished in the cover of night. The deep desire of longer being alone brought the two of you together in more ways than one. 

Your hand hung gently at your side, gently grasping his bare hand. His thumb running over the back of your knuckles gently. As if he was trying to memorize each crevice of them. Nothing had to be said. Gently he stood up, pulling you with. Leading you down the ladder, his hand at the small of your back as you climbed down. Not wanting to lose contact with you as he had just gained it. Leading you to the small cot. His touch fleeting your back as you went in first. He discarded his Helmet with one had. Safe under the cover of night. Safe under the trust between the two of you. He slipped to the side of you. Reaching out to you again in the dark. This time there was no need for courage. There was only comfort. Pulled into his arms, your back nestled into the front of his chest. Memorizing the rise and fall as if it were a lullaby. For the first time since no longer being alone, Din could relax. Under the fires of the stars he had all that he desired in his reach. 

The presence of another is a comfort after spending years alone.

---

Thank you for reading!! <3 

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - XI

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more gif and pics from pinterest

11. those who rise and those who fall

Is it possible to have life affirming sex when you’re undead?

You think it is, after tonight with John Constantine inside you, the two of you kissing and wrestling for control because you don’t want him to over-exert himself–maybe you can throw a small car, but when that man holds you down?

You are done for.

He started out by setting you down on the bed, guiding you onto your back with his mouth on yours. His hands find their way down your thighs, under the oversized shirt, grabbing appreciative handfuls of your curves and squeezing until you moan. Soon his hooked fingers are pulling your panties down your thighs, and his mouth is between your legs, kneeling before you at the edge of the bed like he is taking communion.

“Oh god, John…”

You are warm all over, glowing, scintillating, the bond flung open between you, and you are not sure where you end and he begins. Is this overwhelming sense of love yours, or his? Or have you made it together? Is it possible, for two such people damned to darkness to manufacture so much light? 

You think it might be. 

You feel like anything is possible, in his arms. 

“Please? I need you?”

It is a race, who can undo buttons the fastest. You his belt, he his shirt. You have his fly down and his cock in your mouth before he is even half done. For a long few moments he abandons his task, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“Fuck. Baby…” He guides you with a hand on the back of your head, and you would have sucked him to completion had he not tugged gently on your hair, laying you back again. His narrow hips fit between your thighs like he was made for you, and as his tip kisses your entrance you have never wanted anything more in your life, than his manhood inside you. 

He hovers, and you look to him through hooded eyes, expecting to find that trademark smirk, the evidence of him teasing you. But the expression on his face is almost pained, the look of a man drowning, and as your eyes meet his your heart somehow breaks, and fills to bursting. 

He’ll never say it out loud, but it doesn’t matter. You’ll never forget the way he looked at you tonight, and you are certain to the bottom of your soul that John Constantine cares about you, in the only way that this broken man can. 

“Please?”

In the end you cannot hold the eye contact, your head rocking back in ecstasy as he grants your wish and fills you slowly to the brim, the beautiful ache of his cock inside you the closest you think you’ll ever get to heaven.   

You know he is feeling his mortality keenly as he makes love to you, tasting every part of your skin he can reach like you are a delicacy he’ll never be able to eat again. He looks down at you with flashes of that vulnerability and tenderness, and you dare think that maybe he doesn’t regret that it’s you, doesn’t wish you were Angela instead. 

It’s all so beautiful and tragic and steeped with magic–you cum while he stares into your very soul, his manhood filing you like he was made for you and his heart pressed to yours. It’s not long before he follows, his body locking against yours, and you hold him with a desperation you know borders on madness.

Lazing together in the afterglow, you brush his hair from his sweat-dewed brow, your head in the divot of his shoulder that feels as though it was made for you.. You imagine what it would be like, if you had the courage to actually say what you’re thinking: John… I know…you don’t love yourself. I hope that changes someday, because you deserve it, but until then…I want you to know that I love you. You’re a grouchy asshole but you’re brave and funny and deep down I know you actually care about people. Well…some people. Maybe even me. Sometimes.

But you are a coward, and so you just lay with him, the connection between you thrumming contentedly. Maybe he can feel it.

Maybe that’s enough, between you.

 He surprises you, when suddenly he looks down like you had said something, turning to pull you closer into the shelter of his chest. “What the hell did I do to deserve you, baby vamp?” he marvels, his big hand on your head like a shield from the world. You snuggle into him with a contented sigh, tucking yourself beneath his chin, and the truth is that you could lay like this with him for days, even in this crumbling bolthole of a safe house, content.

Jesus, you are going to miss him.  

The thought of him not being in this world at all sends you spiraling into a tailspin of despair again, and you cling to him. Stranger yet, in his way, he clings right back, holding you tightly in his arms. It’s so precious, this place of vulnerability you’ve both finally arrived at, and you think to yourself that there is nothing you would not trade, would not pay, just to have him a little longer.

There has to be a way. 

♰♰♰

Back in your blood-flecked black dress, you watch John appoint himself with a fondness that makes you feel like your poor dead little heart might explode. It’s amusing to you, that it takes him longer to get ready than it does you. 

“This place is filled with half breeds. Angelic and demonic. They’re supposed to stick to the truce, no fighting, so in theory you should be safe. Stick close and follow my lead. There’s a test to get in. I’m sure you won’t have any problem passing, after what you pulled off tonight.” 

“Gee John, I hardly know what to do with myself, hearing you share all this crucial information,” you tease, twirling your hair around your finger, kicking your feet exaggeratedly. 

You really did mean to keep it light, but he pays you a serious look from across the room. “I should have told you more, before.” He could have pushed you over with a feather. You think it’s the closest he’s ever come to an apology. “I think…I was hoping if I didn’t tell you…you would stay innocent. You would stay…my girl next door.” 

You blink at this admission, floored. 

“That’s…actually kind of sweet. Stupid, but sweet.” 

He gives a deep sigh, adjusting the collar of his black coat with a bit more force than what is necessary. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“John,” you say gently, calling his attention back to you. 

He says nothing, just looks up at you like a kicked dog from beneath his dark hair, and it twists your heart up in knots. 

“I’ll always be your Girl Next Door.” 

The corner of his mouth twitches, his own version of a rueful smile. “Sure, y/n. Ready?”

As you’ll ever be. 

Chas is waiting for you both with the taxi outside. 

♰♰♰

“So…what exactly did you do to get your license revoked, John?” you ask coyly, sitting with him in the back seat. 

“Ohhhhhh,” chortles Chas up front. “Can I tell it?”

“No,” grumbles John. 

“Aw, come on, John. It’s funny. At least…it’s funny now.” 

“No it’s not.” 

You and Chas both have a laugh at John’s expense. Glaring at the both of you, he pulls you closer with an arm around your shoulders in the back of the cab. A warmth blooms inside you for it, and you rest your head on his shoulder, savoring this moment of relative peace before the two of you wade into what you suspect might become a fray. 

It usually does, when John is involved…although come to think of it, you’re no slouch lately either. 

You can’t stop yourself from thinking about Wick, wondering how his hunt is going. 

You hope he kills them all. 

You pull up in front of Midnite’s, an unassuming building but for the ornate Deco brass doors. As usual, John slams the door on Chas trying to communicate something. The way the boy clamors for his mentor’s attention is sweet–and heartbreaking. You feel a kinship with Chas in that. “You’ve got to start being kinder to that boy,” you admonish John as you walk towards the entrance. 

“What? I’m not mean to him.” 

You give him a look that wins you a begrudging sigh. “Ok fine. Later, I promise.” 

You hadn’t expected to get that far with him, that quickly. He really is feeling the sting of mortality and his shortcomings, you reckon, especially when he offers you his arm on the sidewalk. You think your poor black heart might burst as you loop your arm with his, giving his bicep a loving squeeze. 

Immediately through the doors, you head down, down, down to the subterranean club. True to John’s word, the doorman presents an entrance test in the form of a card. “Rat in a dress,” says Constantine, sounding bored. He tries to walk through with you, but the troll of a doorman growls for you to wait. 

He presents you with your card, and for a moment you’re at a loss. You can’t see through the paper, you’re not fucking Superwoman. But then it occurs to you that you don’t have to. You read the doorman’s mind, sifting through the boulder field of his shields to look through his eyes. “Death holding a flower,” you say, trying not to read into it too hard. Doorman nods you both through, and the real fun begins. 

You see the corner of John’s mouth tick with amusement, when you hold his hand just this side of too hard, as the two of you make your way through the dimly lit space below. Maybe he secretly likes it when you cling to him, or maybe he finds it amusing that the monsters down here scare you, when you clearly are one. 

But the weight of the magic emanating from these beings is staggering. Some feels intrinsically evil, and some so pure that it burns. Angels, demons, and everything in between, he’d told you. 

You have arrived in the big leagues. 

He makes his way to the back, where another guard stands casually before a well-hidden door. When Constantine makes to push past him he holds up a paw of a hand. “You can go. But no vampires allowed.” 

“What?” scoffs Constantine. 

“Midnite don’t allow them, after the incident.” 

“She’s cool,” the demon hunter attempts to vouch for you. “She’s with me.” 

“No matter, John. She waits out here.” 

Your heart feels like an icicle in your chest, plummeting fast for the ground. Maybe out on the street you feel pretty tough, but in here? You’re pretty sure you’re in way over your head, and you can’t help but marvel at the way John just walks in like he owns the place when probably more than half of the inhabitants of the room would like to see him dead. 

Gritting his teeth, John sighs. “Fine.” Lower, to you, he says, “I’ll be right back. Just have a seat, keep your head down. Think you can manage that?” 

You roll your eyes, even though your stomach has decided to embark on a new career as a tilt-a-whirl. “Fine. Make it quick, ok?”

He smiles, almost wide enough to flash teeth. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” There’s a long moment of eye contact between you, and you wish he’d kiss you, even if it would probably be a terrible idea here. But he just nods, and with a whirl of his black coat he ducks through the door. 

You sigh. He would deny it up and down, of course, but that man has a flair for dramatics. 

You have no idea, of course, that Midnite only barely tolerates John, and the thing your lover is about to ask for access to might spark a heated exchange. Oblivious, you go sit on a stool at the bar, and scan the room without settling too long on any one patron. The demons are gorgeous, of course, all of them resembling fashion models or A-list actors, the very stuff of temptation. But out the corner of your eye, you swear you can see horns, and tails, and maybe even detect a hint of sulfur as they pass by. 

It is the angels that fascinate you most. What are they doing here, you wonder, amidst these terrible creatures of the pit? They seem to be mingling genially, their magnificent wings folded neatly behind them on special low-backed chairs crafted with their unique anatomy in mind. As one passes by you practically have to sit on your hands, to prevent yourself from reaching out and touching one. The feathers look downy soft, like they were made of wisps of clouds. 

While you are scanning the crowd with your chin in your hand you happen upon something that makes you sit upright on your stool. There’s a vampire standing amidst the crowd, staring you down. You can feel his stare like someone poking you between the eyes. He’s nattily dressed–excepting a rather shabby newsboy’s cap. He tips it to you, flashing a fangy grin, before disappearing into the crowd. 

Chas’s cap, you realize. 

Oh no. 

Without thinking you rocket off your stool, searching for the vampire with inhuman speed. When you find no sign of him you race outside, flying up the stairs faster than the eye can see. You hope you can catch his spore from the taxi–and that’s your big mistake, of course. 

You have not taken three steps on the sidewalk outside before something slams into you, knocking you into the brick wall of the club. The combination of the physical blow and something far more malevolent overwhelms you, sending you into the spiraling dark of unconsciousness.

[thisisarcanereverie]

Should’ve Known Chapter 19

A/N: Never listen to me when I give myself a deadline. 

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Wanda or Steve they are owned by Marvel, I don’t own the gif either.

WARNINGS:Angst, Swearing, the stages of grief, loss, dark themes, talk of death, existential stuffs, violence, and kidnapping.

WORDS : 1,608

SUMMARY: Months pass by and hearts are put to the test. 

In case you missed last chapter

series masterlist

ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

“You need to tell her.”

“I will soon,” You reply as you repeatedly abuse the punching bag in front of you. Your fist making contact with the heavy object rhythmically. As your wrapped fist was about to land on the bag again it disappeared. You dropped your hands and let out a deep and irritated groan. You glared at the man to your right, his teal eyes never wavering from your sharp glare. 

“You can’t continue acting as if it isn’t happening.” 

“I’ll tell her once the twins are safe.” 

“You said that months ago,” Strange argued, “we’ve used every possible method, Wanda and I are unable to track them. Wherever they are, it’s beyond our reach.” 

“Are you telling me to give up?” You ask lowly, daring Strange to say it. The graying man groaned and rubbed his face, although he was a logical person (like you) he cared for the twins and wanted them back safely. 

“I would never ask you to give up,” Strange assured, following your retreating figure to the bench where your towel and water bottle lay. You reached for the fluffy towel and wiped the sweat off your forehead before drinking from the bottle. 

“Your dying (Y/n),” Strange stressed to you, “the Remedium and the years of stress and radiation your body has endured through the years has caught up with you. Your powers are fading, your immune system is failing, and your white blood cell count is rapidly increasing trying to fight off the Remedium like a virus to no avail” 

There was a moment of silence, you wanted nothing more than to yell and throw the nailed down bench at the wall. You were beyond any synonym for angry or upset. You were dying, the twins were missing and every second you didn’t find them was every second the bastards did whatever they wanted to your children. 

Anger was too small a word. 

You wanted to rip the earth apart. 

“You tell her or I will.” Strange said finally, the promise unwavering in his tone before in true Stephan Strange fashion, walked through the portal he had made leading into the Sanctum. 

 Once the Doctor of the mystic arts left, your heart was left in more turmoil than when he first followed you into the gym. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, it did little to help the nerves and uneasiness that you felt. 

You walked through the gym door and into the hallways of the newly renovated Avengers Compound, courtesy of the King of Wakanda himself. 

You and Wanda couldn’t stand being in the house alone without the twins so you made the Avengers Compound a temporary residence while you and a team worked night and day searching for any trace. 

You walked through the labyrinth of connecting hallways to the elevator, the shining steel doors sliding open and you made your way inside, immediately pressing the button for the roof. 

Everything has changed about the Avengers Compound since your time, FRIDAY no longer could be heard through the halls and all traces of Stark Tech vanished. Destroyed in the battle of Thanos all those years ago, along with the man himself. 

You had been hesitant to come here at first, you hadn’t been to the compound since that day all those years ago. You didn’t know what to expect, part of you expected it still to be an empty battlefield, another part of you expected nothing, however you were relieved to find neither. The building was completely new, exterior to interior. Time had moved on and it reminded you of how precious it was and how so many took it for granted, like you did. 

You had pushed back telling Wanda about Strange’s diagnosis, part of it being her reaction, but mostly it was just you being a coward and not wanting to face the reality of it. 

Both you and Wanda had been so wrapped up in locating the twins that she hadn’t noticed it, which you were grateful for. 

Finally you reached the roof and the sliding doors opened. Immediately you were greeted with the image of Wanda in her full Scarlet Witch form, turning pages in the Darkhold, red glowing symbols hung in the air around her. He

You stepped off the elevator and walked towards your wifes floating figure. 

She must have sensed you and she floated to the ground below her, the symbols vanishing as well as the book. She turned around to see you. 

“I know they’re on this planet,” Wanda says abruptly, “I can sense it, I just can’t pinpoint a location no matter how hard I try.” 

“Wands-”

“What use is there of having this power if I can’t use it to locate our kids!” Wanda yells, her emotions getting the best of her. Wanda loved the twins as much as you did, she was with them for every step in their lives. Neither of you had spent more than a day away from them, and now it's been months. 

You calmly approach her, once within arms reach, she turns to face you, tears streaming down her cheeks and pulls you in her arms. You return the embrace and comb your fingers through her wavy locks. 

For a while you stand like that, you haven’t had time to sleep let alone feel each other since the twins went missing. You both missed each other, for ten years it had been love and laughter and heartbreak and raspberries. You are so wrapped in each other that you don’t notice the elevator doors sliding open until you hear someone clear their throat. 

Both you and Wanda whip your heads to a familiar eyepatch. 

“Sorry to break up this lovely dovey time but we got something.” Fury says motioning you to follow him. Without hesitation you both rush into the elevator with him. 

“What do you mean you’ve got something? Did you find them?” You start asking. 

“Calm down Sargent,” Fury inructs, “I’ll explain it when we get there.” 

The shining elevators open and you three make your way through the winding hallways before reaching the tech lab. Where you were met with a vaguely familiar face. 

“Shuri?”

“Sargent Steel!” Shuri greeted excitedly, the last time you saw each other was during a Wakandan party you had been invited to a couple years ago at the invitation of T’Challa. 

“I’ve had Shuri on the project for no less than a couple hours and she’s already made my guys look like preschoolers.” Fury praised Shuri, you slightly take notice of Bruce in the background making faces. Usually this rivalry would have amused you but you were more focused on the thing they had found. 

“That’s unfair to preschoolers.” Shuri joked as she pulled a map onto the large screen in front of you. There were two blinking red dots, one of them was the location of the Avenger Compound, the other further away. 

“I looked through the paperwork and the research done by others to realize you’ve gone through every possible method of searching for the twins. Using every bit of their clothing of what not for searching through magic and facial recognition tech on every available camera in the world.” Shuri said, “what really piqued my interest was that Wanda Maximoff, the most powerful magic wielder in the world, couldn't locate them. Then it got my head turning, who or what is so powerful that it could stop Wanda Maximoff? I developed a theory and it paid off.” Shuri pointed to the dot trained on the Avengers Compound, “Wanda Maximoff has a unique energy reading that can be tracked easily if given you know what you’re searching for. This dot here is Wanda Maximoff,” She then pointed to the other blinking red dot, “this here is something or someone giving off similar if not exact Wanda Maximoff’s energy levels.”

You and Wanda slowly processed the information. 

“What makes you certain the twins are there?” Wanda asked, refusing to get her hopes up in case they were to fall. 

“We don’t,” Shuri said simply, her eyes looking at the both of you in sympathy, “but it’s our best shot.” 

---

You sat next to Wanda on the Helicarrier, your hand held hers gently, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. You could feel her pulse pound and her hand held onto your tensely. Wanda was beyond anxious, you were as well. However there were a whole lot of other emotions stirring up in you as well. 

You were anxious, depressed, tired, but most of all… You were seething. 

You had no idea what you would find there, whether it would be the twins or nothing at all unnerved you to no end. 

If they were there you were going to embrace them tightly and never let them go, then you were going to find the bastard who took them from you and hurt them, and you were going to give them the slowest, and cruelest death you could imagine. Part of you wanted Wanda to recreate the Hex just so she could bring them back again and again after you’ve tried a million ways to painfully end them. 

“Look alive people,” You heard Fury speak, “we’re coming up on the location.”

After another couple of minutes you see Fury motion Wanda to him. The red head gave your hand another squeeze before walking towards the eyepatched man. You watch intently as Fury pointed outside and Wanda intensely looks, her eyes glowing. 

“Seems like we’re in luck people,” Fury said, “get your shit together and prepare to give the bastards hell.”

Taglist

@ladydmalfoy​

@gaylor-okay

@bluemoon-icecream

@madz47

[bxebxee]

What I have to say: This is really not what I typically write, but please allow me my self-indulgence. Also, I am rusty and unpracticed, but this made me happy to write. 

What this is: Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school. 

What this wants to be: Romance

What this warrants: Rated R for Rotten Relationships (and other things) 

You hold your sister’s new baby reverently. The baby is so small, and you’re scared that your bad morals would somehow seep into the skin through contact diffusion. 

“I feel like I’m already the irresponsible aunt,” you whisper, shooting your sister a terrified look. The baby isn’t even sleeping, but what if your bellowing voice would upset him. “Are you sure-” 

“Yes,” she says firmly, “You’ll be a good godparent. There’s literally nothing to do except spoil your nephew every now and again.” She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Unless we die. Then I guess you’d have to be more of a parental figure...” 

You and your brother-in-law interject at the same time in a cacophony of protest. 

“Okay, we are not dying,” he sighs as your octave increases by a half-step, “Please do not say that as I hold your offspring in my arms. I can’t feel them by the way. Seokjin, can you take him? I don’t want to drop him.” 

Seokjin takes the baby, and you feel bereft of warmth. It’s a weird feeling to note that considering your firm No Babies Policy. You miss the baby already. This is witchcraft. 

“It’s just a fucking hypothetical, relax,” your sister laughs, her eyes softening considerably as she sees Seokjin coo over his son. 

“If our baby’s first word is ‘fuck’ I am not taking responsibility,” Seokjin says mildly, eyes never leaving his baby. You don’t really blame him. 

“And you’re not blaming me either. I’ve been good,” you say. 

“Oh please, everyone curses younger these days anyway. I’d rather my son know than not know, you know?”  

“You’re pushing it,” Seokjin warns. 

“You’re such a dad,” she scoffs. 

“And you like it,” he counters. 

“Yeah,” she admits. “Yeah, I do.” 

You check your phone for the time, and it’s thirty minutes before the official start of the baby gathering. Time for you to leave. 

“Hey, it was good to see you guys. And the baby,” you tell them, hugging both lightly so as not to disturb the tenderness of the moment. Bear hugs were for a different day. “I have to head out, but I’ll come visit a lot, okay? I’ll even babysit. For free.” 

“Not staying for lunch?” your sister asks, looking very sad and disappointed, but you steel your heart. The two of you have inherited your mother’s knack of guilt-inducing looks, and you’re not about to fall for it. 

“Not today, no.” 

Seokjin nods, bidding you to take care. He knows why you want to leave before the crowd gets too heavy. 

Unfortunately for you, cosmic luck was not on your side because as soon as the front door shuts behind you, the elevator dings and Yoongi steps out, clad head to toe in celebrity black and holding five Burberry shopping bags. There’s no one around, so you don’t particularly feel the need to stand on the niceties of greetings and choose instead to brush past him in favor of the elevator. 

“And hello to you too.” he remarks sarcastically. 

“Go to hell,” you reply, wishing that you didn’t have to be in a close fucking hallway because you could smell his cologne. 

“Oh come on-” 

You press on the close door button rapidly, and the doors shut out Yoongi with a soft, muted click. 

Twelve hours later, you get a text from an unknown number. Coward is all it said. You stare at your phone screen in bed, seeing typing bubbles start and stop and start and stop. Mister Unknown Number finally settles on silence because nothing follows after the one-word epithet. 

It feels like a dare. 

--

Yoongi finally puts his phone down. You were too smart and too self-respecting to try this all over again with him, and he wants to kick himself for ever thinking that goading you would work when you were clearly over him-

His phone vibrates intensely and consistently. You’re calling him. 

“Hello,” Yoongi says, picking up the phone after just a single ring. Desperate, to be sure, but he wasn’t positive you’d wait for five rings anyway. 

“You changed your number again,” you say without preamble. 

“I’ve actually had this number for two years now,” Yoongi says. “Been getting hacked less and less. Guess you never saved the number.” 

“Why would I?” you ask, petulance peppering every syllable of your words. 

“Why didn’t you stay for the luncheon?” he asks instead of answering your question. 

“And sit in a room with you for a couple of hours pretending everything’s normal? No thanks,” you scoff. “And luncheon? Really?”

“You missed out on the shrimp toast.” 

“I think I’ll live.” 

“So why’d you call?” 

You could take the easy way out. Save your pride and your face, and pretend that you still don’t carry a torch for Yoongi. You could lie and say you just wanted to call and make sure it really was him. But you were always a glutton for pain, and he was all too happy to oblige to your needs. 

“You wanna come over?” you offer, not feeling an ounce of trepidation that he’d reject you. Yoongi always came when you asked. 

“Where do you live?” 

“It’s the same place as last time.” It’s a test. Let’s see if he even remembers my address-

“Be there in thirty.” 

--

He’s late by a few minutes, but Yoongi explains through interrupted kisses and hasty undressing that there was traffic, and he showered- 

“You could have showered here, you know,” you mutter, pawing at his dick and biting down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Yoongi always like a little pain.

“I’ll shower here after.” (After he fucked you at least twice, minimum. After he got to see you naked and temporarily his. After he was somewhat satisfied but much too sweaty for sleep.) 

And then it’s No Talking Time for a short while because he has your face occupied with inhaling scant oxygen against the mattress while his own head was buried between your asscheeks and legs, lapping and sucking at you like he had something to prove. Could this count as some form of asphyxiation? Probably. You don’t expect his mouth to make you feel close to losing control. The act had always unnerved you, but you found yourself uncaring of past discomforts and losing yourself into the feeling of soft, insistent lips. 

Yoongi eats you out with soft grunts, hands holding your thighs apart and firm. Don’t move, his hands say. His tongue up your cunt isn’t any sort of giving on Yoongi’s part; this was all selfish. He wants you to cum and feel starstruck and ruined, wants you to get it through your head that your flesh craved his flesh in the same animalistic way he needed you. 

You turn your head around just enough to be able to get out, “You can sto-” 

But he silences you with a warning slap on the ass. You are not to be deterred. 

“Stop with the tongue,” you order. 

“You’re insane,” he hisses, pulling away and shamelessly licking his lips. “You can’t ever just let me-” 

“Put it in now,” you demand. 

Yoongi lets out a terse sigh. “I should just leave right now,” he grumbles, getting up on his knees to rub his dick against you and nudges the head on your opening. “I shouldn’t be here.” He presses inside at “here” and wrenches a moan from your lips. 

“Then leave,” you sigh, pressing your ass back against him, relishing in the feeling of being filled again by Yoongi. “Just go home and jerk off instead. That’s what you’re good at, right? Leaving me?” 

“You’re a bitch for bringing that up during sex,” Yoongi says, fucking into you steadily and slowly, resisting the urge to pound into you like his baser instincts demanded. He was going to enjoy you for as long as he wanted. He knew you wanted it rough and bordering on violent, but he wasn’t going to add more ammo to your already large arsenal of Reasons To Hate Min Yoongi. 

Yoongi leans over completely, letting his torso lay flush against your back, unbothered by your sweat as it mixed with his own. You were going to feel every last inch of him inside and out. He pumps in and out slowly, sucking on your neck and breathing into your hair with audible moans of enjoyment. 

“I’m not leaving,” he groans, reaching over to rub your lower stomach gently, as if comforting you. The intimacy of this wasn’t lost on you, but you can’t find the words to tell him off. You missed his heat and the familiar weight. You are only human, after all. 

Yoongi threads his fingers through your unkempt hair, stroking gently before balling his fists into a pronounced grip. He turns your head to the side and kisses you, your neck straining from the awkward, uncomfortable position. But it reminds you of the beginning - of the before times when things were easier in the shadows of his success and unavailability. 

It’s impossible not to feel things when he fucks you this way, and kisses you, and moans soft nothings into your ear like you’re the only woman he’s ever done this with. You are atrocious at protecting your heart, and even after two years of icing him out, Yoongi barges into you like it’s nothing. 

“Don’t stop,” you moan, heart thumping against your chest. You really, really can’t stand to want him so much. 

“I won’t,” Yoongi reassures, kissing the corner of your eye. He doesn’t speed up, and instead chooses to test the limits of your patience with languorous but firm strokes. “Not until you tell me to.” 

There was nothing that compared to this - not heated fucks with attractive strangers, or money, or getting crossfaded by the Han River. When Yoongi did this to you, you almost felt like he loved you. 

--

Yoongi sleeps silently besides you in the sunlight, completely worn out after an emotionally exhausting round of sex that made him cry when he came inside you. He’s usually sensitive to the light, but he’s out cold and completely drained. You hadn’t expected that part - the crying. You thought it was just sweat until you heard rattling breaths and a hiccup. 

You watch him breathe silently from your place in his arms, unwilling to leave the small cocoon of warmth. You’re the opposite of him, and right now, you’re wired. You’ll probably end up crashing sometime later in the day, but for right now, you’re content to just watch him sleep in your bed, on your pillows, smelling like your body wash. 

You’re too old to be scared, and yet this moment fills you with dread; that once the spell of sex and yearning was broken, everything would tilt back to its regular axis, and you’d be all alone again. If you were younger, you might have up and left already. Leave him before he leaves you. And it’s not like you haven’t done that before. Your entire relationship with Yoongi is always filled with one person leaving behind the other one because nothing about the two of you ever lined up properly. 

But this time, you’re too tired to run away. So you close your eyes and pretend to sleep until it finally comes to claim you. 

[markberries]

o h  b a b y┊draco malfoy

anon requested: do you think you can write this? 6thYear!Draco FWB with fem reader (really rough smut to take out his stress and frustrations) and she ends up getting pregnant from a broken condom but tries to hide the pregnancy until it can’t be hidden anymore/Voldemort somehow finds out and uses her to his leverage so Draco does his task? it doesn’t have to be a happy ending. if you don’t want to write this, it’s okay. thank you.

info: war was upon the students of hogwarts. getting pregnant wasn’t the plan.

warnings: SMUT, slight dirty talk, death

genre: smut, angst, fem!reader

word count: 1700+

a/n: LMAO on my wip page i put fluff.... sorry guys but no fluff here. semi edited,, ALSO I JUST REALIZED THIS ISNT FWB :((( IM SO SORRY

your hand tightens around the plastic in your hand, there’s a slight audible gasp that escaped the grasp of your lips, quiet enough for no one to notice, but loud enough for you to hear. you bite your lip, a surge of anxiety pumping through your veins, a skip of a heartbeat making you tap your foot. the two lines that formed in front of your eyes nearly had you shaking, but the worst part is you knew who the culprit was, and you knew how it happened.

you should have known that the moment you hadn’t gotten your period, that something must have happened. he used a condom that day, didn’t he? did i take birth control?

you and draco had been together for over a year, but you would be lying if you said that you hadn’t noticed his change in behavior. the silence that would fill the air, tension thick enough to slice with a knife. he always seemed like he was in thought, an empty gaze within his eyes.

two weeks ago, he was noticeably frustrated and agitated, so you didn’t question when he dragged you to a nearby supply closet, palming him through his pants.

he shut the door, quietly groaning into your left ear. his hands held the flesh of your ass, you could feel his warm breath on your skin, sending goosebumps all over. his mouth lightly brushed your ear, whispering an, “i need you.”

he took his thumb, slowly swiping it across your bottom lip. you parted your lips teasingly, letting his thumb enter your mouth as you lightly sucked on the fingertip. you could see the tent in his pants becoming tighter, the wetness building between your legs as you clenched your thighs together to hide your arousal, exciting thoughts running through both of your minds.

“we don’t have time for this, my love,” he whispered to you, lightly slapping your bottom. “i want you to turn around.”

a sudden feeling of confidence ran through your body, dragging your fingertips across his clothed chest. “oh yeah? why should i listen to you?”

draco decides to play along with your teasing, walking towards you as you walked backwards, your back pressing on the cool wall behind you. draco smirks, shamelessly looking at you up and down. he places his leg in between your thighs, his knee pressing against your clothed heat.

“you’re going to do exactly what i tell you to do princess, or else,” he says seductively, “now unbutton your shirt.”

the excitement running through your body made you bite your lip in anticipation, slowly unbuttoning your white dress shirt, draco watching your fingers play with the black buttons.

“hurry up princess,” he said sternly, nearly growling into your ear. his hand gripped at your thigh, and you let out a slight chuckle. 

“i don’t really feel like it, i think i’ll take my time.”

draco clearly wasn’t happy with your answer, roughly grabbing your waist to turn you around, now your chest was touching the wall, your two hands pressed against it. draco, still holding your waist, whispered in your ear, “since you decided to be a brat today, i’m gonna fuck you like one. alright? do we have any problems?”

you whimpered in response, breathing heavily as you heard the unzipping of his pants. he tugged open the foil of a condom, rolling it onto his length. he raised your skirt, pushing your panties aside. he lined up with your entrance, and with no warning, he slammed into you. you cried out, screwing your eyes shut.

“oh fuck,” he groaned in relief, aggressively pounding into you as you continued to moan his name loudly.

“hm? what do you have to say now?” draco grunted as he continuously fucked you from behind. you and draco have gotten rough before, but not like this, it was different. you liked it.

draco repeatedly hit the same spot in your body, pleasure rushing throughout your system. he would pull out to your entrance, then slam back in, the sound and smell of sex filling the small room.

“it feels so good,” you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. a recognizable feeling began to build up in your stomach, draco’s thrusts becoming sloppy but still pleasurable.

“i’m gonna come,” you whimpered, your vision becoming fuzzy.

“beg for it, princess.”

you were panting, sweat drenching your clothes, “please draco, f-fuck. i want to come so bad — please!”

“then come, princess.”

and with that, you let go, your body shaking while draco thrusted one last time, before finishing off as well.

the memory of that rough day in the closet was still freshly etched in your mind, and it remained there as you stared at the positive pregnancy test. your hand covered your mouth, tears welling up in your eyes. this couldn’t be happening.

you needed to tell draco, he had a right to know. you were still going to decide for yourself if you wanted to keep it or not, and you were leaning on the idea of raising the child. it didn’t matter if draco wanted it or not.

—

the first thing that draco wished, was that he had told you about his hidden identity. when draco heard the news, he wasn’t sure if he should be happy or not. he loved the idea of having a family with you, he didn’t expect to have one so early, but he genuinely wanted to create a future with you — just not under these circumstances.

the dark mark on his arm haunted him, the voice of voldemort’s appearing in draco’s recurring nightmares, and his ghastly tasks assigned to him never failed to make him shiver. so raising a child during this dark and twisted era, scared him.

a hundred things ran through his mind, asking himself if he would be a good father, whether or not his child would hate him because he was a bad person, and the secret he hid from you about being a deatheater.

“that’s amazing, y/n,” he smiled at you, and you let out a sigh of relief. you ran into his arms, burying your head in his chest as you let out a small cry.

“i thought you would leave me,” you said quietly, muffled by his clothing, but still audible. he smiled, brushing your hair as he held you in a warm embrace.

“i would never leave you,” he said softly, smiling down at your figure. you looked up at him, your eyes watery and shining like crystals, happy tears running down your face. you were draco’s soft spot, the one person who draco would rather die with than live without, and the thought of losing you made draco’s heart hurt.

he wiped the tears off of your face, planting a kiss on your forehead. for the first time in awhile, he felt calm, the warmth of you surrounding him, your soothing presence making him feel like this moment would last forever, and he wished it did, for he would have preferred to stay with you in that circumstance for the rest of his life.

—

the second thing draco wished, was that he had never been brought into this type of life. draco swore he nearly cried when bellatrix, voldemort’s fanatically loyal servant, ordered him to kill dumbledore. he almost said no, when thinking of you. the only thing that had stopped him, was the mention of your name. he froze in his tracks, trembling.

“you’re in love with another pureblood, aren’t you? what was her name — y/n?”

a cackle left bellatrix’s chapped lips while she played around with her wand. she sat comfortably in draco’s home, an evil smile from ear to ear. “she bears a child, doesn’t she?”

draco was left speechless, his lower lip quivering in horror. “how do you know that?”

he barely heard the sound of his mother questioning him, only thinking of what might possibly go wrong in this situation.

“it’s not about how i know, it’s about what i can do,” bellatrix said, standing up from the chair. “so it settles it then, you kill dumbledore, or i kill y/n and your child.”

draco forgot how to breathe. his brain scattered with possibilities of anything bad happening to you, how you would sound when you were being tortured, the pleading cries you would scream out while draco could only watch. he had to do it. he had to kill dumbledore.

but how could he? he would have to bear this weight on his shoulders, be seen as a murderer to you and his child. what would you think of him? would you think of him as a monster? even so, how would he protect you if he were to refuse the proposal of voldemort?

he was overwhelmed with thoughts, no hope left in his body. he couldn’t do it, he was too scared. he knew he was too much of a coward, and his inability to tell you about his dark mark proved it.

—

the third thing draco wished, was that he could’ve started a family with you. he imagined you with a bright smile on your face, placing breakfast on the table while your baby babbled random noises in their high chair. you would kiss him goodbye as he left for work, and he would never lose that feeling of happiness you gave him; but as he heard the terrified screams and shrieks that emitted from you, he knew that it would not be happening.

he simply had refused to kill dumbledore, creating a plan to escape with you, to run away and live a secret life, but that was too good to be true, as he watched your shivering body. you weren’t dead, just badly hurt. voldemort was laughing in amusement, watching you writhe in pain while tears ran down draco’s pale face.

“stop it! you monster!” draco bawled, his mother and bellatrix holding him back.

“did i not say that she would die? how dare you disrespect me?” voldemort shouted in response. the pain was too much for you to handle, and you dropped to the floor, still alive, but almost gone. draco should have told you, he knew he should have said something about the dangers that were ahead of you. he knew that he was in the wrong, and what he was about to do wasn’t going to fix everything, but it was the least he could have done.

so when draco ran in front of your body, as voldemort yelled out the curse that would send you to death, draco had received the curse instead of you, and the final thing he wished was that he had told you how much he loved you.

so when you began to crawl towards draco’s lifeless body, your own soul beginning to leave yours, you kissed him.

and both of you lay there, with your unborn baby, never knowing what could have been.

[aquagirl1978]

Soon - A Birthday Fanfic for @aliboo

A/N - This is a story I co-wrote with @violettduchess (who dreamt up this crazy plot) as a birthday gift for @aliboo. Hope you love this crazy lil fic! The artwork was created by me.

*************************

“Fairchild.”

“You.” The Captain’s voice is strained with barely contained annoyance. “You have some nerve, calling me like this.”

“You know why I must.”

His lip curls upwards in disgust. “What I know is your absence broke her heart to the point where I could not bear it. And now, when I have returned to heal her, you dare reach out. After all this time.”

The man on the other end of the screen remains quiet for a moment, the upper half of his face bathed in shadow. When he finally speaks, his voice is strained, threaded through with the heavy guilt of his actions. “You are not…..incorrect, Captain. My disappearance has its reasons, ones not even The Empire could torture out of me. But the consequence of it, what it did to her...it weighs heavily upon my thoughts.”

Blue eyes narrow. “You abandoned her.”

“I had no choice.”

“I find it difficult to believe a man with...talents such as yours could not have found another way." He pauses, shoulder lifting in a shrug. "But it makes no difference. I have returned and she has a reason to smile again. That is what matters.”

The man on the other side of the screen leans forward, the three scars on his cheek illuminated by the soft blue glow of his terminals. “My exile may not be complete, Captain, but make no mistake: my time will come and with it, her love and allegiance once more.”

A laugh, short and edged in contempt, escapes him. “A man may speak pretty words, Doctor, but it is his actions that define him. We shall see if you ever show that face of yours again.”

A leather gloved hand slams down onto the terminal, emotion breaking through his cool wall of indifference. “I carved her name into the moon!”

“A lovely token, I’m sure. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

A faint murmur of “But she is my muse!” is heard in the background before the screen goes black.

Placing the tablet down on his dresser, Antares turns on his heel and strides over to his aquarium. “Hmph,” he mutters, his voice soaked in disappointment. “Way to treat your muse…”

“I know she missed you very much, Shock Sock.” Antares carefully shakes some fish food into the aquarium. “She will be very happy to see you, too. And hopefully me as well.” Antares lips curve into his signature smirk. He knows that he too broke her heart when he left. But at least he had the decency to say a proper goodbye when he left. Unlike Mr. I-carved-her-name-in-the-moon over there, lurking in the shadows like the weak coward he is.

When Antares discovered what had happened, how Vile abandoned her like a child discarding a once loved toy, he knew he had to return. There was no way he could leave her heartbroken like that. Determined to reclaim the love they once shared, he knew there was only one thing he could do – he was going to return to her and win her heart back.

A knock at the door snaps Antares out of his reverie. “Enter.”

Corvus cautiously enters the room. “Wanted to let you know we are approaching the spaceport and will be landing in a few minutes.”

Antares nods stiffly. “Very well.”

“Sir…are you ready for this?”

Antares’ eyes meet Corvus’. Corvus was there for everything the first time; he’s fully aware that this mission means everything to Antares. And how failure is an unacceptable outcome. Antares swallows the growing lump in his throat; uncertainty is no longer an option. “Yes.”

He removes his visor, trading it for his helmet, and places it on his head. Any traces of hesitation seep out of his body, as he is fully transformed into the confident captain he needs to be. Now he is prepared and ready.

With his beam saber in hand, Antares follows Corvus to disembark the ship, his cape billowing behind him.

Meanwhile, in other parts of the galaxy...

Dr. Vile is hunched over his desk, a single, solitary desk lamp illuminating his workspace. "How dare he! Hanging up on me like that!" Using his screwdriver, he tightens the final part into place.

"I'll show him," he mutters to himself, his voice dripping with contempt. Grabbing his paintbrush, he carefully paints a small eggplant on the top of the drone. This way, she will know it's from him. And hopefully also bring a smile to her face and remind her of their good times together in the past.

Placing the paintbrush back in the caddy, Vile admires his handiwork. It took longer than he had anticipated, but it was all worth it. Everything needed to be perfect for her. She needs to know he did not mean to abandon her, as Captain Fairchild had accused him of doing.

Holding the drone out in one hand, Vile presses a button with his other, engaging the drone to start on its course to his muse. Vile waves to the drone. "Tell her I miss her...."

"And that I'm coming for her."

[happyselves]

Drugs ( part 2 ) { Daniel Ricciardo x reader }

That’s when he called your name from the back of that room, and like an idiot you lifted up your head meeting his gaze from afar. He looked at you like he knew something was up ... and your heart broke again replacing it with dust as the elevator's doors finally opened in front of you. You entered it, looking at him one last time.

You were in that elevator, the door closed themself and you pushed the button. At this point there were no reasons for you to hide your tears anymore.The more you thought of that moment, that kiss, the more you were mad at yourself, why did the alcohol have to make you so brave like that ? Why couldn't you just gently push him away and blame it on the tequila ? Why does your selfish desire take over your reasoning ? It was too late now ...

The door opened on the floor below the one you were, letting people enter the small space. you squeezed yourself to the corner of it and waited for the door to close again, but as they were about to do so, you heard him. You hear him shout to hold the door and the old lady in front of you did. You couldn't believe that he just ran down the stairs this quick to catch it up. You could hear him panting, completely out of breath, holding himself on the door, the old lady looking at him like he was a crazy person and then he saw him search for you, his eyes desperate to find yours in those 5m². You were hiding again in your hood, why did you put your sunglasses in your bag you thought ...

Of course he found you, you were wearing his merch hoodie, but he acted like he didn't and entered the elevator, positioning himself on the opposite corner facing you, not saying anything. You felt like there was no oxygen in this room, nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape. He felt incredibly close to you yet so far, you were feeling his eyes on you, observing, wondering, searching for the answer to his unsaid questions.

You've reached the first floor after what seems like an eternity and the old left first, you were to follow where Daniel's arm just stopped you right there, blocking the exit. He looks at the people waiting outside the elevator to come in and go up.

Dan : I'm sorry we forgot something and we have time to stop on another floor, truly my apologies.

He knew exactly what to say, like he ran this scenario ten times in head before, you shared an apologizing look to the poor tourist waiting outside as the door closed again. The silence as he pressed their floor button was unbearable, he was looking at you anymore and you didn't say. He was the first to speak.

Dan : You were about to leave ...

Silence again, it wasn't a question it was a statement and you felt like crying again. He finally turns himself to look at you, getting closer to you, taking the hood of your head. What could you say ? You were busted, he wasn't wrong, you were a coward not facing him, but you couldn't because it was hurting you too much. Your eyes on the ground, your arms holding yourself,searching for a bit of comfort you heard Daniel press another button.

He litteral stops the elevator between two floors which definitely makes you lift your head up and look at him.

You : What are you doing ?

Dan : Answer the question

He already know the answer but he needed you to say it ... aoutch

You : You already know it

It was barely audible , like a whisper and you hated yourself for not being stronger especially with him and especially after all those years of friendship. The woman that he adored so much was no more now, replaced by a version of you that was scared and not confident, it was the version you were trying so much to hide from him but now it is out on display for anyone to see.

Dan : Why ?

Of course he wanted an explanation.

Dan : Why did you leave the room last night ?

How dare he ask why ? He bloody knows why and that was making you so angry right now that you wanted all the frustration you had in you to finally get out. The bravery from last night came back to you.

You : What do you mean why ? You know exactly why, we talk about it so many times !

Surprise was perfectly describing his expression right now, surprised of your tons bu confuse as well, he was clearly lost and that even make you want to slap him for playing dumb with you.

Dan : Is it because of the kiss ?

He was literally driving you crazy and you were ready to play sarcastic right now.

You : No it is because of that old lady earlier in the elevator .... YES this is why !

Your arm was making a Y right now from exasperation, this is exactly why you wanted to avoid him and leave him without a goodbye, cause you knew that " the kiss " like he said didn't mean anything to him and by just asking you this he was confirming it.

Dan : We were drunk ...

It was his turn now to look at his feet and whisper and this sudden change of behavior was shaking you. Your arms fall down, your body dejected. You were really going to discuss this right here, right now in this elevator.

You : Does it change anything, that we were ?

Dan : It changes EveryTHING !

You hit your back on the wall stunt at his reaction and he saw that right away, regret flashing through his eyes.

Dan: I'm sorry ... Can we talk somewhere else ? Because I am pretty sure we are bothering everyone in this hotel.

You crossed your arms and looked at him, challenging him.

You : No my fault there.

Daniel was losing patience.

Dan : I KNOW ...

Oh God he was getting frustrated, that doesn't look good for you and you can't even escape anymore, you know that you were about to have an hard time and that would will both end up hurt because you never saw him angry like that before and you both fight time to time, it was all because of you ... He pushed the red button making the lift go up again and stop at what was your floor before you called the reception this morning to check out. You both left the elevator, if your head could be on the floor because of how shameful you were to have made Daniel shout at you, you would have done it.

Dan : You room or mine ?

It could have sounded dirty if you didn't know what was going to happen next.

I don't have a room anymore, you said, still looking at the floor, trying to avoid him. You hear him sigh and that makes your face grin. You both end up in front of his door and you wait for him to open it. He entered first but you ? You felt stuck in front of it, incapable of making any moves. Knowing that as soon as you will cross that door, nothing will be the same, not like it didn't already change last night, but for you now it was a sweet fantasy and now it will put you right back into reality in the hardest way possible. You were about to lose that sweet fantasy of maybe being together and you weren't ready to lose him forever. This is why you didn't want this, because leaving him without saying anything would have left the " maybe " on stand-by in a corner of your head, but now it was about to get crushed in millions of pieces and thrown in the bin. Daniel was looking at you, with one luggage in each hand before coming to take them and put them against the wall in front of his bed.

Dan : Are you going to enter or are you planning to stay here, be a tree and grow some fruit until they are ready to be harvested ?

You snapped out of you though and took the first step into the end of everything that was making you feel alive. It felt like you were both strangers again, only on your side probably, Daniel not seeing what is wrong. But if he didn't see what was wrong, why was he angry at you and still cold in the way he was talking to you ? What he just said right here was some teasing, yes, but not like the usual bickery between the two of you, this was cold and sarcastic, he was annoyed by you. You were a little scared of him now, this was a new side of him that he didn't know he had in him and you weren't sure if you wanted to see the rest of that side. You sit on the edge of his bed, closing your legs together, your hand on your knees making yourself little and waiting for the next words that will come out of his mouth.

Dan : What happened last night ?

Out of everything he could have asked he chose this, putting both feet on the plate, you saw. You took a deep breath, all the bravery you had in the elevator was now gone and you were vulnerable now, like a prey trying to think how you could get away from the predator except that the man in front of you had nothing to do with one. Or maybe he was ? By the look he gives you, losing patience at what used to make him smile before now, your daydreaming session. You shake your head pretty hard to get away from your thoughts but it makes you dizzy from the hangover you had this morning after the crazy night full of drinks. You grinned again and put your hand on your head, holding it to relieve the small pain and you thought for a second, that you perceived some concern flashing through Dan's eyes. He left the room, going into the bathroom for a minute before coming back and giving you a glass of fresh water. You thanked him quickly before drinking a bit and gave him back the glasses that he put next to him as he sank himself into the chair in front of you. It was nice to see that he was caring about you like that,still...

Were you dumb ? Obviously he still does, for him nothing changes, but for you everything did and you were sinking like he did in the chair but your heart was.

Dan : Are you not gonna talk to me then ? Are you going to be like that from now on ?

You : What do you want me to say ?

Dan : You left me last night and you were about to leave me right now ... if I hadn't caught you, how long were you planning to ignore me ?

Shame again was running through your body, but you couldn't hold it anymore, you wanted to end this misery as quickly as possible.

You : Probably forever ...

Dan : You are not serious ... for a kiss ?

Shame turned into anger, switching as quickly as it did in that lift earlier.

You : You Don't Get It Don't YOU ?

His voice was now strangely calm, way to calm

Dan : Get what, explain it to me, I can't help you if you not telling me anything {YN}

Full rage was building up in you, you stood up facing him, tears starting to form in the corner of your eyes. At this point you were ready to let it all out, you didn't care anymore, it was torture for you and you wanted to be as far as possible from this man because you were starting to hate yourself. How could your heart still beat so fast for him right now, even when he is making you like this, burning inside, the love for him is stronger than anything. It was love that was making you go crazy, crazy for him. You were mad at him but most importantly you were mad at yourself.

You : YOU CANNOT HELP ME DANIEL, YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO HELP ME !

The two of you were surprised at how harsh these words came out of you and the power of them made you lose your balance, making you sit right where you were, before continuing. You started and you were not stopping until everything you had in your heart was out.

You : How can you be so blind Daniel, how can you not see that this k. What happened last night wasn't a big deal to me ? To you sure, but to me ... after all this long .... all our late night conversations where you told me that you could never date anyone seriously to not make them suffer if anything happens to you .... you were the one that kissed me for god's sake Daniel, did you think about that ?

You weren't sure if he was listening because his face was close, lost in any emotion, just looking at you.

Dan : I was drunk, we both were ...

You : OHH stop that would you, what does it change ? We know exactly how we are when we are drunk and we were way out of being that drunk !! Tell me he was nothing ... tell me right now that this fucking kiss was nothing to you ...

His lips shout and he stay quiet, not knowing what to say cause it was impossible for him to say these words, he knows it in his heart that it was impossible, he felt it last night as much as you did, it's been a while now and he was trying so hard to denied it because it was against his number one rule. To not fall in love during his career. Several minutes pass and still no words from Daniel, you are trying to get calm now, breathing in and out, listening to your heart beating, seeing if it has calmed down as well.

You : It didn't hurt me at first, our conversation you know ... but how can you be so selfish by kissing me and expecting me to be cool with him, it hurts so much ...

Tears were flooding down your cheeks now, all the pressure you had these past months was resolving into this torrent of emotion. You felt two hands on your arms lifting you and bringing you closer into a warm hug. He was hugging you, he never hugs you, never. Yes was showing affection with some skinship but never did he hug you, this was new. You must look this miserable that he had pity for you and give you a hug, but you weren't complaining, after all it might be the last time you even feel him this close to you.

MASTERLIST

[lord-explosion-baku]

Sister Complex

Bakugou x Step Sister!Reader

Warnings: s m u t, dubcon, pseudo-incest(they’re not biologically related because I’m a coward), uhhh tickling?

A/N: It’s been a minute since I’ve written something spicy for Baku-bb. Idk why it’s a hard for me to do this for one of my favorite characters lolol. I had to make things a little fucky because I’m me, but I have no shame. At least it’s not another yandere piece?? Here’s some nasty trash. the spicy bits are short, but they’re there, and uhhh everyone is 18+, obviously.

Bakugou would have had an easy morning—He’d woken up early and had been able to rest his eyes and daydream for a bit—stretch out, relax, take it easy. He could’ve fallen back asleep and dreamt for maybe forty minutes more, too. It would’ve been nice, if it hadn’t been for those damn kneecaps digging into his hips. 

“Katsukiii!” You crooned, poking at his sides through his bed’s comforters. Bakugou felt you ease your weight farther up his abdomen. At most, it was bothersome, but nothing compared the heat burning off of his cheeks that was trapped in with him under the covers. He was suffocating, not only from needing to gulp some of the cool, morning air, but your breasts that were undeniably pressed up against his chest were far too much for him to handle. Soft and squishy. He had half a mind to grab a hold of them, to teach you a lesson about respecting the let your big brother sleep in rule, just to see you make the fucking adorable embarrassed face you made whenever he teased you. He could have. It wasn’t like you were strong enough to fight him off of you. However, when you started sharing the bed, unaware of how your pelvis was grinding against his pulsing morning-wood, he decided to let you go at it for as long as he could take it. 

“Katsuki, please wake up,” you whined again, pulling against the sheets Bakugou had a vice grip on. “I’m booored.” 

You gave him a little jump and Bakugou couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to slip inside of you. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t the one prancing around the house in those tight shorts that hugged that pert little ass for yours so perfectly. Hell, you were probably wearing them right now and all he’d have to do is slip them to the side…

Bakugou groaned at the thought, blowing his sleeping facade. “Why don’t you go on a jog? You’re heavy.” 

You let out an incredulous gasp, stealing the pillow out from under Bakugou’s head. “That’s so rude!!” You slammed your weapon down, once against his chest, and again onto his head. “You’re such an asshole!” 

Bakugou grabbed your wrist. 

“My darling little sister,” he growled out sarcastically, tightening his hold when he saw your eyes narrow. You hated being called little sister on the account that you were only a tiny bit younger and not biologically related to him. That hardly mattered; he’d call you just about anything to be able to see you blush like that. “Get the hell out of my room or you’re gonna regret this.” 

“Let go!” You tried yanking weakly out of Bakugou’s hold, but his grip was too sturdy, and it only led to him pulling you closer to him so your head was leveled with his. “Stop.” 

“You gonna beat it or what?” 

You huffed, the sweet scent of your freshly brushed teeth filling Bakugou’s head. He wanted to taste you.

“No,” you said, pouting. “You’re going to sleep the whole day away. Mom and dad are gone and I was gonna make breakfast for you and me.” 

“I can eat when I’m ready.” 

“Aw, come onnn. Don’t be like that!” Still locked in his hold, you pushed your breasts against him. With that low-cut shirt you were wearing, Bakugou saw your perfect tits push up against his chest, plush and round, beautifully formed, and practically begging to be groped. He hoped you didn’t do that to any other man; nobody would have the same restraint he’d managed to retain. 

Or so he thought. But then you had to make a face. You had to make that adorable fucking face and then you had to whisper so sickenly sweet, albeit teasingly, “oniii-san,” on top of that. 

Bakugou sneered. This was the last straw. 

In one swift movement, Bakugou had you flipped over and pinned against the bed. He took you in—your curvy body flushed and helpless underneath him and on his bed drove him mad. Your shirt was hiked up just enough from his to see your belly button, your bare thighs on either side of his knees. You weren’t wearing a bra, so Bakugou could see your hard nipples poking through the thin material of your tee. You might’ve been a brat, but you were the cutest fucking brat he’d ever seen. 

“I warned you to leave, but you didn’t listen,” Bakugou’s husky morning voice brought goosebumps to your arms. Good. “So now you’re gonna have to suffer the consequences.” 

Before you could object, Bakugou’s hands flew to your ribcage and he began tickling you. You screamed and squirmed and tried to kick your legs out, but Bakugou kept you at bay by sitting back on your legs. Soon your squeals became wails… or maybe—maybe moans… and Bakugou ached for you. 

“Okay!!!” You cried, your chest jetting in and out rapidly. “Stop! Please, please, ahhhhah, I can’t take it anymore!!!!” 

Bakugou grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them to the bed above your head. You panted underneath him, your hair a mess. You had to know how you appeared to him with your eyes lidded like they were, your lips parted so subtly, so invitingly, all just for him. 

“Had enough?” Bakugou croaked, his restraint crumbling. You pouted your beautiful lips and nodded once. He scoffed. He wasn’t done. “I don’t think you have…” 

Bakugou leaned down so his lips were a hair away from your ear. He could smell your hair; the aromatic, buttery fragrant seemed to make you even more of the treat he longed to taste. He whispered, gruffly, “call me oni-san again.” 

“Um, Katsuki-“ you started and stopped, your breath wavering. Your voice made him pulsate against your thigh. After a moment, he realized you were craning your neck, trying to look down. Bakugou’s words caught in his throat. 

You laughed. “Wow, oni-san, I didn’t realize how much of a pervert you were!” 

“Shut up,” he hissed, not daring to move away—not when he was so close to you.

“My mom’s gonna love this. She might even leave your dad after I tell her that you have some sort of sick sister complex.” 

“You were the one moaning,” Bakugou rasped. “‘m sure she’ll love hearing how much her perfect princess loves having her big brother’s hands all over her.”

“I was not-!”

“No?” Bakugou prompted with a smirk against your neck. Then he took the initiative. He dragged his tongue across your soft, shuddering flesh, trailing a line up to your ear. 

“H-hey,” you whimpered, bringing your hands to his arms right below his shoulders. You pushed, but not enough to tell Bakugou that you really wanted him to let off. At this, he decided to bring his hand to your soft tummy and push it up and under your shirt so he could palm your breast, twisting your nipples harshly between his fingers. They were incredible—you felt incredible, and Bakugou hungered for more. 

“Kat-“ you breathed, your hips bucking up and against him. Bakugou grinded against you, the friction between his light pajama pants and your center setting his nerve endings aflame. “Ahhh, Katsuki…”

Bakugou’s body went hot at hearing his name fall from your lips in such a sensuous way. He snickered and growled, “now, who’s the pervert?” before biting down on the softest part of your neck. 

“O-oh, fuck,” you moaned, your voice cracking. You sunk your fingers into the back of Bakugou’s head and, for a moment, he thought you were going to try to pull him away from you. Instead, your nails tightened and untightened, giving him a nice little head massage. If anything you were pulling him further into you. You were enjoying this. 

A groan from Bakugou while he sucked harshly at your neck had your body shaking for him. You mewled while Bakugou’s hand traveled from your tummy down to your panties. The pads of his fingers rubbed around the damp mess at your core. You were already so wet for him. He could laugh. You weren’t the perfect little princess you pretended to be. 

Bakugou pulled away to admire the dark galaxy spot at the side of your neck he’d left. He wiped at his wet mouth and watched your brows knit together lightly, your cheeks dark with bewilderment. Seeing you torn apart like this was pure gold, which made him want to see just how far he could take this. 

“What a foul mouth you’ve got there, little sister.” Bakugou’s arm snaked around your waist, the fingers in your panties still toying with your pussy. “It’s only a good big brother’s job to clean it out for ya.” 

Forceful lips crushed against yours. You only resisted a little before Bakugou had your mouth parting for him. His tongue melted into yours and goddamn were you so sweet… hot... good—perfectly made for him to taste… to take. 

Bakugou kissed you. He touched you. He felt your heart pound against his chest while the two of you clambered to see who could kiss the other harder, and for a moment, he let himself forget that this was wrong—that this could get the both of you in deep trouble. And when he realized that, he didn’t give a shit. 

When Bakugou pulled away and both of his hands went to the waistband of your briefs, he looked you in the eyes and said, “you’re not gonna say a word.”

“Ngh-“

“-Cuz if you do, then everyone’s gonna know that you like to come into my room with nothin’ but a shirt and your panties. I’ll tell everyone that you like to moan when your oni-san marks your pretty little neck.” 

“You’re not serious!” You barked. Still you weren’t making any move to swat Bakugou’s hands away. 

“No?” Bakugou peeled your panties away. Your cunt blushed under his fierce, hungry gaze—he would’ve teased you for it, but at the moment, he couldn’t think about anything but fucking you.

Bakugou pulled his greedy cock out and gave you a fiery grin. Were you really not gonna stop him? You weren’t gonna offer him a peep of protest? He lined himself up with you, the reddened tip of his cock leaking pre-cum against your slicked up slit. 

“Katsuki, wait-!” 

Bakugou glared, daring you to say another word. He could already feel you palpitating against him. You wanted this, and he could tell; you just didn’t know how to say it. 

“Don’t act like you don’t wanna,” he said, “you’re sopping wet. It’d be a fucking crime not to take care of you myself. You’d be beggin’ to have me if the circumstances were any different anyways.”

“You’re such an arrogant little-!” 

Bakugou sunk into you before you could finish that sentence. Instead, your words were lost to a long, drawn-out moan; one that you probably tried to keep to yourself since he started touching you. 

He eased in and out of you, slowly memorizing all the soft ridges of your creamy pussy. Bakugou didn’t know when the next time he’d be able to claim such an excellent opportunity, so he had to savor you. You sighed for him and he wished that he had some sort of recorder so he could memorize those, too. He’d originally thought that your angelic facade was annoying, but with the way you looked right now—the way you sounded even, he couldn’t help but think about how perfect his little sister was. It pissed him off. 

“Do you know how nasty you are for letting me do this?” Bakugou huffed, his fingers digging into either side of your waist. “Not only are you a pervert, but you’re a fucking slut, too. Is that right?” 

You swallowed a moan and wrapped your arms around Bakugou’s neck as he dipped himself deeper into you, hitting your sweet spot. “Tssss-” you tried sounding passive, but even your scoff was uneasy. Hot. “No…”

“Huh?” Bakugou cracked a grin. “So you’re saying you’re only like this with me then. That’s good at least.” 

Bakugou kissed you, tasting your unspoken desire. He rolled his tongue around yours and you mewled into his mouth, humming as Bakugou brushed his long fingers through your hair. You gasped when he made a fist; the sudden noise made him snap his hips against you. He watched your face contort into the cutest, lustful expression, and Bakugou completely lost it.

Each thrust was assertive—an undeniable display of his dominance. Bakugou’s throbbing cock grooving against your plushy walls was more or less his way of following through with his promise that you were going to pay for bothering him this morning. By the look of your face falling apart before his eyes, that glistening sparkle of a renegade tear on your cheek, the beautiful wobble of your lips, you were sure to know not to test him again unless you wanted to suffer these same consequences. 

“Hah~ god…” You clenched around him after a particularly rough thrust, your face pulling into a cute scowl. 

“Whatsamatter, princess?” Bakugou’s index finger ran down your cheek to your chin. He centered your gaze directly on him. “Your big brother too much for you to handle?” 

“I just think it’s funny— ahhh~!” You bristled when Bakugou began dropping his hips to put a better hit on you. You grasped at the sheets and bit your lips, looking like you had to concentrate to continue what you were saying. “You’re—hhhah~ always muttering my name at night—looks like I know—ah-ah-hah, why~!” 

Bakugou didn’t miss a beat. Instead, his hand wrapped around your neck and he picked up the face, drilling you so intensely that your mouth lulled open to allow pretty, pathetic squeaks to tear out of your throat. 

“It’s good to know you like to listen,” he asserted in a strained voice. You were too cute with your face flushed like it was and fucking hell did you feel good squeezing around his cock. Bakugou knew he wasn't gonna last much longer, but by the way you kept fluttering around him, he knew you were teetering on the edge of release, too. “Next time you should try knockin’ on my door. You know you’d like to see what would happen.”

“Oh, please,” you countered, but it was too late for you. Your mouth fell open as Bakugou began hammering into you, hitting you hard and well enough to have you yipping like a little bitch for him. He’d always wished for this—for you, his little sister, maybe not by blood, but by bond, dirtied up in his sheets. He thought he could never have you, and yet, here you were, taking him beautifully. It was better than he’d imagined all those countless times he’d peeped at you changing in your room or stepping out of the bath. He’d thought that you’d mock him if you ever found out, but no; you were just as fucked up as he was. 

Bakugou reached down and ran circles around your saturated nub, enjoying the sight of your body shivering underneath him. You mewled and moaned for him, squeezing your eyes shut murmuring his name. It was both everything and not enough. 

“Oh, what, princess?” 

“Oh, please, oh please, please, god, oh my god, oni-san.” Your body started convulsing wildly. Bakugou had to grab a hold of your hips to keep his pace steady as he finished his last bout. Your nails clutched and dug into his arms as he felt his rouged relief build up and jet out, hot and heavy into your quaking cunt. 

Bakugou grunted when he pulled out, still pulsing from what you’d done to him. He watched you spill out white, hot seed onto the mattress before he fell on top of you, his forehead pressed to yours. He kissed your sweaty hairline, down the bridge of your nose, and landed on your lips. You kissed him back, albeit languidly, tuckered out from the good fucking your big brother gave you. 

Bakugou chuckled and rolled back into his bed, pulling your body so you were snug up against his bare, sweaty body. The two of you drifted off into a contented sleep. He was grateful that he got his extra forty minutes of rest, but when he woke up his stomach growled. 

“Shit.” Bakugou slithered around your sleeping body, trying harder than he usually would have not to wake you, only to have you grab his hand when he got out of bed. Such a fucking cutie. “Whaddya want?” 

“I… was going to make us breakfast,” you said bashfully, probably mulling over what the two of you had just done. 

“Nah, stay in bed. I’ll whip somethin’ up.” Bakugou brought your hand to his lips and gave it a light kiss. “You’re shit at cooking anyways. Just let your oni-san take care of everything.” 

TAGS FOR EVERYTHING: @ayeputita @yandere-inamorata @dee-madwriter @unboundbnha @rizamendoza808, @rubycubix@smbody-stole-mycar-radio @zellllyyyy@sarcastictextstuck@kpanime @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten @captain-sin-allmight-queen @psionicsnow@wickedlewicked @ghost-of-todoroki @kattariapenn@im-an-adult-sometimes @bnhya @local-senpai@eggpienutbuttercroissant@usernamekate94 @reyvenclaww @hi-ho-and-hello